MR.    SMEETH    GETS    HIS    RISE	$21
looked tipsy, bedraggled and forlorn, and as its disgusted
owner wearily moved about, throwing bits of stuff into
the fire and straightening things, he felt as if the Mitty
crew had left their sign and mark on it for ever. He
threw open the windows and was just in time to hear
from outside the last good nights.
His wife came in. "George has gone to bed," she
announced. "I was telling him he seemed quite struck
with young Dot."
Mr. Smeeth grunted.
She followed her usual practice on these occasions,
sitting down by the fire with a last sandwich, prepared
for a cosy little gossip about the evening. 'Trn not going
to touch a thing to-night. It'll have to wait until the
morning. Well, well, I must say I've enjoyed myself
to-night; whether other people have or not/* For a
moment her face was alight with reminiscent mirth,
that pleasant afterglow of jolly evenings, but it died
out as she looked at her husband. "But I must say too,
Dad, I never saw you in such a mood. I expect you
thought I wasn't noticing you, but I was. Couldn't help
it. Quite grumpy you were, half the time, and down-
right rude, if you ask me, once or twice. Fred's wife
noticed it, too."
Mr. Smeeth mumbled something to the effect that he
did not much care what Fred's wife noticed.
"Perhaps you're tired, are you, boy?" she said, her
manner changing. "I thought once or twice you looked
tired, and Mrs. Dalby told me she thought you were
looking a bit tired to-night."
"I expect I am," said Mr. Smeeth.
"Ah, well, that's different, isn't it, when you're tired
and you don't feel in the humour for it? Never mind,
L*