He did not relax his seriousness of demeanour until he had passed the high-walled enclosure of Bricklayers’ Arms Goods Station and had turned into Page’s Walk. There the fact was borne on the air that dinner-time was near, for attractive scents of cooking issued out of every doorway; he moved his lips appreciatively and hurried on with a more cheerful air. Women slipped along with their aprons hiding plates of well-baked joints and potatoes: children waited anxiously in doorways for the signal to approach the one gay, over-satisfying meal of the week, at which there was always an unusual exhibition of geniality and good temper that would eventually conciliate the worried mother, who had devoted the morning to providing the meal. Men returned from a morning at their clubs, where the hours had been chased by a third-rate music-hall entertainment; these walked slowly and hummed or whistled some enticing air with which they desired better acquaintance. Erb scraped his boots carefully on the edge of the pavement, and went up the stone steps of some model dwellings. From No. 17 came a broad hint of rabbit pie: a veiled suggestion of pickled pork. “Well, young six foot,” he said cheerfully, “is the banquet prepared, and are all our honoured guests assembled?” “Wouldn’t be you,” remarked his short sister, quickly, “if you didn’t come ’ome long before you were wanted.” She stood on tiptoe and glanced at herself in the glass over the mantelpiece, and rolled up her sleeves again; her head was covered with steel hair-curlers, which had held it fiercely since the previous morning. “And me in me disables.” “You look all right,” said Erb. “I shall ’ave to be this afternoon.” “What’s going to ’appen this afternoon? “I told you!” remonstrated his sister. “My new young man’s going to drop in for a cup of tea.” “Which?” “I never have more than one at a time.” “You mean the one in the hat place in Southwark Street.” “Bah!” said his young sister contemptuously. “I gave him the sack weeks ago.” “You’re always a choppin’ and a changin’,” said Erb tolerantly. “If you weren’t such a great gawk,” remarked his sister, bending to peep into the oven, “you’d put the knives and forks, and not sit there like a—like a—I don’t know what.” Erb pulled a drawer underneath the table and complied. “The other way about, stupid,” said the short girl wrathfully. “You don’t take your knife in your left hand, do you? ’Pon me word, I often wonder that men was ever invented. I s’pose you’ve been talkin’ yourself ’ungry, as usual?” “I addressed a large meeting,” said Erb, with a touch of his important manner, “for upwards of eleven minutes.” “Did they aim straight?” “They were very appreciative,” said Erb. “One chap that interrupted I went for with ’orse, foot, and artillery.” “Did you, though?” asked his short sister with reluctant admiration. “Make him squirm, eh, Erb? Did ye call him names, or did you say something about his nose?”