'Not far.'
'Well, see her, and think over it―you've got plenty of time to do it in―and get your things ready by dark. Don't be frightened. I've shifted mother and an aunt and two married sisters out of worse fixes than yours. I'll be round after dark, and bring a push to lend a hand. They're decent coves.'
'But I can't expect your friend to shift me for nothing. I told you I haven't got a .'
'Mrs. Aspinall, I ain't that sort of a bloke, neither is my chum, and neither is the other fellows―'relse they wouldn't be friends of mine. Will you promise, Mrs. Aspinall?'
'I'm afraid―I―I'd like to keep my few things now. I've kept them so long. It's hard to lose my few bits of things―I wouldn't care so much if I could keep the ironin' table.'
'So you could, by law―it's necessary to your living, but it would cost more'n the table. Now, don't be soft, Mrs. Aspinall. You'll have the bailiff in any day, and be turned out in the end without a rag. The law knows no 'necessary.' You want your furniture more'n the landlord does. He can't do nothin'. You can trust it all to me.…I know'd Arvie.…Will you do it?'
'Yes, I will.'
At about eight o'clock that evening there came a mysterious knock at Mrs. Aspinall's door. She opened, and there stood Bill. His attitude was business-like, and his manner very impressive. Three other boys stood along by the window, with their backs to the wall, deeply interested in the emptying of burnt cigarettes
