“One o’ the lightermen let go o’ the skipper and went arter ’er, and, just as I was giving the other three a helping ’and, ’e came back with ’er. Mrs. Pratt caught ’er breath, and as for the skipper, ’e didn’t know where to look, as the saying is. I just saw the lady give ’im one quick look, and then afore I could dream of wot was coming, she rushes up to me and flings ’er long, bony arms round my neck. “‘Why, William!’ she ses, ‘wot’s the matter? Why didn’t you meet me? Didn’t you get my letter? Or ’ave you ceased to care for me?” “‘Let go!’ I ses, struggling. ‘Let go! D’ye ’ear? Wot d’ye mean by it? You’ve got ’old of the wrong one.’ “‘Oh, William!’ she ses, arf strangling me. ‘’Ow can you talk to me like that? Where’s your ’art?’ “I never knew a woman so strong. I don’t suppose she’d ever ’ad the chance of getting ’er arms round a man’s neck afore, and she hung on to me as if she’d never let go. And all the time I was trying to explain things to them over ’er shoulder I could see they didn’t believe a word I was saying. One o’ the lightermen said I was a ‘wonder,’ and the other said I was a ‘fair cough-drop.’ Me! “She got tired of it at last, but by that time I was so done up I couldn’t say a word. I just dropped on to a box and sat there getting my breath back while the skipper forgave ’is wife for ’er unjust suspicions of ’im—but told ’er not to do it agin—and the office-boy was saying I’d surprised even ’im. The last I saw of the lady-friend, the two lightermen was helping ’er to walk to the gate, and the two sailormen was follering ’er up behind, carrying ’er pocket-’ankercher and upberella.” STRIKING HARD You’ve what?” demanded Mrs. Porter, placing the hot iron carefully on its stand and turning a heated face on the head of the family. “Struck,” repeated Mr. Porter; “and the only wonder to me is we’ve stood it so long as we have. If I was to tell you all we’ve ’ad to put up with I don’t suppose you’d believe me.” “Very likely,” was the reply. “You can keep your fairy-tales for them that like ’em. They’re no good to me.” “We stood it till flesh and blood could stand it no longer,” declared her husband, “and at last we came out, shoulder to shoulder, singing. The people cheered us, and one of our leaders made ’em a speech.” “I should have liked to ’ave heard the singing,” remarked his wife. “If they all sang like you, it must ha’ been as good as a pantermime! Do you remember the last time you went on strike?” “This is different,” said Mr. Porter, with dignity. “All our things went, bit by bit,” pursued his wife, “all the money we had put by for a rainy day, and we ’ad to begin all over again. What are we going to live on? O’ course, you might earn something by singing in the street; people who like funny faces might give you something! Why not go upstairs and put your ’ead under the bed-clothes and practise a bit?”