THEY GO HOME

Smeeth and Edna, but it seemed quite crowded and as
thick, hot, and smelly, as if people had been eating,
drinking and smoking in it for weeks. It made Mr.
Smeeth feel very angry and disgusted.

Mrs. Smeeth stared at him, and looked uneasy.
"Hello, Dad," she cried. "I didn't expect you back so
soon/7

"So it seems/'

"Didn't you go to the concert?"

Fred Mitty, very flushed, was about to help himself
from a bottle that stood, with other bottles, glasses, and
some cake and biscuits, on a little table in the centre of
the room. He was leaning forward, but straightened
himself when he saw Mr. Smeeth standing there.
'Thought you was having some classical music to-night,
Pa," he roared. "Gave it a miss, eh?"

Mr. Smeeth advanced into the room, breathing hard.
He looked at Mitty. "I've been working hard/' he said
pointedly, "and I want some peace and quietness now,
So 111 say good night."

"What d'you mean, Dad?" cried Mrs. Smeeth.

But the irrepressible Fred could not resist this. "Well,
night-night, Pa," he yelled, "if you're going to bed.
Don't let me keep you." He looked round with a grin,
asking for applause, and got it from the two girls, who
giggled. Then he made a move towards the bottle again.

"I'm not going to bed, just yet," said Mr. Smeeth,
his voice trembling. "But you're going home. That's
what I meant."

"Here, half a minute, Dad." Mrs. Smeeth's voice rose
in indignation. "What a way to talk!"

"I should think so indeed," cried Mrs. Mitty, sitting
up sharply.