DOCTOR BRINK: Cheer up! He’ll get lively again one of these days, and give you another hiding. Even shorthand ceases to amuse people after a time. THE WIFE: Short’and don’t amuse ’im. It on’y makes ’im stupid. ’E don’t wanter learn it, not reely: ’is ’ead ain’t good enough for learnin’. ’E likes to make me wild, that’s all. As for hidin’s, it’s _’im_ what gets the ’iding now: I don’t believe in a girl takin’ any o’ that when you’re married. Walkin’ out it’s different. Besides, I earned it then. I was a devil arter the boys in them days. DOCTOR BRINK: Oh, well: you were only a young thing then, of course.... About this husband of yours; what is it you want me to do? I can’t cure shorthand, you know. THE WIFE: Well, Doctor, I don’t see’s there’s anything you _can_ do, reely. Only, I wish ’e’d go back to the chair-packin’. ’Ome ain’t ’ome with your man always in it. And ’e’s ser sulky and ser pertickler. ’E says we gotter go to church now that we’ve retired from work. We’re goin’ ter have our shop front painted red. DOCTOR BRINK: I always look upon red as one of our leading colours. As you say, there is really nothing which I can do. Anyhow, we’ve had a useful little chat. THE WIFE: I like a little chat. It’s a thing I don’t seem to get very orfen, nowadays. Me and my mother, we don’t know each other. She says we killed ’is father. She says I don’t manage my baby. DOCTOR BRINK: I shouldn’t argue with him. He’ll get used to this money in time, and then he’ll be as noisy as ever again. THE WIFE: Argue with ’im? Me? I don’t argue with ’im. When I got anythink to say to ’im, ’e gets it aside o’ the ’ead. I don’t care, even if we ’ave retired from work. I go on the same now as what I did before; and so I shall when we’ve started the ’ardware. Sometimes I wish this misfortune to ’is father ’ad never ’appened. I liked ’im better in the chair-packin’ days. I didn’t see ser much of ’im. ’E wasn’t ser pertickler. ’E took a pleasure in his tea them days. Sometimes he useder catch ’old of the kid.... And sometimes he useder lark about with me.... I liked the look of ’im them days. Sometimes, I wish we wasn’t rich. *XXXI* *AN INTERLUDE* One result of my acquaintanceship with Doctor Brink is not entirely pleasant. I have developed a sort of interest in poor people. I am always lighting, in odd corners, upon what I call "Brink cases." Such experiences pursue me even into respectable places. I bumped into one, lately, within a stone’s throw of the Houses of Parliament, to which place I was bound at midnight.