did," said Hardy. "Brass band playing you in
and all that sort of thing, I suppose," said the other. "Alas, how the
wicked prosper--and you were wicked. Do you remember how you used to
knock me about?"

"Come round to my place and have a chat," said Hardy.

Jack shook his head. "They're expecting me in to tea," he said, with a
nod in the direction of Mr. Kybird's, "and honest waterside labourers who
earn their bread by the sweat of their brow--when the foreman is looking
--do not frequent the society of the upper classes."

"Don't be a fool," said Hardy, politely.

"Well, I'm not very tidy," retorted Mr. Nugent, glancing at his clothes.
"I don't mind it myself; I'm a philosopher, and nothing hurts me so long
as I have enough to eat and drink; but I don't inflict myself on my
friends, and I must say most of them meet me more than half-way."

"Imagination," said Hardy.

"All except Kate and my aunt," said Jack, firmly. "Poor Kate; I tried to
cut her the other day."

"Cut her?" echoed Hardy.

Nugent nodded. "To save her feelings," he replied; "but she wouldn't be
cut, bless her, and on the distinct understanding that it wasn't to form
a precedent, I let her kiss me behind a waggon. Do you know, I fancy
she's grown up rather good-looking, Jem?"

"You are observant," said Mr. Hardy, admiringly.

"Of course, it may be my partiality," said Mr. Nugent, with judicial
fairness. "I was always a bit fond of Kate. I don't suppose anybody
else would see anything in her. Where are you living now?"

"Fort Road," said Hardy; "come round any evening you can, if you won't
come now."

Nugent promised, and, catching sight of Miss Kybird standing in the
doorway of the shop, bade him good-bye and crossed the road. It was
becoming quite a regular thing for her to wait and have her tea with him
now, an arrangement which was provocative of many sly remarks on the part
of Mrs. Kybird.

[Illustration: "Miss Kybird standing in the doorway of the shop."]

"Thought you were never coming," said Miss Kybird, tartly, as she led the
way to the back room and took her seat at the untidy tea-tray.

"And you've been crying your eyes out, I suppose," remarked Mr. Nugent,
as he groped in the depths of a tall jar for black-currant jam. "Well,
you're not the first, and I don't suppose you'll be the last. How's
Teddy?"

"Get your tea," retorted Miss Kybird, "and don't make that scraping noise
on the bottom of the jar with your kni