“It’s good servant,” said Old Jim, raising his glass and shutting one eye in order to see it clearly, “but bad mas’er. That’s what I always says about it. It’s a good mas’r, but— What I mean to say is it’s a bad servant—” “Every man,” declared Kirby, attempting to slap the counter, but missing it, “ought to know where to draw line.” “The chap who don’t,” agreed Payne, “(You’re upsetting your glass, Jim, old man)—the chap who don’t is like the beas’s of field.” “Worse!” said Old Jim. “No, not worse!” urged Payne obstinately. “Fight you for it,” offered Old Jim. Kirby interfered and made peace, and throughout the evening, wherever they went in search of Spanswick, it happened that some two of the three were always quarrelling, whilst the third endeavoured to appease and conciliate. They were on the very edge of a triangular dispute in the last house of call when Payne, sobering himself for a moment, pointed out to the others that it was closing time, and they must not go to bed without feeling that something accomplished, something done, had earned a night’s repose; necessary that they should proceed now with as much directness as possible to Spanswick’s house, and (if they found him) there deliver the calculated words of warning, the prepared sentences of advice. “’Ullo, old man,” said Payne, as the door of Spanswick’s house opened. “Many ’appy returns day.” “What’s all this?” demanded Spanswick coldly. “Brought anything with you in a bottle?” “We’ve brought good ’dvice,” said Old Jim, seating himself on the sill. “How is it we didn’t see you at any of the places?” “The wife locked up me boots,” replied Spanswick surlily. “That’s why. But surely one of you’s got a bottle about him somewheres. Search!” “We want you, old chap,” said Payne, steadying himself with a hand on either side of the doorway, “to give up the drink. ‘Oh that man should put an en’my into his mouth to steal out his brains.’ Chuck it, my friend, chuck it, before it is too late. Shun the flowing bowl, and save your money to buy harmonium with.” “I’ll harmonium you,” said Spanswick threateningly, “if you don’t all three of you make yourselves precious scarce. How dare you come round here in this disgraceful condition to annoy a sober, honest man? Go to your ’omes and take an example by me. I never saw such a painful exhibition in all me life.” “How was we to know you’d be sober?” asked Kirby, swaying. Spanswick emphasised the situation by remaining comparatively sober for a week; a busy week in other ways, for he lost no opportunity of reciting the incident of his own pure and heroic action, establishing thus a concrete foundation for the building up of a character that had never entirely disappeared. (This is the story of carman Spanswick.)