d to her emotions. It may be said that she
laughed as they can laugh in the Five Towns. She cried. She had to wipe
away the tears of laughter.

'What on earth made you think so?' she inquired, after recovery.

'I--had an idea,' I said lamely. 'He always made out that one of those
two sisters was so much to him, and I knew it couldn't be Mrs
Colclough.'

'Well,' she said, 'ask anybody down here, ANY-body! And see what
they'll say.'

'No,' Mr Brindley put in, 'don't go about asking ANY-body. You might
get yourself disliked. But you may take it it isn't true.'

'Most certainly,' his wife concurred with seriousness.

'We reckon to know something about Simon Fuge down here,' Mr Brindley
added. 'Also about the famous Annie.'

'He must have flirted with her a good bit, anyhow,' I said.

'Oh, FLIRT!' ejaculated Mr Brindley.

I had a sudden dazzling vision of the great truth that the people of
the Five Towns have no particular use for half-measures in any
department of life. So I accepted the final judgement with meekness.

IX

I returned to London that evening, my work done, and the municipality
happily flattered by my judgement of the slip-decorated dishes. Mr
Brindley had found time to meet me at the midday meal, and he had left
his office earlier than usual in order to help me to drink his wife's
afternoon tea. About an hour later he picked up my little bag, and said
that he should accompany me to the little station in the midst of the
desert of cinders and broken crockery, and even see me as far as Knype,
where I had to take the London express. No, there are no half-measures
in the Five Towns. Mrs Brindley stood on her doorstep, with her eldest
infant on her shoulders, and waved us off. The infant cried, expressing
his own and his mother's grief at losing a guest. It seems as if people
are born hospitable in the Five Towns.

We had not walked more than a hundred yards up the road when a
motor-car thundered down upon us from the opposite direction. It was Mr
Colclough's, and Mr Colclough was driving it. Mr Brindley stopped his
friend with the authoritative gesture of a policeman.

'Where are you going, Ol?'

'Home, lad. Sorry you're leaving us so soon, Mr Loring.'

'You're mistaken, my boy,' said Mr Brindley. 'You're just going to run
us down to Knype station, first.'

'I must look slippy, then,' said Mr Colclough.

'You can look as slippy as you like,' said Mr Brindley.

In another fifteen se