Long Hicks’s holiday had lasted three days, and Mr. Butson’s minor bruises were turning green.  It was at the stroke of five in the afternoon, and Bessy was minding shop.  From the ship-yard opposite a score or so of men came, in dirty dungaree (for it was Friday), vanguard of the tramping hundreds that issued each day, regular as the clock before the timekeeper’s box.  Bessy rose on her crutch, and peeped between a cheese and a packet of candles, out of window.  Friday was not a day when many men came in on their way home, because by that time the week’s money was run low, and luxuries were barred.  Bessy scarce expected a customer, and it would seem that none was coming.

Peeping so, she grew aware of a stout red-faced woman approaching at a rapid scuttle; and then, almost as the woman reached the door, she saw Hicks at her heels, his face a long figure of dismay.

The woman burst into the shop with a rasping shriek.  “I want my ’usband!” she screamed.  “Where’s my ’usband?”

“Come away!” called Hicks, deadly pale, and p. 253nervously snatching at her shoulder.  “Come away!  You know what you promised!”

“Take yer ’and auf me, ye long fool!  Where’s my ’usband?  Is it you what’s got ’im?”  She turned on Bessy and bawled the words in her face.

“No—no it ain’t!” cried Hicks, near beside himself.  “Come away, an’—an’ we’ll talk about it outside!”

“Talk!  O yus, I’ll give ’im talk!”  The woman’s every syllable was a harsh yell, racking to the brain, and already it had drawn a group about the door.  “I’ll give ’im talk, an’ ’er too!  Would anyone believe,” she went on, turning toward the door and haranguing the crowd, that grew at every word, “as ’ow a woman calling ’erself respectable, an’ keepin’ a shop like any lady, ’ud take away a respectable woman’s ’usband—a lazy good-for-nothin’ scoundril as run away an’ left me thirteen year ago last Whitsun!”

Boys sprang from everywhere, and pelted in to swell the crowd, drawn by the increasing screams.  Many of the men, who knew the shop so well, stopped to learn what the trouble was; and soon every window in Harbour Lane displayed a woman’s head, or two.

“My ’usband!  Where’s my ’usband?  Show me the woman as took my ’usband!”

Nan came and stood in the back parlour doorway, frightened but uncomprehending.  The woman turned.  “You!  You is it?” she shrieked, oversetting a pile p. 254of tins and boxes, and clawing the air above her.  “Gimme back my ’usband, you shameless creechor!  Where ’a’ ye got ’im?&............