s my money, ain't it?"

"Yes," ses Charlie, taking no notice of Mrs. Cook and 'er husband, wot
was both talking to 'im at once, and trying to persuade 'im to alter his
mind.

"Then I give it to Miss Emma Cook," ses Jack Bates, putting it into her
hands. "Good-night everybody and good luck."

He slammed the front door behind 'im and they 'eard 'im go off down the
road as if 'e was going for fire-engines. Charlie sat there for a moment
struck all of a heap, and then 'e jumped up and dashed arter 'im. He
just saw 'im disappearing round a corner, and he didn't see 'im agin for
a couple o' year arterwards, by which time the Sydney gal had 'ad three
or four young men arter 'im, and Emma, who 'ad changed her name to Smith,
was doing one o' the best businesses in the chandlery line in Poplar.

THE CONSTABLE'S MOVE

[Illustration: "The Constable's Move."]

Mr. Bob Grummit sat in the kitchen with his corduroy-clad legs stretched
on the fender. His wife's half-eaten dinner was getting cold on the
table; Mr. Grummit, who was badly in need of cheering up, emptied her
half-empty glass of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Come away, I tell you," he called. "D'ye hear? Come away. You'll be
locked up if you don't."

He gave a little laugh at the sarcasm, and sticking his short pipe in his
mouth lurched slowly to the front-room door and scowled at his wife as
she lurked at the back of the window watching intently the furniture
which was being carried in next door.

"Come away or else you'll be locked up," repeated Mr. Grummit. "You
mustn't look at policemen's furniture; it's agin the law."

Mrs. Grummit made no reply, but, throwing appearances to the winds,
stepped to the window until her nose touched, as a walnut sideboard with
bevelled glass back was tenderly borne inside under the personal
supervision of Police-Constable Evans.

"They'll be 'aving a pianner next," said the indignant Mr. Grummit,
peering from the depths of the room.

"They've got one," responded his wife; "there's the end if it stickin' up
in the van."

Mr. Grummit advanced and regarded the end fixedly. "Did you throw all
them tin cans and things into their yard wot I told you to?" he demanded.

"He picked up three of 'em while I was upstairs," replied his wife. "I
'eard 'im tell her that they'd come in handy for paint and things."

"That's 'ow coppers get on and buy pianners," said the incensed Mr.
Grummit, "sneak