“Ay, he will, when somebody makes up their mind to drop it on him. I should like to see him taken down a peg or two, shouldn’t you?” “I shouldn’t mind,” said Nora. “You’ve got quite as much cause to as I have,” said Annie. “But we’ll drop on him one of these days, my girl. What? Don’t you want to?” “I don’t mind,” said Nora. But as a matter of fact, Nora was much more vindictive than Annie. One by one Annie went the round of the old flames. It so happened that Cissy Meakin left the tramway service in quite a short time. Her mother made her leave. Then John Thomas was on the _qui-vive_. He cast his eyes over his old flock. And his eyes lighted on Annie. He thought she would be safe now. Besides, he liked her. She arranged to walk home with him on Sunday night. It so happened that her car would be in the depôt at half past nine: the last car would come in at 10.15. So John Thomas was to wait for her there. At the depôt the girls had a little waiting-room of their own. It was quite rough, but cosy, with a fire and an oven and a mirror, and table and wooden chairs. The half dozen girls who knew John Thomas only too well had arranged to take service this Sunday afternoon. So, as the cars began to come in, early, the girls dropped into the waiting-room. And instead of hurrying off home, they sat around the fire and had a cup of tea. Outside was the darkness and lawlessness of war-time. John Thomas came on the car after Annie, at about a quarter to ten. He poked his head easily into the girls’ waiting-room. “Prayer-meeting?” he asked. “Ay,” said Laura Sharp. “Ladies only.” “That’s me!” said John Thomas. It was one of his favourite exclamations. “Shut the door, boy,” said Muriel Baggaley. “On which side of me?” said John Thomas. “Which tha likes,” said Polly Birkin. He had come in and closed the door behind him. The girls moved in their circle, to make a place for him near the fire. He took off his great-coat and pushed back his hat. “Who handles the teapot?” he said. Nora Purdy silently poured him out a cup of tea. “Want a bit o’ my bread and drippin’?” said Muriel Baggaley to him. “Ay, give us a bit.” And he began to eat his piece of bread. “There’s no place like home, girls,” he said. They all looked at him as he uttered this piece of impudence. He seemed to be sunning himself in the presence of so many damsels. “Especially if you’re not afraid to go home in the dark,” said Laura Sharp. “Me! By myself I am.” They sat till they heard the last tram come in. In a few minutes Emma Houselay entered. “Come on, my old duck!” cried Polly Birkin. “It _is_ perishing,” said Emma, holding her fingers to the fire. “But—I’m afraid to, go home in, the dark,” sang Laura Sharp, the tune having got into her mind. “Who’re you going with tonight, John Thomas?” asked Muriel Baggaley, coolly. “Tonight?” said John Thomas. “Oh, I’m going home by myself tonight—all on my lonely-O.” “That’s me!” said Nora Purdy, using his own ejaculation.