re the woman. "'Tisn't
fair time, is it?"

"No, it's no fair," said the woman.

"I see. You're just on your own. Getting on all right?"

"Fair," said the woman.

"Only fair! Sorry. Good-morning."

Mr. May's quick eye, roving round, had seen a negro stoop from under
the canvas that covered one booth. The negro was thin, and looked
young but rather frail, and limped. His face was very like that of
the young negro in Watteau's drawing--pathetic, wistful,
north-bitten. In an instant Mr. May had taken all in: the man was
the woman's husband--they were acclimatized in these regions: the
booth where he had been hammering was a Hoop-La. The other would be
a cocoanut-shy. Feeling the instant American dislike for the
presence of a negro, Mr. May moved off with James.

They found out that the woman was a Lumley woman, that she had two
children, that the negro was a most quiet and respectable chap, but
that the family kept to itself, and didn't mix up with Lumley.

"I should think so," said Mr. May, a little disgusted even at the
suggestion.

Then he proceeded to find out how long they had stood on this
ground--three months--how long they would remain--only another week,
then they were moving off to Alfreton fair--who was the owner of the
pitch--Mr. Bows, the butcher. Ah! And what was the ground used for?
Oh, it was building land. But the foundation wasn't very good.

"The very thing! Aren't we _fortunate_!" cried Mr. May, perking up
the moment they were in the street. But this cheerfulness and brisk
perkiness was a great strain on him. He missed his eleven o'clock
whiskey terribly--terribly--his pick-me-up! And he daren't confess
it to James, who, he knew, was T-T. So he dragged his weary and
hollow way up to Woodhouse, and sank with a long "Oh!" of nervous
exhaustion in the private bar of the Moon and Stars. He wrinkled his
short nose. The smell of the place was distasteful to him. The
_disgusting_ beer that the colliers drank. Oh!--he _was_ so tired.
He sank back with his whiskey and stared blankly, dismally in front
of him. Beneath his eyes he looked more bilious still. He felt
thoroughly out of luck, and petulant.

None the less he sallied out with all his old bright perkiness, the
next time he had to meet James. He hadn't yet broached the question
of costs. When would he be able to get an advance from James? He
_must_ hurry the matter forward. He brushed his crisp, curly brown
hair carefully before the mirror. H