cart was tied a mangy retriever. This affair was drawn up opposite the door.
'The cove with a cart' was introduced as 'Chinny.' He had no chin whatever, not even a receding chin. It seemed as though his chin had been cut clean off horizontally. When he took off his hat he showed to the mild surprise of strangers a pair of shrewd grey eyes and a broad high forehead. Chinny was in the empty bottle line.
'Now, then, hold up that horse of yours for a minute, Chinny,' said Bill briskly, ''relse he'll fall down and break the shaft again.' (It had already been broken in several places and spliced with strips of deal, clothes-line, and wire.) 'Now, you chaps, fling yourselves about and get the furniture out.'
This was a great relief to the push. They ran against each other and the door post in their eagerness to be at work. The furniture―what Mrs. A. called her 'few bits of things'―was carried out with elaborate care. The ironing table was the main item. It was placed top down in the cart, and the rest of the things went between the legs without bulging sufficiently to cause Chinny any anxiety.
Just then the picket gave a low, earnest whistle, and they were aware of a policeman standing statue-like under the lamp on the opposite corner, and apparently unaware of their existence. He was looking, sphinx-like, past them towards the city.
'It can't be helped; we must put on front an' go on with it now,' said Bill.
'He's all right, I think,' said Chinny. 'He knows me.'
