straightforward affairs in which the sausage had something more than a walking-on part, were famous among her friends. Her blanc-mange, jam puffs, rock-cakes, and sandwiches had already established her reputation with those who had been privileged to taste them. She basked in the sunshine of the praise lavished on what she provided. Without it she would have felt that her party was a failure.

This evening there was no lack of approval, cordially expressed. Mrs. Stitchley, who purposely had partaken of a light luncheon and no tea, was particularly loud in her encomiums, preluding each sausage-roll she took, from the sixth onwards, with some fresh adjective.

Mrs. Bindle was almost happy.

She was in the act of pouring out a glass of lemonade for Miss Lamb, when suddenly she paused. An unaccustomed sound from the kitchen had arrested her hand. Others heard it too, and the hum of con[Pg 76]versation died away into silence, broken only by Mr. Hearty's mastication of a sausage-roll.

[Pg 76]

Through the dividing wall came the sound of a concertina. Mrs. Bindle put down the jug and turned towards the door. As she did so a thin, nasal voice broke into song:

For 'e was oiled in every joint,

A bobby came up who was standin' point.

He blew 'is whistle to summon more,

Bill got 'ome on the point of 'is jaw.

Then 'e screamed, an' kicked, an' bit their knees,

As each grabbed a leg or an arm by degrees.

An' that's 'ow Bill Morgan was taken 'ome

On the night of 'is first wife's funeral.

The verse was followed by a full-throated chorus, accompanied by a pounding as if someone were hurling bricks about.

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