The rain had brought the night before its time, and Joe wondered what had become of Mrs Jones and her pal.

He had had the luck to see her going in at the side door, and she was always good for a tray bit when she came out.

Failing her, he must depend on the stream of workmen, homeward bound, who always stopped at the Angel for a pint on their way home.
Suddenly the huge white globes in front of the hotel spluttered and flashed, piercing the darkness and the rain with their powerful rays.
The bar, as suddenly illumined, brilliant with mirrors and glass, invited the weary passenger in to share its comforts.

Joe fingered the solitary coin in his pocket--threepence.

It was more than the price of a beer to him; it was the price of admission to the warm, comfortable bar every night, for the landlord was the friend of every man with the price of a drink in his pocket, and once inside, he could manage to drink at other people's expense till closing time.