“I should like to see ’em close,” said Mrs. Silk. “Come in and ’ave a look at ’em,” responded her neighbour. Mrs. Silk hesitated and displayed a maidenly coyness far in excess of the needs of the situation. Then she stepped across, and five seconds later the two matrons, with consternation writ large upon their faces, appeared at their doors again and, exchanging glances across the alley, met in the centre. They were more surprised an evening or two later to see Mr. Wilks leave his house to pay a return visit, bearing in his hand a small bunch of his cherished blooms. That they were blooms which would have paid the debt of Nature in a few hours at most in no way detracted from the widow’s expressions of pleasure at receiving them, and Mr. Wilks, who had been invited over to cheer up Mr. Silk, who was in a particularly black mood, sat and smiled like a detected philanthropist as she placed them in water. “Good evenin’, Teddy,” he said, breezily, with a side-glance at his hostess. “What a lovely day we’ve ’ad.” “So bright,” said Mrs. Silk, nodding with spirit. Mr. Wilks sat down and gave vent to such a cheerful laugh that the ornaments on the mantelpiece shook with it. “It’s good to be alive,” he declared. [Illustration: “A return visit.”] “Ah, you enjoy your life, Mr. Wilks,” said the widow. “Enjoy it!” roared Mr. Wilks; “enjoy it! Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t everybody enjoy their lives? It was what they was given to us for.” “So they was,” affirmed Mrs. Silk; “nobody can deny that; not if they try.” “Nobody wants to deny it, ma’am,” retorted Mr. Wilks, in the high voice he kept for cheering-up purposes. “I enjoy every day o’ my life.” He filled his pipe, chuckling serenely, and having lit it sat and enjoyed that. Mrs. Silk retired for a space, and returning with a jug of ale poured him out a glass and set it by his elbow. “Here’s your good ’ealth, ma’am,” said Mr. Wilks, raising it. “Here’s yours, Teddy—a long life and a ’appy one.” Mr. Silk turned listlessly. “I don’t want a long life,” he remarked. His mother and her visitor exchanged glances. “That’s ’ow ’e goes on,” remarked the former, in an audible whisper. Mr. Wilks nodded, reassuringly. “I ’ad them ideas once,” he said, “but they go off. If you could only live to see Teddy at the age o’ ninety-five, ’e wouldn’t want to go then. ’E’d say it was crool hard, being cut off in the flower of ’is youth.” Mrs. Silk laughed gaily and Mr. Wilks bellowed a gruff accompaniment. Mr. Edward Silk eyed them pityingly. “That’s the ’ardship of it,” he said, slowly, as he looked round from his seat by the fireplace; “that’s where the ’ollowness of things comes in. That’s where I envy Mr. Wilks.” “Envy me?” said the smiling visitor; “what for?” “Because you’re so near the grave,” said Mr. Silk. Mr. Wilks, who was taking another draught of beer, put the glass down and eyed him fixedly. “That’s why I envy you,” continued the other.