HE third round of deliveries was finished, and, arrived at his last evening, Erb, coat and collar off, washed away the traces of work in the stable pail with the aid of some aggressive soft soap that seemed to have its own way in everything. He had brought with him that morning a parcel of private clothes, and just before going out with the six o'clock turn, he had changed, and had handed in the corduroy uniform. A relief to feel that he no longer wore the brass buttons of servitude; of late they had seemed to reproach him. He had driven round the Surrey side with the air of a sporting gentleman taking out his own horse and trap; the private clothes helped him to say his good-byes with dignity to all, and especially to his old enemy, the van foreman.
“You would go on in your own tin-pot way,” said the van foreman regretfully, “no matter what I said. Your case ought to act as a warnin'.”
“To you?”
“I should have thought,” said the van foreman, with a wistful air, “after all that's passed between us we might as well part good friends, at any rate.”
“Look here, old chap,” said Erb good-temperedly, “I tried to out you, and you tried to out me; and you've got the best of it. I don't complain, but I'm not going to pretend I'm on friendly terms with a man when I ain't.”
“That's what I say,” retorted the van foreman argumentatively. “You've got no discretion.”
The manners of William Henry had about them a fine blend of condescension; the lad came forward from the tail of the van and sat on a hamper, big with news. He had been approached that afternoon and informed that, consequent on the departure of Erb, there would be some changes, and would he, William Henry, accept the position of junior porter at fourteen shillings a week.
“I shall probably work on from that,” said William Henry, “to some even higher position, and then on again. See? And if ever you want a friend,
“I don't let boys call me Erb. Mr. Barnes, if you please.”
“If I'm a boy,” said William Henry thoughtfully, “I don't quite see where you're going to find your men. As I was a sayin', if ever you should be down in the gutter—and, mind you, there's unlikelier things than that—you come to me. It may be in my power to 'elp you. And I tell you what you can do for me in exchange. You might take the van 'ome to the stables by yourself, so that I can run round to Rotherhithe New Road and tell my young lady.”
“Your young lady!”
“And why not?” demanded William Henry with some indignation. “We ain't all like you.”
Men balanced themselves on the edge of the kerb outside the “Druid's Arms,” and whilst a swollen-faced cornet blared patriotic tunes at them from the opposite side in a ferocious way that permitted of no argument, some of the youngest tried to do a few steps of a dance. Two butchers, affecting to be rivals, chaffed each other derisively in raucous voices, one demanding to know how the widow was, and, on the second man replying incautiously, “What widder?” the first explained that he referred to the widow of the man who bought a joint at the second man's shop last Saturday week. A hoarse-voiced man sold cough tablets for the voice; a mild, sightless old man, with bootlaces, had an eager little girl with him, who cried shrilly and commandingly and unceasingly, “Petronise the belind, petronise the belind, petronise the belind.” Boys and girls thrust bunches of flowers against the noses of passers-by; a depressed woman cried, “Twenty-four comic papers for a punny,” with a catch in her voice that expressed regret at the small demand for humour. Erb nodded to the uniformed men whom he recognised, and, going into the bar, found his competitor Spanswick. Always a short, stout man, Spanswick to-night had every sign of his insufficient neck covered with white collar; Erb was pleased to see that Spanswick's tie had rucked up at the back.
Spanswick stopped suddenly in the remarks he was making to an interested group who stood leaning over him in the manner of palm trees, and, coming away, shook hands publicly and elaborately with Erb, as men in the boxing ring salute their opponents.
“Feeling fit?”
“Never better,” said Erb. “How's yourself?”
“Bit of a cold,” said Spanswick with important reserve; “but otherwise middling.”