Long Hicks raved and tore at his hair, striding about the shop, and cursing himself with whatever words he could find.  Johnny was excited still, but he grew thoughtful.  There was more in this business, he saw now, than the mere happy riddance of Butson.  What of the future?  His mother was prostrated, and lay moaning on her bed.  No one was there to tend her but Bessy, and there was no likelihood of help; they had no intimacy with neighbours, and indeed the stark morality of Harbour Lane womankind would have cut it off if they had.  For already poor Nan was tried and condemned (as was the expeditious manner of Harbour Lane in such a matter), and no woman could dare so much as brush skirts with her.

“It’s my fault—all of it!” said the unhappy Hicks.  “I shouldn’t ’a’ bin such a fool!  But how was I to know she’d go on like that, after what she’d agreed to?  Oh, damme, I shouldn’t ’a’ meddled!”

Johnny calmed him as well as he might, pulled him into a chair in the shop parlour, and sought to know the meaning of his self-reproaches.  “Why not meddle?” p. 258Johnny asked.  “When you found her kicking up that row—”

“Ah, but I didn’t, I didn’t!” protested Hicks, rolling his head despairingly and punching his thigh.  “I brought her here!  It’s all my fault!  I thought I was doin’ somethin’ clever, an’ I was silly fool!  O, I’d like to shoot meself!”

“Brought her here?  Well, tell us about it—no good punching yourself.  When did you find out he was married?”

“Knew it years ago; didn’t know the woman was alive, though.  Thought she must ’a’ bin dead when you told me he’d married your mother.”

Some light broke on Johnny.  “And you took these days off to look for her—was that it?”

“That’s it.  An’ I was a fool—made things wuss instead o’ better!”

“Never mind about that—anything’s better than having that brute here.  What changed your mind about her being dead?”

“Oh, I dunno.  I’ll tell you all there is to it.  Long time ago when I was workin’ at Bishop’s an’ lodgin’ in Lime’us, my lan’lady she knew Butson an’ ’is wife too, an’ she told me they led a pretty cat an’ dog life, an’ one day Butson hops the twig.  Well his missus wasn’t sorry to lose ’im, an’ she sets to washin’ an’ ironin’ to keep ’erself an’ the kid.  But when Butson gets out of p. 259a job (’e was never in one long) ’e goes snivellin’ round to ’er, an’ wants to go back, an’ be kep’.  Well the missis makes it pretty ’ot for ’im, you may guess; but she stands ’im for a week or two, givin’ it ’im pretty thick all the time, till Butson ’e cuts away again, an’ never comes back.  His missis never bothered about ’im—said she was well quit.  This was all before I went to live at Lime’us, but she used to be pals with my lan’lady.  I kep’ a bottle o’ whisky then, case of a friend comin’, an’ them two give it what for, between ’em, on the quiet.”

“And did you know her then—his wife?”

“On’y by sight, an’ not to say to speak to, me bein’ a quiet sort.  I knew Butson since—in the shops; most took ’im for a bachelor.  Well, I wasn’t at Lime’us very long; I came away to this part an’ see no more of ’er—though o’ course I see ’im, often.  When you told me ’e’d married your mother it took me aback a bit at first.  But then, thinks I, I expect the first one’s dead—must be.  But after that, the other day, when you told me what a right down bad ’un ’e was, I begun to think wuss of ’im.  I knew ’e’d bin livin’ idle, but I didn’t guess ’e treated ’er so bad.  An’ when you talked o’ wantin’ to get rid of ’im, I got a notion.  If ’e’s bad enough for what ’e’s done, thinks I, ’e............