Mrs. Gibbs drew back, and, to the gratification of all concerned, did not utter a sound as Mr. Kidd, followed by her husband, entered the room. She stood looking expectantly towards the doorway. “Where is he?” she gasped. “Eh?” said Mr. Kidd, in a startled voice. “Why here. Don't you know 'im?” “It's me, Susan,” said Mr. Gibbs, in a low voice. “Oh, I might 'ave known it was a joke,” cried Mrs. Gibbs, in a faint voice, as she tottered to a chair. “Oh, 'ow cruel of you to tell me my pore Joe was alive! Oh, 'ow could you?” “Lor' lumme,” said the incensed Mr. Kidd, pushing Mr. Gibbs forward. “Here he is. Same as you saw 'im last, except for 'is whiskers. Don't make that sobbing noise; people'll be coming in.” “Oh! Oh! Oh! Take 'im away,” cried Mrs. Gibbs. “Go and play your tricks with somebody else's broken 'art.” “But it's your husband,” said Mr. Brown. “Take 'im away,” wailed Mrs. Gibbs. Mr. Kidd, grinding his teeth, tried to think. “'Ave you got any marks on your body, Joe?” he inquired. “I ain't got a mark on me,” said Mr. Gibbs with a satisfied air, “or a blemish. My skin is as whi--” “That's enough about your skin,” interrupted Mr. Kidd, rudely. “If you ain't all of you gone before I count ten,” said Mrs. Gibbs, in a suppressed voice, “I'll scream. 'Ow dare you come into a respectable woman's place and talk about your skins? Are you going? One! Two! Three! Four! Five!” Her voice rose with each numeral; and Mr. Gibbs himself led the way downstairs, and, followed by his friends, slipped nimbly round the corner. “It's a wonder she didn't rouse the whole 'ouse,” he said, wiping his brow on his sleeve; “and where should we ha' been then? I thought at the time it was a mistake you making me 'ave my whiskers off, but I let you know best. She's never seen me without 'em. I 'ad a remarkable strong growth when I was quite a boy. While other boys was--” “Shut-up!” vociferated Mr. Kidd. “Sha'n't!” said Mr. Gibbs, defiantly. “I've 'ad enough of being away from my comfortable little 'ome and my wife; and I'm going to let 'em start growing agin this very night. She'll never reckernize me without 'em, that's certain.” “He's right, Bob,” said Mr. Brown, with conviction. “D'ye mean to tell me we've got to wait till 'is blasted whiskers grow?” cried Mr. Kidd, almost dancing with fury. “And go on keeping 'im in idleness till they do?” “You'll get it all back out o' my share,” said Mr. Gibbs, with dignity. “But you can please yourself. If you like to call it quits now, I don't mind.” Mr. Brown took his seething friend aside, and conferred with him in low but earnest tones. Mr. Gibbs, with an indifferent air, stood by whistling softly. “'Ow long will they take to grow?” inquired Mr. Kidd, turning to him with a growl.