Once home with the news, and Canning Town was ablaze. Bill Napper had come in for three thousand, thirty thousand, three hundred thousand--any number of thousands that were within the compass of the gossip's command of enumeration. Bill Napper was called "W. Napper, Esq."--he was to be knighted--he was a long-lost baronet--anything. Bill Napper came home in a hansom--a brougham--a state coach. Mrs. Napper went that very evening to the Grove at Stratford to buy silk and satin, green, red, and yellow--cutting her neighbors dead, right and left. And by the next morning tradesmen had sent circulars and samples of goods. Mrs. Napper was for taking a proper position in society, and a house in a fashionable part--Barking Road, for instance, or even East India Road, Poplar; but Bill would none of such foolishness. He wasn't proud, and Canning Town was quite good enough for him. This much, though, he conceded: that the family should take a whole house of five rooms in the next street, instead of the two rooms and a cellule upstairs now rented. That morning Bill lit his pipe, stuck his hands in his pockets, and strolled as far as his job. "Wayo, squire," shouted one of the men as he approached. "'Ere comes the bleed'n' toff," remarked another. "'Tcheer, 'tcheer, mates," Bill responded, calmly complacent. "I'm a-goin' to wet it." And all the fourteen men left their paving for the beer-house close by. The foreman made some demur, but was helpless, and ended by coming himself. "Now then, gaffer," said Bill, "none o' your sulks. No one ain't a-goin' to stand out of a drink o' mine--unless 'e wants to fight. As for the job--damn the job! I'd buy up fifty jobs like that 'ere and not stop for the change. You send the guv'nor to me if _'e_ says anythink: unnerstand? You send 'im to _me_." And he laid hands on the foreman, who was not a big man, and hauled him after the others. They wetted it for two or three hours, from many quart pots. Then there appeared between the swing doors the wrathful face of the guv'nor.