Lizzie. "Just fancy the likes o' her 'avin' a boarder—an' Billy not seein' what that was for."
The husband and father was an elderly labouring man, solid and heavy, such as often drive tip-drays, in moleskins, Crimean shirt, with belts and "bowyang," out here on waterworks, with pipe and handkerchief stuck in belt behind, like a small pistol, to shoot out a boil in his mouth, and a rag to wipe his mouth afterwards. (Any labouring face will do him, so long as the mouth is a nasty one.)
A month or so went by, or some say weeks, and then one beautiful moonlight evening Brennan, the silent man, with Reynolds Newspaper, after listening to Billy and Bob for some minutes, steadied his pipe with his hand and said—
"Look here, Billy, if I was you I wouldn't have Bob stayin' with yer."
"W-why?" gasped Billy, taken too suddenly to gain time by asking, "What's that?"
"Never mind, Billy, it ain't right. I know more'n you do. Take my advice."
"But, man alive, what 'arm 'as Bob——"
"It ain't the 'arm as is done, but the 'arm made on it, and," he added, half mumbling his pipe, " the 'arm as might come of it."
"What?" said Billy, promptly and sharply for him, but perhaps unconsciously so.
"Now, look here, Billy. I know more of the world 'n you do. You've been knocking around London for years, and been abroad, if the truth is known"—(Billy blushed and started) "an' me ain't more'n
