“Grubb, o' man,” he said, distilling the quintessence, “I'm fair sick of this shop.” “So'm I,” said Grubb. “I'm out of conceit with it. I don't seem to care ever to speak to a customer again.” “There's that trailer,” said Grubb, after a pause. “Blow the trailer!” said Bert. “Anyhow, I didn't leave a deposit on it. I didn't do that. Still--” He turned round on his friend. “Look 'ere,” he said, “we aren't gettin' on here. We been losing money hand over fist. We got things tied up in fifty knots.” “What can we do?” said Grubb. “Clear out. Sell what we can for what it will fetch, and quit. See? It's no good 'anging on to a losing concern. No sort of good. Jest foolishness.” “That's all right,” said Grubb--“that's all right; but it ain't your capital been sunk in it.” “No need for us to sink after our capital,” said Bert, ignoring the point. “I'm not going to be held responsible for that trailer, anyhow. That ain't my affair.” “Nobody arst you to make it your affair. If you like to stick on here, well and good. I'm quitting. I'll see Bank Holiday through, and then I'm O-R-P-H. See?” “Leavin' me?” “Leavin' you. If you must be left.” Grubb looked round the shop. It certainly had become distasteful. Once upon a time it had been bright with hope and new beginnings and stock and the prospect of credit. Now--now it was failure and dust. Very likely the landlord would be round presently to go on with the row about the window.... “Where d'you think of going, Bert?” Grubb asked. Bert turned round and regarded him. “I thought it out as I was walking 'ome, and in bed. I couldn't sleep a wink.” “What did you think out?” “Plans.” “What plans?” “Oh! You're for stickin, here.” “Not if anything better was to offer.” “It's only an ideer,” said Bert. “You made the girls laugh yestiday, that song you sang.” “Seems a long time ago now,” said Grubb. “And old Edna nearly cried--over that bit of mine.” “She got a fly in her eye,” said Grubb; “I saw it. But what's this got to do with your plan?” “No end,” said Bert. “'Ow?” “Don't you see?” “Not singing in the streets?” “Streets! No fear! But 'ow about the Tour of the Waterin' Places of England, Grubb? Singing! Young men of family doing it for a lark? You ain't got a bad voice, you know, and mine's all right. I never see a chap singing on the beach yet that I couldn't 'ave sung into a cocked hat. And we both know how to put on the toff a bit. Eh? Well, that's my ideer. Me and you, Grubb, with a refined song and a breakdown. Like we was doing for foolery yestiday. That was what put it into my 'ead. Easy make up a programme--easy. Six choice items, and one or two for encores and patter. I'm all right for the patter anyhow.”