Liza, excitedly, at which the unlucky men had to pull out their coppers, while Sally and Liza made ludicrously bad shots at the coconuts.
'It looks so bloomin' easy,' said Liza, brushing up her hair, 'but I can't 'it the blasted thing. You 'ave a shot, Tom.'
He and Harry were equally unskilful, but Jim got three coconuts running, and the proprietors of the show began to look on him with some concern.
'You are a dab at it,' said Liza, in admiration.
They tried to induce Mrs. Blakeston to try her luck, but she stoutly refused.
'I don't old with such foolishness. It's wiste of money ter me,' she said.
'Na then, don't crack on, old tart,' remarked her husband, 'let's go an' eat the coconuts.'
There was one for each couple, and after the ladies had sucked the juice they divided them and added their respective shares to their dinners and teas. Supper came next. Again they fell to sausage-rolls, boiled eggs, and saveloys, and countless bottles of beer were added to those already drunk.
'I dunno 'ow many bottles of beer I've drunk—I've lost count,' said Liza; whereat there was a general laugh.
They still had an hour before the brake was to start back, and it was then the concertinas came in useful. They sat down on the grass, and the concert was begun by Harry, who played a solo; then there was a call for a song, and Jim stood up and sang that ancient ditty, 'O dem Golden Kippers, O'. There was no shyness in the company, and Liza, almost without being asked, gave another popular comic song. Then there was more concertina playing, and another demand for a song. Liza turned to Tom, who was sitting quietly by her side.
'Give us a song, old cock,' she said.
'I can't,' he answered. 'I'm not a singin' sort.' At which Blakeston got up and offered to sing again.
'Tom is rather a soft,' said Liza to herself, 'not like that cove Blakeston.'
They repaired to the public-house to have a few last drinks before the brake started, and when the horn blew to warn them, rather unsteadily, they proceeded to take their places.
Liza, as she scrambled up the steps, said: 'Well, I believe I'm boozed.'
The coachman had arrived at the melancholy stage of intoxication, and was sitting on his box holding his reins, with his head bent on his chest. He was thinking sadly of the long-lost days of his youth, and wishing he had been a better man.
Liza had no respect for such holy emotions, and she brought down her fist on the crown of his hat, and bashed it over his eyes.
'Na then, old jellybelly,' she said, 'wot's the good of 'avin' a fice as long as a kite?'
He turned round and smote her.
'Jellybelly yerself!' said he.
'Puddin' fice!' she cried.
'Kite fice!'
'Boss eye!'
She was tremendously excited, laughing and singing, keeping the whole company in an uproar. In her jollity she had changed hats with Tom, and he in her big feathers made her shriek with laughter. When they started they began to sing 'For 'e's a jolly good feller', making the night resound with their noisy voices.
Liza and Tom and the Blakestons had got a seat together, Liza being between the two men. Tom was perfectly happy, and only wished that they might go on so for ever. Gradually as they drove along they became quieter, their singing ceased, and they talked in undertones. Some of them slept; Sally and her young man were leaning up against one another, slumbering quite peacefully. The night was beautiful, the sky still blue, very dark, scattered over with countless brilliant stars, and Liza, as she looked up at the heavens, felt a certain emotion, as if she wished to be taken in someone's arms, or feel some strong man's caress; and there was in her heart a strange sensation as though it were growing big. She stopped speaking, and all four were silent. Then slowly she felt Tom's arm steal round her waist, cautiously, as though it were afraid of being there; this time both she and Tom were happy. But suddenly there was a movement on the other side of her, a hand was advanced along her leg, and her hand was grasped and gently pressed. It was Jim Blakeston. She started a little and began trembling so that Tom noticed it, and whispered:
'You're cold, Liza.'
'Na, I'm not, Tom; it's only a sort of shiver thet went through me.'
His arm gave her waist a squeeze, and at the same time the big rough hand pressed her little one. And so she sat between them till they reached the 'Red Lion' in the Westminster Bridge Road, and Tom said to himself: 'I believe she does care for me after all.'
When they got down they all said good night, and Sally and Liza, with their respective slaves and the Blakestons, marched off homewards. At the corner of Vere Street Harry said to Tom and Blakeston:
'I say, you blokes, let's go an' 'ave another drink before closin' time.'
'I don't mind,' said Tom, 'after we've took the gals 'ome.'
'Then we shan't 'ave time, it's just on closin' time now.' answered Harry.
'Well, we can't leave 'em 'ere.'
'Yus, you can,' said Sally. 'No one'll run awy with us.'
Tom did not want to part from Liza, but she broke in with:
'Yus, go on, Tom. Sally an' me'll git along arright, an' you ain't got too much time.'
'Yus, good night, 'Arry,' said Sally to settle the matter.
'Good night, old gal,' he answered, 'give us another slobber.'
And she, not at all unwilling, surrendered herself to him, while he imprinted two sounding kisses on her cheeks.
'Good night, Tom,' said Liza, holding out her hand.
'Good night, Liza,' he answered, taking it, but looking very wistfully at her.
She understood, and with a kindly smile lifted up her face to him. He bent down and, taking her in his arms, kissed her passionately.
'You do kiss nice, Liza,' he said, making the others laugh.
'Thanks for tikin' me aht, old man,' she said as they parted.
'Arright, Liza,' he answered, and added, almost to himself: 'God bless yer!'
''Ulloa, Blakeston, ain't you comin'?' said Harry, seeing that Jim was walking off with his wife instead of joining him and Tom.
'Na,' he answered, 'I'm goin' 'ome. I've got ter be up at five ter-morrer.'
'You are a chap!' said Harry, disgustedly, strolling off with Tom to the pub, while the others made their way down the sleeping street.
The house where Sally lived came first, and she left them; then, walking a few yards more, they came to the Blakestons', and after a little talk at the door Liza bade the couple good night, and was left to walk the rest of the way home. The street was perfectly silent, and the lamp-posts, far apart, threw a dim light which only served to make Lisa realize her solitude. There was such a
