‘What about the chair?’ said Birkin.

‘Yes, all right,’ said the woman.

They trailed off to the dealer, the handsome but abject young fellow hanging a little aside.

‘That’s it,’ said Birkin. ‘Will you take it with you, or have the address altered.’

‘Oh, Fred can carry it. Make him do what he can for the dear old ‘ome.’

‘Mike use of’im,’ said Fred, grimly humorous, as he took the chair from the dealer. His movements were graceful, yet curiously abject, slinking.

‘‘Ere’s mother’s cosy chair,’ he said. ‘Warnts a cushion.’ And he stood it down on the market stones.