"Shouldn't ha' thought there was a year between you," said Kipps; "you seem jest a match."
"I'm his match, anyhow," said Mrs. Sid, and no epigram of young Walshingham's was ever better received.
"Match," said young Walt, coming in on the trail of the joke and getting a round for himself.
Any sense of superior fortune had long vanished from Kipps' mind, and he found himself looking at host and hostess with enormous respect. Really, old Sid was a wonderful chap, here in his own house at two and twenty, carving his own mutton and lording it over wife and child. No legacies needed by him! And Mrs. Sid, so kind and bright and hearty! And the child, old Sid's child! Old Sid had jumped round a bit. It needed the sense of his fortune at the back of his mind to keep Kipps from feeling abject. He resolved he'd buy young Walt something tremendous in toys at the first opportunity.
"Drop more beer, Art?"
"Right you are, old man."
"Cut Mr. Kipps a bit more bread, Sid."
"Can't I pass you a bit?"
Sid was all right, Sid was, and there was no mistake about that.
It was growing up in his mind that Sid was the brother of Ann, but he said nothing about her for excellent reasons. After all, because he remembered Sid's irritation at her name when they had met in New Romney seemed to show a certain separation. They
