MR.    SMEETH    IS    REASSURED	71
is a mystery, unless he had come to the conclusion that
the Canterbury Pilgrims, who have never vanished from
this island, might come to rest in the twentieth century
behind his brick walls. But there it was, Chaucer Road,
and Mr. Smeeth had once tried his hand at Chaucer, but
what with one thing and another, the queer spelling
and all that, had not made much of him, All that he
remembered now was that Chaucer had called birds
"Smally foulies," and to this day, when he was in a
waggish mood, Mr. Smeeth liked to bring in "smally
foulies," only to be countered with "You and your
"smelly foulies!' " from a delighted Mrs. Smeeth, To-
wards 17, Chaucer Road, Mr. Smeeth now stepped out,
swinging his folded newspaper, through the alternating
lamplight and gloom, the crisping air, of the autumn
evening. Dinner, with a cup of tea to follow, awaited
him, for during the week, Mr, Smeeth, like a wise
man, preferred to dine when work was done for the
day.
"Cur some off for George," said Mrs. Smeeth, "and I'll
keep it warm for him. He's going to be late again.
"You're a bit late yourself to-night, Dad/'
"I know. We've had a funny day to-day," replied Mr.
Smeeth, but for the time being he did not pursue the
subject. He was busy carving, and though it was only
cold mutton he was carving, he liked to give it all his
attention.
"Now then, Edna," cried Mrs. Smeeth to her daughter,