MR. SMEETH GETS HIS RISE

off a man he knew in Birmingham—I believe he worked
for him—and it seems this man talks on one side of
his mouth, can't help it, you see, and Fred started—"

"I think, if you don't mind, we'll have all this to-
morrow, Edie," said Mr. Smeeth, standing up, "I feel
like going to bed. I'm tired."

"Oh, all right, Mister Methodical," cried Mrs. Smeeth
good-humouredly. "Fat lot of good it is saving a joke
for you, isn't it? Never mind, you'll see for yourself
on Saturday. I'll ask Fred to do it again. They're all
coming up on Saturday night."

"Oh, they are, are they," said Mr. Smeeth with an
entire lack of enthusiasm.

"Oh, I know what you'd like to say," she told him,
as they moved to the door. "But I had to ask them
back, hadn't I? Besides, we've got to have a bit of life
sometimes."

That was true enough. He didn't want to spoil her
fun. He hadn't told her about the rise yet, and he wasn't
sure if he was going to tell her. Somebody had to do
the worrying and saving at 17, Chaucer Road. Turn
turn turn turn—no, he couldn't get it. He turned out
the light and followed his wife upstairs.

ALL the following day, he told himself that he would
not say a word to Mrs. Smeeth about the extra money
until he had made arrangements to save most of it.
Once he had committed himself, it would be safe—
though not pleasant-to tell her. In the meantime, if
she asked him why he wasn't getting the rise he had
been promised, he would have to put her off with somf