street somewhere behind Portsmouth Town Railway Station, where he slowed at a green-grocery shop. The door was open, and a small old man sat on three potato-baskets swinging his feet over a stooping blue back.
'You call that shinin' 'em?' he piped. 'Can you see your face in 'em yet? No! Then shine 'em, or I'll give you a beltin' you'll remember!'
'If you stop kickin' me in the mouth perhaps I'd do better,' said Pyecroft's voice meekly.
We blew the horn.
Pyecroft arose, put away the brushes, and received us not otherwise than as a king in his own country.
'Are you going to leave me up here all day?' said the old man.
Pyecroft lifted him down and he hobbled into the back room.
'It's his corns,' Pyecroft explained. 'You can't shine corny feet—and he hasn't had his breakfast.'
'I haven't had mine either,' I said.
'Breakfast for two more, uncle,' Pyecroft sang out.
'Go out an' buy it then,' was the answer, 'or else it's half-rations.'
Pyecroft turned to Leggatt, gave him his marketing orders, and despatched him with the coppers.
'I have got four new tyres on my car,' I began impressively.
'Yes,' said Mr. Pyecroft. 'You have, and I
