“Oh,” Johnnie was saying, “so Quest is his name, is it, and he lives in a city called Boisingham, does he?  Is he an off bird?” (rich)

“Rather,” answered the Tiger, “if only one can make the dollars run, but he’s a nasty mean boy, he is.  Look here, not a cent, not a stiver have I got to bless myself with, and I daren’t ask him for any more not till January.  And how am I going to live till January?  I got the sack from the music hall last week because I was a bit jolly.  And now I can’t get another billet any way, and there’s a bill of sale over the furniture, and I’ve sold all my jewels down to my ticker, or at least most of them, and there’s that brute,” and her voice rose to a subdued scream, “living like a fighting-cock while his poor wife is left to starve.”

“‘Wife!’ Oh, yes, we know all about that,” said the gentleman called Johnnie.

A look of doubt and cunning passed across the woman’s face.  Evidently she feared that she had said too much.  “Well, it’s a good a name as another,” she said.  “Oh, don’t I wish that I could get a grip of him; I’d wring him,” and she twisted her long bony hands as washerwomen do when they squeeze a cloth.

“I’d back you to,” said Johnnie.  “And now, adored Edithia, I’ve had enough of this blooming show, and I’m off.  Perhaps I shall look in down Rupert Street way this evening.  Ta-ta.”

“Well, you may as well stand a drink first,” said the adored one.  “I’m pretty dry, I can tell you.”

“Certainly, with pleasure; I will order one.  Waiter, a brandy-and-soda for this lady—­six of brandy, if you please; she’s very delicate and wants support.”

The waiter grinned and brought the drink and the man Johnnie turned round as though to pay him, but really he went without doing so.

George watched him go, and then looked again at the lady, whose appearance seemed to fascinate him.

“Well, if that ain’t a master one,” he said to himself, “and she called herself his wife, she did, and then drew up like a slug’s horns.  Hang me if I don’t stick to her till I find out a bit more of the tale.”

Thus ruminated George, who, be it observed, was no fool, and who had a hearty dislike and mistrust of Mr. Quest.  While he was wondering how he was to go to work an unexpected opportunity occurred.  The lady had finished her brandy-and-soda, and was preparing to leave, when the waiter swooped down upon her.

“Money please, miss,” he said.

“Money!” she said, “why you’re paid.”

“Come, none of that,” said the waiter.  “I want a shilling for the brandy-and-soda.”

“A shilling, do you?  Then you’ll have to want, you cheating white-faced rascal you; my friend paid you before he went away.”

“Oh, we’ve had too much of that game,” said the waiter, beckoning to a constable, to whom, in spite of the “fair Edithia’s” very vigorous and pointed protestations, he went on to give her in charge, for it appeared that she had only twopence about her.  This was George’s opportunity, and he interfered.