"I don't know if you've ever thought at all about me, Em. But your saying what you've done ... about yourself ... it's made me think a bit. I'm all on my own now--have been for years; but the way I live isn't good for anyone. It's a fact it's not. I mean to say, my rooms that I've got ... they're not big enough to swing a cat in; and the way the old girl at my place serves up the meals is a fair knock-out, if you notice things like I do. If I think of her, and then about the way you do things, it gives me the hump. Everything you do's so nice. But with her--the plates have still got bits of yesterday's mustard on them, and all fluffy from the dishcloth...." "Not washed prop'ly." Emmy interestedly remarked; "that's what that is." "Exackly. And the meat's raw inside. Cooks it too quickly. And when I have a bloater for my breakfast--I'm partial to a bloater--it's black outside, as if it was done in the cinders; and then inside--well, I like them done all through, like any other man. Then I can't get her to get me gammon rashers. She will get these little tiddy rashers, with little white bones in them. Why, while you're cutting them out the bacon gets cold. You may think I'm fussy ... fiddly with my food. I'm not, really; only I like it...." "Of course you do," Emmy said. "She's not interested, that's what it is. She thinks anything's food; and some people don't mind at all what they eat. They don't notice." "No. I _do_. If you go to a restaurant you get it different. You get more of it, too. Well, what with one thing and another I've got very fed up with Madame Bucks. It's all dirty and half baked. There's great holes in the carpet of my sitting-room--holes you could put your foot through. And I've done that, as a matter of fact. Put my foot through and nearly gone over. _Should_ have done, only for the table. Well, I mean to say ... you can't help being fed up with it. But she knows where I work, and I know she's hard up; so I don't like to go anywhere else, because if anybody asked me if he should go there, I couldn't honestly recommend him to; and yet, you see how it is, I shouldn't like to leave her in the lurch, if she knew I was just gone somewhere else down the street." "No," sympathetically agreed Emmy. "I quite see. It's very awkward for you. Though it's no use being too kind-hearted with these people; because they _don't_ appreciate it; and if you don't say anything they just go on in the same way, never troubling themselves about you. They think, as long as you don't say anything you're all right; and it's not their place to make any alteration. They're quite satisfied. Look at Jenny and me." "Is she satisfied!" asked Alf. "With herself, she is. She's never satisfied with me. She never tries to see it from my point of view." "No," Alf nodded his head wisely. "That's what it is. They don't." He nodded again. "Isn't it a lovely night," ventured Emmy. "See the moon over there."