The ill-assorted chairs, tables and sofas which they collected under their roof had this in common at the end, that they were strong; and having by their own efforts made them strong, the boys did not by their rioting make them weak again. They respected their handiwork, and Dubby’s chintz procured a sort of uniformity. A club, of course, must eat and drink, and kitchen utensils, mostly odd but all practicable, were gathered together that they might precede the pleasures of eating with the pleasures of cooking. It was camp-life in town, except that they went home to sleep, and so long as the activities of “settling in” endured, they relished it abundantly. About a fortnight was what Sam had mentally set as the life of the Hell-fire Club, and he had no intentions of paying the rent by himself for more than a week or so. They had decided that Sunday was not a club-day--there were difficulties at home--and Sam took George Chappie for a walk. “I like this street,” he said as they turned the corner. “Madge always fancied this district.” “Did she?” said George gloomily. “We’ll go in here,” and Sam produced the key and introduced George to the Club premises. “What do you think of it?” The chintz took George’s eye at once. “By gum!” he said. “Sit down,” said Sam. “This is where you’re going to live when you’re married to Madge. It isn’t your furniture yet, but it’s going to be. I’m going to give it you for a wedding present. There isn’t a bed in, as you see, but there will be, and I ask you, George, is it or is it not better than Mrs. Whitehead’s?” “Aye,” said George, “but you’re going ahead a bit too fast for me.” “Not at all,” said Sam. “Yours is the pace that kills. The slow pace, not the quick. Now, this place isn’t at your disposal yet, but if you’ll put up the banns next Sunday and get married as soon as you can after the three Sundays, you can walk in here and hang your hat up on that hook. It’s a brass hook, George. We don’t approve of nails in this house. I might mention that it will be all right about the banns. Mother has dinner to cook on Sundays and doesn’t go to morning service, and to-day is father’s Sunday off from the station and lie’s on duty for the next three Sundays. So,” he concluded, “there you are.” “You’re promising a lot. Is this house yours?” “The rent is four-and-six,” said Sam, “which isn’t more than you can afford to pay. And you bind yourself to nothing by putting up the banns. If I fail to deliver you this house and all that’s in it, you needn’t get married. But I’ve a word of advice for you, George. Let Madge hear of it first from the parson’s lips in church. She won’t scream and she won’t faint. We don’t, in our family, and it saves you the trouble of asking her. Is it a bet?” George hesitated. “Come upstairs and see the other room,” said Sam. George saw, and marvelled. “I’ll come round with you now to church,” said Sam. “We’ve just nice time to catch the clerk after service.”