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“You did,” ses Bob, “and I thank you for it.”

“I saved your life,” ses George agin, very solemn. “If it hadn’t ha’ been for me you couldn’t ha’ married anybody.”

“That’s true,” ses Bob.

“Me and Gerty ‘ave been having a talk,” ses George, bending down to undo his boots. “We’ve been getting on very well together; you can’t ‘elp your feelings, and the long and the short of it is, the pore gal has fallen in love with me.”

Bob didn’t say a word.

“If you look at it this way it’s fair enough,” ses George. “I gave you your life and you give me your gal. We’re quits now. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t owe you anything. That’s the way Gerty puts it, and she told me to tell you so.”

“If–if she don’t want me I’m agreeable,” ses Bob, in a choking voice. “We’ll call it quits, and next time I tumble overboard I ‘ope you won’t be handy.”

He took Gerty’s photygraph out of ‘is box and handed it to George. “You’ve got more right to it now than wot I ‘ave,” he ses. “I shan’t go round there any more; I shall look out for a ship to-morrow.”

George Crofts said that perhaps it was the best thing he could do, and ‘e asked ‘im in a offhand sort o’ way ‘ow long the room was paid up for.

Mrs. Mitchell ‘ad a few words to say about it next day, but Gerty told ‘er to save ‘er breath for walking upstairs. The on’y thing that George didn’t like when they went out was that young Ted was with them, but Gerty said she preferred it till she knew ‘im better; and she ‘ad so much to say about his noble behaviour in saving life that George gave way. They went out looking at the shops, George thinking that that was the cheapest way of spending an evening, and they were as happy as possible till Gerty saw a brooch she liked so much in a window that he couldn’t get ‘er away.

“It is a beauty,” she ses. “I don’t know when I’ve seen a brooch I liked better. Look here! Let’s all guess the price and then go in and see who’s right.”

They ‘ad their guesses, and then they went in and asked, and as soon as Gerty found that it was only three-and-sixpence she began to feel in her pocket for ‘er purse, just like your wife does when you go out with ‘er, knowing all the time that it’s on the mantelpiece with twopence-ha’penny and a cough lozenge in it.

“I must ha’ left it at ‘ome,” she ses, looking at George.

“Just wot I’ve done,” ses George, arter patting ‘is pockets.

Gerty bit ‘er lips and, for a minute or two, be civil to George she could not. Then she gave a little smile and took ‘is arm agin, and they walked on talking and laughing till she turned round of a sudden and asked a big chap as was passing wot ‘e was shoving ‘er for.

“Shoving you?” ses he. “Wot do you think I want to shove you for?”

“Don’t you talk to me,” ses Gerty, firing up. “George, make ‘im beg my pardon.”

“You ought to be more careful,” ses George, in a gentle sort o’ way.

“Make ‘im beg my pardon,” ses Gerty, stamping ‘er foot; “if he don’t, knock ‘im down.”

“Yes, knock ‘im down,” ses the big man, taking hold o’ George’s cap and rumpling his ‘air.

Pore George, who was never much good with his fists, hit ‘im in the chest, and the next moment he was on ‘is back in the middle o’ the road wondering wot had ‘appened to ‘im. By the time ‘e got up the other man was arf a mile away; and young Ted stepped up and wiped ‘im down with a pocket-‘andkerchief while Gerty explained to ‘im ‘ow she saw ‘im slip on a piece o’ banana peel.