throwing her very soul into the performance. Passers-
by in Crane Court paused, regarded the first-floor windows of the
publishing and editorial offices of _Good Humour_ with troubled looks,
then hurried on.

"She has--remarkably firm douch!" shouted the doctor into Peter's ear.
"Will see you--evening. Someting--say to you."

The fat little doctor took his hat and departed. Tommy, ceasing
suddenly, came over and seated herself on the arm of Peter's chair.

"Feeling grumpy?" asked Tommy.

"It isn't," explained Peter, "that I mind the noise. I'd put up with
that if I could see the good of it."

"It's going to help me to get a husband, dad. Seems to me an odd way of
doing it; but Billy says so, and Billy knows all about everything."

"I can't understand you, a sensible girl, listening to such nonsense,"
said Peter. "It's that that troubles me."

"Dad, where are your wits?" demanded Tommy. "Isn't Billy acting like a
brick? Why, he could go into Fleet Street to half a dozen other papers
and make five hundred a year as advertising-agent--you know he could. But
he doesn't. He sticks to us. If my making myself ridiculous with that
tin pot they persuaded him was a piano is going to please him, isn't it
common sense and sound business, to say nothing of good nature and
gratitude, for me to do it? Dad, I've got a surprise for him. Listen."
And Tommy, springing from the arm of Peter's chair, returned to the
piano.

"What was it?" questioned Tommy, having finished. "Could you recognise
it?"

"I think," said Peter, "it sounded like--It wasn't 'Home, Sweet Home,'
was it?"

Tommy clapped her hands. "Yes, it was. You'll end by liking it
yourself, dad. We'll have musical 'At Homes.'"

"Tommy, have I brought you up properly, do you think?"

"No dad, you haven't. You have let me have my own way too much. You
know the proverb: 'Good mothers make bad daughters.' Clodd's right;
you've spoilt me, dad. Do you remember, dad, when I first came to you,
seven years ago, a ragged little brat out of the streets, that didn't
know itself whether 'twas a boy or a girl? Do you know what I thought to
myself the moment I set eyes on you? 'Here's a soft old juggins; I'll be
all right if I can get in here!' It makes you smart, knocking about in
the gutters and being knocked about; you read faces quickly."

"Do you remember your cooking, Tommy? You 'had an aptitude for it,'
according to your own idea."

Tommy laughed