Fumbling in his pocket for the coin, he became aware of Abner, Mick, and Atwell. ‘By gum, lads, is that you? Tell us quick what’s happened . . .’ ‘They give him eighteen months,’ said Abner. ‘The b—s!’ said Joe under his breath. He took them aside and explained that he and his mates had thought that old Mr Malpas would be lonely-like with George in trouble and his missus away. ‘We thought we’d stay in and brighten things up a bit to take his mind off it like. We’ve had a nice bit of harmony,’ he said. ‘Eighteen months! Well, that’s a b— that is!’ At this moment the musical box, after one or two metallic protests, inharmoniously stopped in the middle of its chorus. Joe threw a penny to the man who sat nearest to it. ‘’Ere, put in another copper,’ he said, ‘an’ wind the blasted thing oop.’ The clockwork grated and the tune began again. ‘Don’t say a word to the old ’un,’ he said. ‘Keep his mind off it: that’s the ticket.’ With this end in view he left them and poked old Malpas, who had now relapsed into a state of nodding imbecility, in the ribs. ‘Do you see that there gun, dad?’ he shouted. Malpas stared vaguely. ‘Gun,’ he repeated. ‘Don’t you go telling me you don’t know what a gun is!’ He pointed to an old muzzle loader that hung above the hearth. ‘Oh, ay . . . gun!’ said Old Malpas blandly. Wigan Joe bent over him and began to declaim in his ear an endless, and, as it seemed, pointless story, of how he had once gone out with a friend to shoot crows; how he had seen a crow on a haystack on the parish boundary, and how his friend, after taking careful aim, had missed it. At this point he raised his voice still louder. ‘By gum, lad,’ I says, ‘you’re the first ever I knew that shot at a haystack and missed a parish!’ With the last words he gave the old man a hearty slap on the back, and Malpas collapsed into a feeble fit of laughter. ‘Shot at a haystack and missed a parish,’ the clogger repeated, roaring at his own joke, and presenting it to the company, who were now in a condition to laugh at anything. At the same moment the door opened and Mrs Malpas entered. Joe steadied himself, the others were silent at the sight of her small, tragic figure, only the musical box continued to jangle out its tune and the old man to be shaken with equally mechanical chuckles. She did not speak, but took in the whole assembly with her eyes. ‘Evening, ma’am,’ said the clogger. ‘We’ve been giving the old gentleman a bit of a tune to liven him up like, and make him forget his troubles.’ Without answering, she stepped straight over to the musical box and pulled a lever that stopped it. Then she shook the shoulder of her husband, who had not yet realised her coming. ‘What’s up with you, dad?’ she cried. ‘Are you stark mad?’ ‘It’s all right, mother,’ he replied feebly.