I smiled， which so annoyed him that he bet me two to one insovereigns. The bet could have been decided most quickly byasking William a question， but I thought， foolishly doubtless，that it might hurt his feelings， so I watched him leave theclub. The possibility of Upjohn’s winning the bet had seemedremote to me. Conceive my surprise， therefore， when Williamwent westward.
Amazed， I pursued him along two streets without realizingthat I was doing so. Then curiosity put me into a hansom. Wefollowed William， and it proved to be a three-shilling fare， forrunning when he was in breath and walking when he was outof it， he took me to West Kensington.
I discharged my cab， and from across the street watchedWilliam’s incomprehensible behavior. He had stopped at adingy row of workmen’s houses， and knocked at the darkenedwindow of one of them. Presently a light showed. So far asI could see， someone pulled up the blind and for ten minutestalked to William. I was uncertain whether they talked for thewindow was not opened， and I felt that， had William spokenthrough the glass loud enough to be heard inside， I musthave heard him too. Yet he nodded and beckoned. I was stillbewildered when， by setting off the way he had come， he gaveme the opportunity of going home.
Knowing from the talk of the club what the lower orders are，could I doubt that this was some discreditable love affair ofWilliam’s？ His solicitude for his wife had been mere pretence；so far as it was genuine， it meant that he feared she mightrecover. He probably told her that he was detained nightly inthe club till three.
I was miserable next day and blamed the devilled kidneysfor it. Whether William was unfaithful to his wife was nothingto me， but I had two plain reasons for insisting on his goingstraight home from his club： the one， that， as he had made melose a bet， I would punish him； the other， that he could waitupon me better if he went to bed betimes.
Yet I did not question him. There was something in his facethat—. Well， I seemed to see his dying wife in it.
I was so out of sorts that I could eat no dinner. I left the club.
Happening to stand for some time at the foot of the street， Ichanced to see the girl Jenny coming， and—. No； let me tellthe truth， though the whole club reads； I was waiting for her.
“How is William’s wife to-day？” I asked.
“She told me to nod three times，” the little slattern replied；“but she looked like nothink but a dead one till she got thebrandy.”
“Hush， child！” I said， shocked. “You don’t know how thedead look.”
“Bless yer，” she answered， “don’t I just！ Why， I’ve helped tolay ‘em out. I’m going on seven.”
“Is William good to his wife？”
“Course he is. Ain’t she his missis？”
“Why should that make him good to her？” I asked cynically，out of my knowledge of the poor. But the girl， precocious inmany ways， had never had my opportunities of studying thelower classes in the newspapers， fiction， and club talk. Sheshut one eye， and looking up wonderingly， said：
“Ain’t you green—just！”
“When does William reach home at night？”
“‘tain’t night； it’s morning. When I wakes up at half darkand half light and hears a door shutting I know as it’s eitherfather going off to his work or Mr. Hicking coming home fromhis.”
“Who is Mr. Hicking？”
“Him as we’ve been speaking on—William. We calls himmister， ‘cause he’s a toff. Father’s just doing jobs in CoventGarden， but Mr. Hicking， he’s a waiter， and a clean shirt everyday. The old woman would like father to be a waiter， but hehain’t got the ‘ristocratic look.”
“What old woman？”
“Go ‘long！ that’s my mother. Is it true there’s a waiter in theclub just for to open the door？”
“Yes， but—”
“And another just for to lick the stamps？ My！”
“William leaves the club at one o’clock？” I said， interrogatively.
She nodded. “My mother，” she said， “is one to talk， and shesays to Mr. Hicking as he should get away at twelve， ‘causehis missis needs him more"n the gentlemen need him. The oldwoman do talk.”
“And what does William answer to that？”
“He says as the gentlemen can’t be kept waiting for theircheese.”
“But William does not go straight home when he leaves theclub？”
“That’s the kid.”
“Kid！” I echoed， scarcely understanding， for knowing howlittle the poor love their children， I had asked William noquestions about the baby.
“Didn’t you know his missis had a kid？”
“Yes， but that is no excuse for William’s staying away fromhis sick wife，” I answered， sharply. A baby in such a home asWilliam’s， I reflected， must be trying， but still—. Besides hisclass can sleep through any din.
“The kid ain’t in our court，” the girl explained. “He’s in W.， heis， and I’ve never been out of W.C.， leastwise， not as I knows on.”
“This is W. I suppose you mean that the child is at WestKensington？ Well， no doubt it was better for William’s wife toget rid of the child—”
“Better！” interposed the girl. “‘tain’t better for her not tohave the kid. Ain’t her not having him what she’s alwaysthinking on when she looks like a dead one.”
“How could you know that？”
“‘Cause，” answered the girl， illustrating her words with agesture， “I watches her， and I sees her arms going this way， justlike as she wanted to hug her kid.”
“Possibly you are right，” I said， frowning， “but William hasput the child out to nurse because it disturbed his night’s rest.
A man who has his work to do—”
“You are green！”
“Then why have the mother and child been separated？”
“Along of that there measles. Near all the young ‘uns in ourcourt has ‘em bad.”
“Have you had them？”
“I said the young ‘uns.”
“And William sent the baby to West Kensington to escapeinfection？”
“Took him， he did.”
“Against his wife’s wishes？”
“Na-o！”
“You said she was dying for want of the child？”
“Wouldn’t she rayther die than have the kid die？”
“Don’t speak so heartlessly， child. Why does William not gostraight home from the club？ Does he go to West Kensingtonto see it？”
“‘tain’t a hit， it’s an ‘e. ‘Course he do.”
“Then he should not. His wife has the first claim on him.”