It was past mid-day, and although tea and cocoa had never made any great appeal to the gastronomic fancies of Edwin Pothecary, he felt in his present spiritually elevated mood that here was a suitable spot for a well-merited rest and lunch. He entered a deserted room, filled with light oak chairs, and tables with green-tiled tops on which were placed tin vases containing dried ferns. A few bluebottles darted away from the tortuous remains of what had once apparently been a ham, lurking behind tall bottles of sweets on the counter. The room smelt of soda and pickles. Edwin rapped on the table for some time, but no one came. At last a woman entered from the front door leading to the garden. She was fat and out of breath. Edwin coughed and said: “Good-mornin’, madam. May I have a bite of somethin’?” The woman looked at him and continued panting. When her pulmonary contortions had somewhat subsided she said: “I s’pose you ’aven’t seen a pale young man up the lane?” It was difficult to know what made him do it, but Edwin lied. He said: “No.” “Oh!” she replied. “I don’t know where ’e’s got to. ’E’s not s’posed to go out of the garden. ’E’s been ill, you know.” “Really!” “’E’s my nefyer, but I can’t always keep an eye on ’im. ’E’s a bright one, ’e is. I shall ’ave ’im sent back to the ’ome.” “Ah, poor fellow! I suppose he was—injured in the war?” “War!” The plump lady snorted. She became almost aggressive and confidential. She came close up to Edwin and shook her finger backwards and forwards in front of his eyes. “I’ll tell yer ’ow much war ’e done. When they talked about conscription, ’e got that frightened, ’e went out every day and tried to drink himself from a A1 man into a C III man, and by God! ’e succeeded.” “You don’t say so!” “I do say so. And more. When ’is turn came, ’e was in the ’orspital with Delirious Trimmings.” “My God!” “’E’s only just come out. ’E’s all right as long as ’e don’t get ’old of a little money.” “What do you mean?” “If ’e can get ’old of the price of a few whiskies, ’e’ll ’ave another attack come on! What are yer goin’ ter ’ave—tea or cocoa?” “I must go! I must go!” exclaimed the only customer Mrs. Boggins had had for two days, and gripping his umbrella he dashed out of the shop. “Good Lord! there’s another one got ’em!” ejaculated the good landlady. “I wonder whether ’e pinched anything while I was out? ’Ere! Come back, you dirty little bow-legged swipe!” But Mr. Pothecary was racing down the lane, muttering to himself: “Yes, that was a good action! A very good action indeed!” A mile further on he came to a straggling village, a forlorn unkempt spot, only relieved by a gaudy inn called “The Two Tumblers.” Edwin staggered into the private bar and drank two pints of Government ale and a double gin as the liquid accompaniment to a hunk of bread and cheese.