The barman walked across the yard and picked up a huge bucket of clean water. He had evidently guessed the navvy's weak point, for the latter rose quickly, if somewhat unsteadily, to his feet, with the expression of a man who has narrowly escaped some strange and horrible danger. He staggered slowly to the gate, and then, turning round, addressed his late opponent in a voice of dignified rebuke. "Thash 'ow you lose cushtom. I shan't come 'ere no more." The Microbe "Wot's a microbe, Sam?" inquired Bill Gerridge, putting down his pipe, and looking up from the paper which he had been laboriously reading for the last quarter of an hour. "A microbe!" repeated Sam doubtfully. "Why a sort o' hinsect--ain't it, Mr. Parbury?" "Well, it ain't exactly a insect," answered Mr. Parbury with some deliberation. "More like a reptile, as yer might say. Somethin' arter the nature of a rat with wings." "Kind o' bat?" put in Bill. "You've got it," agreed Mr. Parbury. "Any'ow, they're dangerous beasts." "'Ow's that?" asked Sam. Mr. Parbury took a long pull at his pewter tankard, and then replaced it on the table. "Yer know wot a mad dog's like, don't yer?" he said impressively. "Well, yer can take it from me that a mad dog ain't in it with a microbe. Once a microbe gets a fair 'old on yer, ye're a goner an' no error." "Why?" demanded Bill sceptically. "Wot do they do to yer?" "Do to yer?" echoed Mr. Parbury. "Poisons yer! That's wot they do to yer. Each microbe's got some special disease of 'is own like, and 'e only 'as to get in one nip an' 'e can pass it on--see?" "Why don't they muzzle 'em or stamp 'em out?" suggested Sam, who had a practical mind. Mr. Parbury laughed scornfully. "Ah!" he said, "that would take a bit o' doin', that would. The only chaps wot understands the way to deal with microbes is doctors. They get so used to 'em they can 'andle 'em like terriers. Didn't I never tell yer that yarn o' Spikey Joe's, 'bout the doctor wot were in the Scrubs same time as 'e were?" Sam shook his head, while Bill's naturally expressionless face betrayed no sign of recognition. "Fancy my not 'avin' told yer that," said Mr. Parbury musingly. "Wonnerful interestin' story too. If I weren't so uncommon dry, I'd tell it yer now." Sam waited a moment or two to see if Bill were going to speak, and then remarked with a faint touch of resentment in his voice: "Give it a name, Mr. Parbury." Comfortably installed, with a fresh "bitter and Burton" at his elbow, Mr. Parbury repeated, nodding his head and smiling gently to himself, "It's a wonnerful interestin' story, that is. Spikey Joe told it to me 'isself one night at the Star and Anchor. Ye mind 'ow 'e got into trouble 'bout four years back, on account o' knockin' a copper over the 'ead?" "It wasn't the 'ead," said Sam. "It was the stummick."