“Get out o' my bed,” he said at last, in a choking voice. “What, Bill!” said Mr. Flynn, opening his eyes. “Get out o' my bed,” repeated the other. “You've made a nice mess of it between you. It's a fine thing if a man can't go out for 'arf a pint without coming home and finding all the riff-raff of the neighbourhood in 'is bed.” “'Ow's the pore back, Bill?” inquired Mr. Flynn, with tenderness. Mr. Scutts gurgled at him. “Outside!” he said as soon as he could get his breath. “Bill,” said the voice of Mrs. Scutts, outside the door. “Halloa,” growled her husband. “He mustn't go,” said Mrs. Scutts. “Those gentlemen are coming again, and they think he is you.” “WHAT!” roared the infuriated Mr. Scutts. “Don't you see? It's me what's got the pore back now, Bill,” said Mr. Flynn. “You can't pass yourself off as me, Bill; you ain't good-looking enough.” Mr. Scutts, past speech, raised his clenched fists to the ceiling. “He'll 'ave to stay in your bed,” continued the voice of Mrs. Scutts. “He's got a good 'art, and I know he'll do it; won't you, Jim?” Mr. Flynn pondered. “Tell my landlady in the morning that I've took your back room,” he said. “What a fortunit thing it is I'm out o' work. What are you walking up and down like that for, Bill? Back coming on agin?” “Then o' course,” pursued the voice of Mrs. Scutts, in meditative accents, “there's the club doctor and the other gentleman that knows Bill. They might come at any moment. There's got to be two Bills in bed, so that if one party comes one Bill can nip into the back room, and if the other Bill—party, I mean—comes, the other Bill—you know what I mean!” Mr. Scutts swore himself faint. “That's 'ow it is, mate,” said Mr. Flynn. “It's no good standing there saying your little piece of poetry to yourself. Take off your clo'es and get to bed like a little man. Now! now! Naughty! Naughty!” “P'r'aps I oughtn't to 'ave let 'em up, Bill,” said his wife; “but I was afraid they'd smell a rat if I didn't. Besides, I was took by surprise.” “You get off to bed,” said Mr. Scutts. “Get off to bed while you're safe.” “And get a good night's rest,” added the thoughtful Mr. Flynn. “If Bill's back is took bad in the night I'll look after it.” Mr. Scutts turned a threatening face on him. “For two pins—” he began. “For two pins I'll go back 'ome and stay there,” said Mr. Flynn. He put one muscular leg out of bed, and then, at the earnest request of Mr. Scutts, put it back again. In a few simple, manly words the latter apologized, by putting all the blame on Mrs. Scutts, and, removing his clothes, got into bed. Wrapped in bedclothes, they passed the following day listening for knocks at the door and playing cards. By evening both men were weary, and Mr. Scutts made a few pointed remarks concerning dodging doctors and deceitful visitors to which Mr. Flynn listened in silent approval. “They mightn't come for a week,” he said, dismally. “It's all right for you, but where do I come in? Halves?”