“I see it,” he said.

Beddoes looked cautiously round the room. Its occupants were engaged in talk, either in pairs or in groups. He and Ivan, perhaps rather unfortunately, were the only solitaries. No one appeared to have noticed what was going on at the bar. Indeed, Ivan’s voice was so weak and wheezy that Beddoes imagined it must be inaudible beyond the range of his immediate circle.

“I see it,” he repeated, breathlessly. “I told ’im what it look like. How could I tell ’im unless I see it?”

“No, that’s right, mate,” agreed Nut-face, with a pessimistic glance at his friends.

“I told ’im,” continued Ivan, heedless of a need to clear his throat. “I told ’im all about it.” His expression grew maudlin. “Ah, it was lovely,” he sighed.

“What was, mate?” asked Nut-face patiently.

“The egg.”

Nut-face tapped his forehead to the others. “What egg?”

“The Easter egg. I told ’im. All white an’ glittering, lovely, like ice an’ frost an’ stars.”

“Blimey!” Nut-face raised his eyebrows. “Bleedin’ poet!”

“Sounds more like a perishin’ Christmas egg.” The morose Jim spoke up suddenly. “Yes, I reckon thass what that was—a perishin’ Christmas egg, eh Joe? A Christmas egg.”

It was only by the repetition that he showed satisfaction with his wit. His face was as lugubrious as ever.

Nut-face burst out laughing. “’Ere, Daff!” He leaned across the bar to communicate the mot, which was still being mumbled by its author.

“Lovely,” said Ivan. He raised his eyes, and Beddoes saw that they were swimming with tears. “An’ I lost it, I lost it. I lost all of it.” The tears ran down his cheeks.

“Oh gorblimey!” muttered Nut-face in disgust. “What about it, Joe?”

“Cheer up, cock,” said Joe, laying a paternal hand on Ivan’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go ’ome?”

Ivan made such a convulsive movement that Joe, evidently thinking he was about to be sick, stepped hastily out of range. Ivan was not sick; but in a moment his former vacancy returned. He swung his back to the man who had bought him his drink, which he had not yet finished.

Beddoes moved unobtrusively away. He went back to where he had been sitting, picked up his newspaper and pencil and left the pub. At any minute, he felt, Ivan also would be leaving, either voluntarily or propelled by Joe and Co. He walked a few yards along the main road, then stopped, and with great deliberation took out a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. He covertly blew out three matches to prolong the business of lighting it, but the fourth he let alone. Then he dropped his paper, contriving in letting it fall to catch the edge of the centre page and fan it wide apart, and to place it so that he had to turn back to face the pub. He picked the paper up carefully, folding it into a tight roll; and, as he finished, was rewarded by the sight of the pub door swinging open and Ivan staggering out; alone.