Long, low, intense whistle from Bill. He wrinkled his forehead and stared up at the beams as if he expected to see something unusual there. After a while he said, very impressively: “So did mine.”
The coincidence hadn’t done striking him yet; he wrestled with it for nearly a minute longer. Then he said:
“I suppose yer mother goes out washin’?”
“Yes.”
“‘N’ cleans offices?”
“Yes.”
“So does mine. Any brothers ‘n’ sisters?”
“Two—one brother ‘n’ one sister.”
Bill looked relieved—for some reason.
“I got nine,” he said. “Yours younger’n you?”
“Yes.”
“Lot of bother with the landlord?”
“Yes, a good lot.”
“Had any bailiffs in yet?”
“Yes, two.”
They compared notes a while longer, and tailed off into a silence which lasted three minutes and grew awkward towards the end.
Bill fidgeted about on the bench, reached round for a chip, but recollected himself. Then he cocked his eye at the roof once more and whistled, twirling a shaving round his fingers the while. At last he tore the shaving in two, jerked it impatiently from him, and said abruptly:
“Look here, Arvie! I’m sorry I knocked over yer barrer yesterday.”
“Thank you.”
