Joe approached the address Pearl had given him for tea, or dinner as those with more polished manners than called it. The handle of her wicker basket balanced on his forearm. He then thought it looked unmanly and soft and let it drop into his palm trying to butch it up a tad.

Inside the basket was her cleaned pie plate and some freshly purchased flowers. Short on time, Joe had persuaded young Kate to clean a dish that the family didn't own, to help him brush off his coat, and absolutely not to tell mum. Her silence had come at a steep price: a bag of sweets and two bottles of ginger beer.  The little pirate.

Putting aside his debts for the moment, Joe stared at the front door. The house fit its occupant: elegant, tidy,
evidence of money, but not so much money as to give the wrong impression. Joe knocked.

Speaking of impression, Joe adjusted his coat as he waited. While not his Sunday best, he was at least defished and had curiously avoided sweaty work at the depot today.  He fished the flowers out of the basket as the door opened.