“He floated away on a bit o’ wreckage,” ses Alf, nodding at ’im, “just like they do in books, and was picked up more dead than alive and took to Melbourne. He’s now living up-country working on a sheep station.” “Who’s dreaming now?” ses his uncle. “It’s a fact,” ses Alf. “I know a chap wot’s met ’im and talked to ’im. She can’t marry you while he’s alive, can she?” “Certainly _not_,” ses George Hatchard, trembling all over; “but are you sure you ’aven’t made a mistake?” “Certain sure,” ses Alf. “It’s too good to be true,” ses George Hatchard. “O’ course it is,” ses Alf, “but she won’t know that. Look ’ere; you write down all the things that she ’as told you about herself and give it to me, and I’ll soon find the chap I spoke of wot’s met ’im. He’d meet a dozen men if it was made worth his while.” George Hatchard couldn’t understand ’im at fust, and when he did he wouldn’t ’ave a hand in it because it wasn’t the right thing to do, and because he felt sure that Mrs. Pearce would find it out. But at last ’e wrote out all about her for Alf; her maiden name, and where she was born, and everything; and then he told Alf that, if ’e dared to play such a trick on an unsuspecting, loving woman, he’d never forgive ’im. “I shall want a couple o’ quid,” ses Alf. “Certainly not,” ses his uncle. “I won’t ’ave nothing to do with it, I tell you.” “Only to buy chocolates with,” ses Alf. “Oh, all right,” ses George Hatchard; and he went upstairs to ’is bedroom and came down with three pounds and gave ’im. “If that ain’t enough,” he ses, “let me know, and you can ’ave more.” Alf winked at ’im, but the old man drew hisself up and stared at ’im, and then ’e turned and walked away with his ’ead in the air. He ’ardly got a chance of speaking to Alf next day, Mrs. Pearce being ’ere, there, and everywhere, as the saying is, and finding so many little odd jobs for Alf to do that there was no time for talking. But the day arter he sidled up to ’im when the ’ouse-keeper was out of the room and asked ’im whether he ’ad bought the chocolates. “Yes,” ses Alfred, taking one out of ’is pocket and eating it, “some of ’em.” George Hatchard coughed and fidgeted about. “When are you going to buy the others?” he ses. “As I want ’em,” ses Alf. “They’d spoil if I got ’em all at once.” George Hatchard coughed agin. “I ’ope you haven’t been going on with that wicked plan you spoke to me about the other night,” he ses. “Certainly not,” ses Alf, winking to ’imself; “not arter wot you said. How could I?” “That’s right,” ses the old man. “I’m sorry for this marriage for your sake, Alf. O’ course, I was going to leave you my little bit of ’ouse property, but I suppose now it’ll ’ave to be left to her. Well, well, I s’pose it’s best for a young man to make his own way in the world.” “I s’pose so,” ses Alf. “Mrs. Pearce was asking only yesterday when you was going back to sea agin,” ses his uncle, looking at ’im. “Oh!” ses Alf.