“Oh, give us some time to blow the man down!” roared Mr. Bushell, splashing and puffing amid much yellow soap and cold water in the wash-house, whither he had gone for a wash, on coming home from his tug. The voice thundered and rolled through the house, and on the first floor, strangers not used to it grew muddled in their conversation.

“Blow the man down, bully, blow the man down—
To my Aye! Aye! Blow the man down!
Singapore Harbour to gay London town—
Oh, give us some time to blow the man down!”

Up on the first floor landing, “A-a-ah! pore dears!” said Mrs. Bushell, fat and sympathetic, looking up at Johnny, with her head aside and her hands clasped. “Pore dears! No, nobody shan’t disturb ’em! Lor, ’ow I do feel for ’em; an’ you too, Mr. May. Lucky you’re growed up to be a comfort to yer pore mar! There—I won’t say nothin’ about yer father! Runnin’ away so disgraceful an’ all. But I can’t think what parents is comin’ to, some of ’em. There’s the pore gal as is leavin’ the other two rooms o’ Monday, now—sich a quiet, well-be’aved young lady; we wouldn’t ’a’ let ’em stop a week if it wasn’t for ’er sake, bein’ so ’ard to find a respectable lodgin’s with sich a mother. But there—’er mother worries the pore thing’s life out—alwis drinkin’—an’ now she’s akchally in gaol for breakin’ a public-’ouse winder! An’ I sez—”

“Public-house window!” Johnny’s breath came short and thick. “What’s her name?”

“P’raps I shouldn’t ’a’ mentioned it to a stranger, but lor, I don’t s’pose you know ’er, an’ it’s Sansom. But—”

“Where is she? Show me! In here? Is she in now?” Johnny made dashes at divers door-handles with one hand, while Mrs. Bushell, confounded and scandalised, restrained him desperately by the opposite arm. It took some impatient moments to make it plain to the landlady that he intended no violent assault, nor, on consideration, even the rudeness of dashing into a lady’s rooms unannounced. Whereupon Mrs. Bushell went to a door and knocked, Johnny close at her heels. And presently the door opened.

“Nora!”

“Oh Johnny, Johnny, I wish you hadn’t! . . . We shall only—” But with that the words died on the breast of Johnny’s coat. Mrs. Bushell’s eyes opened round, and then her mouth; and then Mrs. Bushell went off very quietly downstairs—eyes and mouth and face all round—and out into the wash-house; and “Blow the Man Down” stopped in the middle.

“Oh, but you know what I said, Johnny! We can’t—you know we can’t!”

“Nonsense! I shan’t let you go now. I’ve got a disreputable mother now—or so they say. Have you heard of yours—since?”

“She’s in the infirmary—very bad. Something’s been forming on the liver for years, the doctor says; and when she couldn’t get anything to drink she broke down at once. But what did you say about your mother?”

Johnny told her the tale. “And now,” he added in the end, “she’s in there, worn out an’ broken down, an’ not a woman in the world to comfort her but my sister. Come in, an’ help.” And they went in together.