You might ha’ heard a pin drop a’most, and Charlie sat there without saying a word.

“Charlie’s been led away,” ses Mrs. Cook, looking ’ard at Jack Bates.  “I s’pose you lent ’im the money to win it back from ’im at cards, didn’t you?”

“And gave ’im too much licker fust,” ses old Cook.  “I’ve ’eard of your kind.  If Charlie takes my advice ’e won’t pay you a farthing.  I should let you do your worst if I was ’im; that’s wot I should do.  You’ve got a low face; a nasty, ugly, low face.”

“One o’ the worst I ever see,” ses Mrs. Cook.  “It looks as though it might ha’ been cut out o’ the Police News.”

“‘Owever could you ha’ trusted a man with a face like that, Charlie?” ses old Cook.  “Come away from ’im, Bill; I don’t like such a chap in the room.”

Jack Bates began to feel very awk’ard.  They was all glaring at ’im as though they could eat ’im, and he wasn’t used to such treatment.  And, as a matter o’ fact, he’d got a very good-’arted face.

“You go out o’ that door,” ses old Cook, pointing to it.  “Go and do your worst.  You won’t get any money ’ere.”

“Stop a minute,” ses Emma, and afore they could stop ’er she ran upstairs.  Mrs. Cook went arter ’er and ’igh words was heard up in the bedroom, but by-and-by Emma came down holding her head very ’igh and looking at Jack Bates as though he was dirt.

“How am I to know Charlie owes you this money?” she ses.

Jack Bates turned very red, and arter fumbling in ’is pockets took out about a dozen dirty bits o’ paper, which Charlie ’ad given ’im for I O U’s.  Emma read ’em all, and then she threw a little parcel on the table.

“There’s your money,” she ses; “take it and go.”

Mrs. Cook and ’er father began to call out, but it was no good.

“There’s seventy-two pounds there,” ses Emma, who was very pale; “and ’ere’s a ring you can have to ’elp make up the rest.”  And she drew Charlie’s ring off and throwed it on the table.  “I’ve done with ’im for good,” she ses, with a look at ’er mother.

Jack Bates took up the money and the ring and stood there looking at ’er and trying to think wot to say.  He’d always been uncommon partial to the sex, and it did seem ’ard to stand there and take all that on account of Charlie Tagg.

“I only wanted my own,” he ses, at last, shuffling about the floor.

“Well, you’ve got it,” ses Mrs. Cook, “and now you can go.”

“You’re pi’soning the air of my front parlour,” ses old Cook, opening the winder a little at the top.

“P’r’aps I ain’t so bad as you think I am,” ses Jack Bates, still looking at Emma, and with that ’e walked over to Charlie and dumped down the money on the table in front of ’im.  “Take it,” he ses, “and don’t borrow any more.  I make you a free gift of it.  P’r’aps my ’art ain’t as black as my face,” he ses, turning to Mrs. Cook.

They was all so surprised at fust that they couldn’t speak, but old Cook smiled at ’im and put the winder up agin.  And Charlie Tagg sat there arf mad with temper, locking as though ’e could eat Jack Bates without any salt, as the saying is.