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The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists of the fact that he was travelling in the wrong direction. Even this mode of progression failed him at last, and he would probably have been run over if they had not found him. They raised him up, and Philpot, exhorting him to 'pull himself together,' enquired where he lived. The man had sense enough left to be able to tell them his address, which was fortunately at Windley.

Bundy and Philpot took him home, and Crass and Easton walked on together, as they both lived in the same street.

Crass felt very full and satisfied with himself. He had had six and a half pints of beer, and had listened to two selections on the polyphone at a total cost of one penny.

As soon as Easton parted from Crass, and he heard the latter's door close, he stopped and leant up against a lamp post feeling dizzy and ill. All the inanimate objects around him seemed to be in motion, the lights of the lamps appeared to be floating about and the pavement rose and fell, like a troubled sea. After a time he went on again and walked unsteadily up the narrow path to his door, the gate clanging loudly after him.

The baby was asleep in the cradle. Slyme had gone up to his own room, and Ruth was sitting sewing by the fireside. The table was still set for two persons, for she had not yet taken her tea.

Easton lurched in noisily. Ello, old girl!' he cried, throwing his dinner basket carelessly on the floor with an affectation of joviality, and resting his hands on the table to support himself; 'I've come at last, you see.'

Letting her hands fall into her lap, Ruth sat looking at him. She had never seen him like this before. His face was ghastly pale, the eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, the lips tremulous and moist and the ends of his fair moustache hung untidily round his mouth in damp clusters. Perceiving that she did not speak or smile, Easton concluded that she was angry and became grave himself.

'I've come at last, you see, my dear; better late than never.'

He found it very difficult to speak plainly, for his lips trembled and refused to form the words.

'I don't know so much about that,' said Ruth, inclined to cry and trying not to let him see the pity she could not help feeling for him. 'A nice state you're in. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.' 164