further effort and, swaying slightly, he searched his memory for a
suitable quotation. A patent medicine advertisement zigzagged across his
brain, and with a sigh of relief, he muttered,

"The 'and that slaps the baby rocks the world,"

beaming on the guests with the air of a man who has Shakespeare at his
fingers' ends. There was a dead silence, and Dad looked round in wonder.
Then a woman tittered, and a shout went up that rattled the windows.

It was nearly twelve when the party broke up, chiefly because the
"Woolpack" was closed and the supply of beer was cut off. Some of the men
had reached the disagreeable stage, maudlin drunk or pugnacious, anxious
to quarrel, but forgetting the cause of dispute. The police, who had
looked on with a tolerant eye, began to clear the footpaths, shaking the
drowsy into wakefulness, threatening and coaxing the obstinate till they
began to stagger homewards.

There was nearly a fight in the cottage. Pinkey's young man had called to
take her home, and Chook had recognized him for an old enemy, a
wool-washer, called "Stinky" Collins on account of the vile smell of
decaying skins that hung about his clothes. Chook began to make love to
Pinkey under his very eyes. And Stinky sat in sullen silence, refusing to
open his mouth. Pinkey, amazed by Chook's impudence and annoyed that her
lover should cut so poor a figure, encouraged him, with the feminine
delight in playing with fire. Then Chook, with an insolent grin at
Stinky, announced that he was going to see Pinkey home. Mrs Yabsley just
parted them in time. Chook went swearing up to the corner on the chance
of getting a final taste at the "Woolpack."