s in no mood for conversation; to Pennyloaf's remarks
and questions he gave not the slightest heed, but in a few minutes
tumbled himself into bed.

'Get that light put out,' he exclaimed, after lying still for a while.

Pennyloaf said she was uneasy about the child; its cough seemed to be
better, but it moved about restlessly and showed no sign of getting to
sleep.

'Give it some of the mixture, then. Be sharp and put the light out.'

Pennyloaf obeyed the second injunction, and she too lay down, keeping
the child in her arms; of the 'mixture' she was afraid, for a few days
since the child of a neighbour had died in consequence of an overdose
of this same anodyne. For a long time there was silence in the room.
Outside, voices kept sounding with that peculiar muffled distinctness
which they have on a night of dense fog, when there is little or no
wheel-traffic to make the wonted rumbling.

'Are y'asleep?' Bob asked suddenly.

'No.'

'There's something I wanted to tell you. You can have Jane Snowdon here
again, if you like.'

'I can? Really?'

'You may as well make use of her. That'll do; shut up and go to sleep.'

In the morning Pennyloaf was obliged to ask for money; she wished to
take the child to the hospital again, and as the weather was very bad
she would have to pay an omnibus fare. Bob growled at the demand, as
was nowadays his custom. Since he had found a way of keeping his own
pocket tolerably well supplied from time to time, he was becoming so
penurious at home that Pennyloaf had to beg for what she needed copper
by copper. Excepting breakfast, he seldom took a meal with her. The
easy good-nature which in the beginning made him an indulgent husband
had turned in other directions since his marriage was grown a weariness
to him. He did not, in truth, spend much upon himself, but in his
leisure time was always surrounded by companions whom he had a pleasure
in treating with the generosity of the public-house. A word of flattery
was always sure of payment if Bob had a coin in his pocket. Ever hungry
for admiration, for prominence, he found new opportunities of
gratifying his taste now that he had a resource when his wages ran out.
So far from becoming freer-handed again with his wife and children, he
grudged every coin that he was obliged to expend on them. Pennyloaf's
submissiveness encouraged him in this habit; where other wives would
have 'made a row,' she yielded at once to his grumbling and made shi