hat if he happened to possess any public
influence, he could not use it better than against them Mails.

'Why, a native Englishman is put to it every night of his life, to save
his life from them Mails,' argued the first old man; 'and he knows when
they're a coming round the corner, to tear him limb from limb. What can
you expect from a poor foreigner who don't know nothing about 'em!'

'Is this a foreigner?' said Clennam, leaning forward to look.

In the midst of such replies as 'Frenchman, sir,' 'Porteghee, sir,'
'Dutchman, sir,' 'Prooshan, sir,' and other conflicting testimony, he
now heard a feeble voice asking, both in Italian and in French, for
water. A general remark going round, in reply, of 'Ah, poor fellow,
he says he'll never get over it; and no wonder!' Clennam begged to be
allowed to pass, as he understood the poor creature. He was immediately
handed to the front, to speak to him.

'First, he wants some water,' said he, looking round. (A dozen good
fellows dispersed to get it.) 'Are you badly hurt, my friend?' he asked
the man on the litter, in Italian.

'Yes, sir; yes, yes, yes. It's my leg, it's my leg. But it pleases me to
hear the old music, though I am very bad.'

'You are a traveller! Stay! See, the water! Let me give you some.' They
had rested the litter on a pile of paving stones. It was at a convenient
height from the ground, and by stooping he could lightly raise the head
with one hand and hold the glass to his lips with the other. A little,
muscular, brown man, with black hair and white teeth. A lively face,
apparently. Earrings in his ears.

'That's well. You are a traveller?'

'Surely, sir.'

'A stranger in this city?'

'Surely, surely, altogether. I am arrived this unhappy evening.'

'From what country?' 'Marseilles.'

'Why, see there! I also! Almost as much a stranger here as you, though
born here, I came from Marseilles a little while ago. Don't be cast
down.' The face looked up at him imploringly, as he rose from wiping it,
and gently replaced the coat that covered the writhing figure. 'I won't
leave you till you shall be well taken care of. Courage! You will be
very much better half an hour hence.'

'Ah! Altro, Altro!' cried the poor little man, in a faintly incredulous
tone; and as they took him up, hung out his right hand to give the
forefinger a back-handed shake in the air.

Arthur Clennam turned; and walking beside the litter, and saying an
encouraging word now and th