Mrs. Simpson, after a little hesitation, handed him the key, and the next moment her husband stepped out and stood blinking in the gas-light.
"Do you recognize me?" he asked, turning to Mr. Cooper.
"I do," said that gentleman, with a ferocious growl.
"I'd know you anywhere," said Mrs. Cooper, with emphasis.
"And you?" said Mr. Simpson, turning to his wife.
"You're not my husband," she said, obstinately.
"Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Cooper.
"Certain."
"Very good, then," said her brother. "If he's not your husband I'm going to knock his head off for telling them lies about me."
He sprang forward and, catching Mr. Simpson by the collar, shook him violently until his head banged against the dresser. The next moment the hands of Mrs. Simpson were in the hair of Mr. Cooper.
"How dare you knock my husband about!" she screamed, as Mr. Cooper let go and caught her fingers. "You've hurt him."
"Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind.
His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap, tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by watching until his wife touched him on the arm.
"You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are you going to stay here all night?"
"I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully.