for
sending him so excellent a cook. As he ate he argued that if a man had
an angel for a wife, in all likelihood she would not be able to cook,
and perhaps after all he was not so badly off.

"There ain't many as can beat yer at this 'ere game," remarked Bindle,
indicating the dish with his fork; and a momentary flicker that might
have been a smile still-born passed across Mrs. Bindle's face.

As the meal progressed Bindle began to see the folly of his cowardice.
He had doomed himself to a night's walking the streets. He cudgelled
his brains how to avoid the consequences of his indiscretion. He
looked covertly at Mrs. Bindle. There was nothing in the sharp
hatchet-like face, with its sandy hair drawn tightly away from each
side and screwed into a knot behind, that suggested compromise. Nor
was there any suggestion of a relenting nature in that hard grey line
that served her as a mouth. No, there was nothing for it but to "carry
the banner," unless he could raise sufficient money to pay for a
night's lodging.

"Saw Ginger to-day," he remarked conversationally, as he removed a
shred of meat from a back tooth with his fork.

"Don't talk to me of Ginger!" snapped Mrs. Bindle.

Such retorts made conversation difficult.

It was Mrs. Bindle's question as to whether he did not think it about
time he started that gave Bindle the inspiration he sought. For more
than a week the one clock of the household, a dainty little travelling
affair that he had purchased of a fellow-workman, it having "sort o'
got lost" in a move, had stopped and showed itself impervious to all
persuasion Bindle decided to take it, ostensibly to a clock-repairer,
but in reality to the pawn-shop, and thus raise the price of a night's
lodging. He would trust to luck to supply the funds to retrieve it.

With a word of explanation to Mrs. Bindle, he proceeded to wrap up the
clock in a piece of newspaper, and prepared to go out.

To Bindle the moment of departure was always fraught with the greatest
danger. His goings-out became strategical withdrawals, he endeavouring
to get off unnoticed, Mrs. Bindle striving to rake him with her verbal
artillery as he retreated.

On this particular evening he felt comparatively safe. He was, as far
as Mrs. Bindle knew, going to "a job," and, what was more, he was
taking the clock to be repaired. He sidled tactically along the wall
towards the door, as if keenly interested in getting his pipe to draw.
Mr