By the time we got into the London river old Bill’s leg was getting on fust-rate, and he got along splendid on a pair of crutches the carpenter ’ad made for him. Him and Joseph and the cook had ’ad a good many talks about the dream, and the old man ’ad invited the cook to come along ’ome with ’em, to be referred to when he told the tale. “I shall take my opportunity,” he ses, “and break it to ’er gentle like. When I speak to you, you chip in, and not afore. D’ye understand?” We went into the East India Docks that v’y’ge, and got there early on a lovely summer’s evening. Everybody was ’arf crazy at the idea o’ going ashore agin, and working as cheerful and as willing as if they liked it. There was a few people standing on the pier-head as we went in, and among ’em several very nice-looking young wimmen. “My eye, Joseph,” ses the cook, who ’ad been staring hard at one of ’em, “there’s a fine gal—lively, too. Look ’ere!” [Illustration: “‘I shall take my opportunity,’ he ses, ‘and break it to ’er gentle like.’”] He kissed ’is dirty paw—which is more than I should ’ave liked to ’ave done it if it ’ad been mine—and waved it, and the gal turned round and shook her ’ead at ’im. “Here, that’ll do,” ses Joseph, very cross. “That’s my gal; that’s my Emily.” “Eh?” says the cook. “Well, ’ow was I to know? Besides, you’re a-giving of her up.” Joseph didn’t answer ’im. He was staring at Emily, and the more he stared the better-looking she seemed to grow. She really was an uncommon nice-looking gal, and more than the cook was struck with her. “Who’s that chap standing alongside of her?” ses the cook. “It’s one o’ Bill’s sister’s lodgers,” ses Joseph, who was looking very bad-tempered. “I should like to know wot right he ’as to come ’ere to welcome me ’ome. I don’t want ’im.” “P’r’aps he’s fond of ’er,” ses the cook. “I could be, very easy.” “I’ll chuck ’im in the dock if he ain’t careful,” ses Joseph, turning red in the face. He waved his ’and to Emily, who didn’t ’appen to be looking at the moment, but the lodger waved back in a careless sort of way and then spoke to Emily, and they both waved to old Bill who was standing on his crutches further aft. By the time the ship was berthed and everything snug it was quite dark, and old Bill didn’t know whether to take the cook ’ome with ’im and break the news that night, or wait a bit. He made up his mind at last to get it over and done with, and arter waiting till the cook ’ad cleaned ’imself they got a cab and drove off. Bert Simmons, the lodger, ’ad to ride on the box, and Bill took up so much room with ’is bad leg that Emily found it more comfortable to sit on Joseph’s knee; and by the time they got to the ’ouse he began to see wot a silly mistake he was making. “Keep that dream o’ yours to yourself till I make up my mind,” he ses to the cook, while Bill and the cabman were calling each other names. “Bill’s going to speak fust,” whispers the cook.