“Ah, well,” he said, “I s’pose it’ll ’ave to be ’oly orders after all.” He adjusted his collar, peered at an imaginary book and looked up earnestly. “Brethren, we will now sing _Cease thy ticklin’, Jock_.” This justly occasioned great laughter. As it subsided— “Oh, I’ve bought a new straw,” said Miss Gedge. “A regular Kiss-me-quick. Not that I wanted to, but since Benk ’Oliday the other ain’t gone with my scent. I wore it to ’Astin’s, you know, an’ ’Erbert’s brother was ’oldin’ it when ’e come over queer. Of course, memories is very sweet, but . . .” Amidst squeals of delight— “She ’ad ’im on the brain,” explained Mr. Mason. The paroxysm which succeeded Uncle Tom’s appreciation of this remark was so prolonged as to suggest that his labouring lungs were in need of assistance, and there was a general feeling of relief when he was able to assure his anxious ministers that he would let them know when he was dying. As order was restored— “I say, is this a smoking-carriage?” said Mr. Alcock, and looked round, grinning, for approval. Once the ball was rolling, the question usually went. The great thing was not to ask it too soon. ‘And when men have well drunk, then . . .’ The laughter was renewed. “I should ’ope so,” said Uncle Tom, taking out an enormous calabash. Cigarettes were produced. Mr. Barnham made bold to offer his case to Ann, who declined smilingly. “She’ll ’ave one with me,” said Bob. He lighted a Gold Flake and, after inhaling luxuriously, put the cigarette to her lips. . . . Ann winced. Another tender intimacy clapped in the common stocks. . . . May accepted a cigarette from Mr. Mason, who had an unfinished cigar. Together Ada and Mr. Alcock enjoyed the cigarette till lately reposing behind the latter’s ear. Beneath the soothing influence conversation became less boisterous. Little coteries sprang up. Miss Gedge and May exchanged murmurous confidences. Mr. Barnham listened to Aunt Harriet. Uncle Tom and Mr. Mason discussed ‘closing time.’ Ada played with Mr. Alcock’s hair and squeaked or whispered according to the nature of the sweet nothings with which he plied her. Breathing endearment, Bob fondled and kissed Ann’s fingers and presently pleaded for her lips. “They won’t mind,” he insisted. . . . At length Mr. Mason looked round. “Well, ladies and gents,” he said, “what’s the pier done? I think an evenin’ with the movies with a little footwork in between the shows’ll just about see me ’ome.” The suggestion was greeted with action. Chairs were drawn back, laps shaken and smoothed, pardons begged. Ann was feverishly considering how best to announce that she was weary and would like to retire, when Bob put in his oar. “An’ this is my show,” he said expansively. “I’m goin’ to stan’ treat to-night.” There was a murmur of deprecation. Quick as a flash— “Well, I’m sure that’s very ’andsome,” simpered Aunt Harriet.