“'Ow'd I like it? 'Ow'd a fly like ter git h'out o' the treacle? 'Ow'd a dawg like ter find 'isself rid o' fleas? 'Ow'd a----? Gawd bless me soul--meanin' no prefanity --wot a bloomin' silly quesching!” He paused reflectively. “But a dawg, Master Peter, gits sorter useter 'is fleas, and a fly might kinder miss the treacle. H'I'd like it well enough; but if there warn't nothink ter taik me thoughts h'orf o' meself, I'd feel lonesome wivout 'er naggin'.” Peter laughed. “I'll give you something to do with your thoughts. My Uncle Ocky----.” Mr. Grace woke up, turned ponderously and surveyed Peter. “That's h'it, is h'it? That awright. Rum old card, yer uncle! H'I never fancied as h'I'd let h'anyone taik the plaice wot Cat's Meat 'eld in me h'affections. 'E 'as. Tells me h'all 'is troubles, 'e does. Life's gone 'ard wiv 'im since Mr. Widder sent 'im packin.' My fault--I'm not denyin' h'it. We 'as our glass tergether and we both 'ates wimmen--or sez we does. 'E borrers a bit from me nar and then. Mr. Waffles and me is good pals--we 'as lots in common. You, for h'instance.” Peter inquired from Mr. Grace where he would be likeliest to find his uncle. “Likeliest! H'if yer puts it that waie, h'I should saie yer'd be likeliest ter find 'im in a pub.” Out of the tail of his eye Ocky saw Peter entering. “Horrid stuff,” he said loudly; then in a whisper to the barmaid, “Give me another three penn'orth.---- Why, hulloa, old son!” Peter led him into a private room and said he'd pay for it. “D'you remember that night at the Trocadero--you know, when Glory was with us. I told you what I'd do for you if I ever had money. Suppose I could give you a chance to pull straight, what would you do with it?” Tears came into Ocky's eyes; he'd grown unused to kindness. “Is it the truth you're wanting, Peter?---- If you gave me the chance to pull straight, I'd do what I've always done--mess it.” Peter shook his head incredulously and smiled. “Don't believe you. You'd pull straight fast enough if you knew that anyone cared for you.” “No one does, except you, Peter.” “Oh yes, there's someone--someone whom you and I, yes, and I believe all of us, are always forgetting.” [Illustration: 0457] Ocky looked up slowly. “You mean Glory.” He leant across the table, tapping with his trembling fingers. “Know why I went to hell?--it sounds weak to say it. I went to hell because I had no woman to hold me back with love. If I could have Glory---. But she'll be thinking of marrying. I've spoilt her chances enough already.” “If you could have Glory,” Peter insisted, “and if you were to have, say, five hundred pounds, what would you do then?” “The truth again?” “Nothing else would be of any use, would it?” “If I had five hundred pounds and Glory, I'd move into the country and buy a pub. I've lived to be over fifty, I've learnt only one bit of knowledge from life.” “What is it?” Ocky flushed. “To you I'm ashamed to say it.” “Never mind. Say it.”