Connie sat down by the door, and Hilda sat in his seat, with the back to the wall, against the window corner.

“That is his chair,” said Connie softly. And Hilda rose as if it had burnt her.

“Sit yer still, sit yer still! Ta’e ony cheer as yo’n a mind to, none of us is th’ big bear,” he said, with complete equanimity.

And he brought Hilda a glass, and poured her beer first from the blue jug.

“As for cigarettes,” he said, “I’ve got none, but ’appen you’ve got your own. I dunna smoke, mysen. Shall y’ eat summat?” He turned direct to Connie. “Shall t’eat a smite o’ summat, if I bring it thee? Tha can usually do wi’ a bite.” He spoke the vernacular with a curious calm assurance, as if he were the landlord of the inn.

“What is there?” asked Connie, flushing.

“Boiled ham, cheese, pickled wa’nuts, if yer like. Nowt much.”