"That’s a lie!" shouted the man. "Didn’t I leave the door open? Didn’t I shove the dam thing right under the curtain? Begod, I did. Don’t tell lies to yeself, ole Emma. It was me as done it. It was me as burnt that little beggar’s arm. Wish to Gawd I’d burnt me eyes out first." "Go’ bless my soul," observed the stupid man, "what _is_ the use of quarrellin’ over trifles? Whatever does it matter whether the lamp moved the curtain or the curtain moved the lamp? Thing’s done, ain’t it? Boy’s arm’s all charred up. Why argue? Take an’ get a good night’s sleep. Ain’t we all ’ad trouble? When my first went down——" "I ’it ’im to-day," said the woman. "For eatin’ coal, it was." The man drew her hand into his, which was not more rough and shapeless. "’E thought the world o’ you, ole Emma," he observed. "’Ow long to nine o’clock, ’Erb? ’Ow long afore they’ll let us see ’im? The gentleman said, ’Don’t worry.’ ... We was mad to leave ’is cradle there." "It’s all so full in the room," replied ’Erb. "I was gointer move next quarter. Allus next quarter, Gawd strike me! If we’d took that room we was lookin’ at Easter time, there was gas there an’—an’——" "I _wanted_ to ’ave it," whined the woman. "When," pursued her husband, "when I was puttin’ them rockers on the sugar-box, I _did_ say as we’d ’ave a ’ooded top, to finish it. But I changed me mind. Devil take me! I changed me mind." "It’d ’a’ saved ’im, that would," observed the woman. "We’d ’a’ found ’im sittin’ up an’ laughin’ at the fireworks.... Remember that day when the water come in?" "R!" answered the man. "Rare tickled ’e was. Remembers it to this day. I’ll lay any money ’e was tryin’ to tell me about it when we was in the park o’ Sunday. ’E——" "Oh, Christ! my baby," cried the woman; and she lay sobbing in his arms. He led her to a seat, and she cried silently upon his shoulder for a long, long while. When she next spoke it was to wonder about the time. "Is it _very_ long to nine o’clock?" she inquired. And the man said, "Not so very. You lie still, ole Emma: you’re all right; you lie still." Then Emma remembered that by moving the tin trunk which stood by the wash-stand to an empty niche beneath the table, a place of security might have been provided for that sugar-box. And they discussed all the other might-have-beens: and his beauty, and cheerfulness, and the surprising precocity of his speech. She trembled, and sobbed and sobbed, and her husband swore. They talked about all the other might-have-beens again; and the stupid man faced them, scratching his head, and saying: "What _is_ the use of all this argument?" After which the constabulary arrived, and flashed lamps upon them; and they rose heavily, and moved away. But I found them, presently, upon another seat. Emma’s blue-white face was upon her husband’s shoulder, and her lips were tightly clenched as she spoke to him. "’Ow long we got to wait till nine o’clock?" she asked.