‘Give us your mess-tin, Smart, and have a drink with us,’ said Bourne.

Up went Weeper’s flat hand.

‘No, thank ’ee,’ he said abruptly. ‘Tha needst not think a come back ’ere just to scrounge on thee. If a’d known a would ’ave stayed out yon.’

‘Give me your tin,’ said Bourne. ‘You’re welcome. It’s share and share alike with us. Where’s the sense of sitting alone by yourself, as though you think you are better than the next man?’

‘A’ve never claimed to be better nor the next man,’ said Weeper; ‘an’ a’ve got nowt to share.’

Bourne, taking up his mess-tin without waiting for him to pass it, poured out a fair share of the wine: he felt ashamed, in some strange way, that it should be in his power to give this forlorn, ungainly creature anything. It was as though he were encroaching on the other man’s independence.

‘You don’t mind taking a share of my tea in the morning,’ he said with a rather diffident attempt at humour.

‘A’ve as much reet to that as tha ’ast,’ said Weeper sullenly.

And then he was ashamed immediately of his surliness. He took up the mess-tin and drank a good draught before putting it down again, and breathing deeply with satisfaction.

‘That’s better nor any o’ the stuff us poor buggers can get,’ he said with an attempt at gratitude, which could not quite extinguish his more natural envy; and he moved up closer to them, and to the warmth and light. The wine may have taken some of the edge off his bitterness, but if he felt less unfriendly, he remained rather aloof, only touching on the fringe of their conversation. They were very conscious of his presence there, but gave no sign of it, merely passing him some food from time to time, as though it were a matter of course. They had finished the wine, and thrown away the bottles, when the rest of the section began to come back, singly or in twos and threes, some of them a little drunk. Bourne handed round the rest of the macaroons, all that remained of their feast; and they made ready to sleep.

XV

He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe as cold a night as ’tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.

SHAKESPEARE