newspaper and waving it. "Why, I gave you that
black eye, I smashed your 'elmet, I cut your silly 'ead open, I----"

"You've been drinking," said the other, severely.

"You mean to say I didn't?" demanded Mr. Grummit, ferociously.

Mr. Evans came closer and eyed him steadily. "I don't know what you're
talking about," he said, calmly.

Mr. Grummit, about to speak, stopped appalled at such hardihood.

"Of course, if you mean to say that you were one o' them burglars,"
continued the constable, "why, say it and I'll take you with pleasure.
Come to think of it, I did seem to remember one o' their voices."

Mr. Grummit, with his eyes fixed on the other's, backed a couple of yards
and breathed heavily.

"About your height, too, he was," mused the constable. "I hope for your
sake you haven't been saying to anybody else what you said to me just
now."

Mr. Grummit shook his head. "Not a word," he faltered.

"That's all right, then," said Mr. Evans. "I shouldn't like to be hard
on a neighbour; not that we shall be neighbours much longer."

Mr. Grummit, feeling that a reply was expected of him, gave utterance to
a feeble "Oh!"

"No," said Mr. Evans, looking round disparagingly. "It ain't good enough
for us now; I was promoted to sergeant this morning. A sergeant can't
live in a common place like this."

Mr. Grummit, a prey to a sickening fear, drew near the fence again. "A--
a sergeant?" he stammered.

Mr. Evans smiled and gazed carefully at a distant cloud. "For my bravery
with them burglars the other night, Grummit," he said, modestly. "I
might have waited years if it hadn't been for them."

He nodded to the frantic Grummit and turned away; Mr. Grummit, without
any adieu at all, turned and crept back to the house.

BOB'S REDEMPTION

[Illustration: "Bob's Redemption."]

"GRATITOODE!" said the night-watchman, with a hard laugh. "_Hmf!_ Don't
talk to me about gratitoode; I've seen too much of it. If people wot
I've helped in my time 'ad only done arf their dooty--arf, mind you--I
should be riding in my carriage."

Forgetful of the limitations of soap-boxes he attempted to illustrate his
remark by lolling, and nearly went over backwards. Recovering himself by
an effort he gazed sternly across the river and smoked fiercely. It was
evident that he was brooding over an ill-used past.

'Arry Thomson was one of them, he said, at last. For over six months I
wrote all 'is love-letters for him,