"May I?" she questioned, drawing out a coin. It was a four-shilling
piece.
"No. Get away."
"I'll give you change."
"Oh! take it," he yielded, "and begone with ye, and ring for something
to drink."
"You are a duck, pa!" she said, kissing him. The other two men smiled.
"Let's have a tune now, Ella," said Peake, after she had rung the bell.
The girl dutifully sat down to the piano and sang "The Children's Home."
It was a song which always touched her father's heart.
Peake was in one of those moods at once gay and serene which are
possible only to successful middle-aged men who have consistently worked
hard without permitting the faculty for pleasure to deteriorate through
disuse. He was devoted to his colliery, and his commercial acuteness
was scarcely surpassed in the Five Towns, but he had always found time
to amuse himself; and at fifty-two, with a clear eye and a perfect
digestion, his appreciation of good food, good wine, a good cigar, a
fine horse, and a pretty woman was unimpaired. On this night his
happiness was special; he had returned in the afternoon from a week's
visit to London, and he was glad to get back again.
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