‘No,’ said Bourne, reviewing the matter in a judicial way. ‘No, I shouldn’t have said you were bloody drunk. You walked better going uphill than going down; and you looked as though you were keeping your mouth shut tight for fear you might spill something; but I don’t think you were bloody drunk, Martlow, you just looked as though you had got a comfortable skinful. You did us very well. I felt like enjoying life last night. It was awfully decent of you to take us out.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Martlow. ‘I don’t mind ’avin’ a fat ’ead in the morning, if I’ve ’ad a real good do the night before; on’y I can’t stan’ the buggers who wake up grousin’ about it. You know, me ol’ dad at ’ome, ’e’s a decent ol’ sport, but when ’e gets a skinful sometimes ’e’s that surly you wouldn’t credit it. ’e’s keeper to Mr Squele, ’e is; an’ one day after a shoot me mother ’ad a good dinner for ’im, a real nice piece o’ beef it were, an’ ’e went into the Plough at Squelesby wi’ some o’ the other keepers, an’ they all started moppin’ up a few drinks there, an’ chewin’ the fat about what kind o’ sport they’d ’ad, an’ what bloody poor shots some o’ the guns were. Well, me mother didn’t want the beef spilin’ in the oven; an’ at last she cut ’im off some, an’ put it on a plate wi’ another plate over it, an’ put it back in the oven, leavin’ the door open, so as it would keep ’ot. An’ we all ’ad our own dinners, me mother, an’ me sister, who was in gentleman’s service, she were with Mr Squele too, then, an’ me two brothers, they’re out in Salonika now wi’ the Cheshires. An’ after we’d all ’ad our dinner, an’ it were real nice beef, wi’ a bit o’ Yorkshire puddin’ an’ cauliflower and taters, me sister’s young man calls to walk back wi’ ’er, and me elder brother, Dick, ’e goes off to meet ’is pusher, and then me brother Tom slips out. ’e didn’t ’ave a girl then, but ’e used to follow ’em up, and ’ide be’ind a ’edge to ’ear ’em tellin’ the tale. ’e got the ’ell of a leatherin’ for it one night.

‘Well, I stayed be’ind to ’elp me mother wash up, and put the things away; an’ she were gettin’ a bit up the pole then, an’ she’d go to the oven, an’ take the plate out an’ look at it, an’ put it back again, an’ she’d give me a clout over the ’ead for summat I ’adn’t done; an’ at last she looked at the plate, an’ the meat were all gettin’ dried up, so she put it on the rack, an’ said she wouldn’t give a damn if ’e never came back. She left the cloth on the table, an’ ’is knife an’ fork, an’ she got the lamp, an’ sat down to darn stockin’s by the fire. She ’ad one o’ them china eggs for darnin’, an’ I used to think that if you tied it up in the toe of a stockin’ what a bloody great crack on the ’ead you could give someone wi’ it. She wouldn’t let me go out, made me get a book an’ sit opposite ’er. I on’y wanted to get out o’ the way, I did.