"
Mr. Scutts, past speech, raised his clenched fists to the ceiling.
"He'll 'ave to stay in your bed," continued the voice of Mrs. Scutts.
"He's got a good 'art, and I know he'll do it; won't you, Jim?"
Mr. Flynn pondered. "Tell my landlady in the morning that I've took
your back room," he said. "What a fortunit thing it is I'm out o' work.
What are you walking up and down like that for, Bill? Back coming on
agin?"
"Then o' course," pursued the voice of Mrs. Scutts, in meditative
accents, "there's the club doctor and the other gentleman that knows
Bill. They might come at any moment. There's got to be two Bills in
bed, so that if one party comes one Bill can nip into the back room, and
if the other Bill--party, I mean--comes, the other Bill--you know what I
mean!"
Mr. Scutts swore himself faint.
"That's 'ow it is, mate," said Mr. Flynn. "It's no good standing there
saying your little piece of poetry to yourself. Take off your clo'es
and get to bed like a little man. Now! now! Naughty! Naughty!"
"P'r'aps I oughtn't to 'ave let 'em up, Bill," said his wife; "but I was
afraid they'd smell a rat if I didn't.
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