he street hawkers, the
hoarse laughter, the quarrelling, the oaths, the rasping shouts of the
butcher selling chunks of dark joints by auction, the screeches of the
roast-potato man, and the smell of stale vegetables and fried fish. "Jow,
'ow much a pound for yer turmaters?" "Three pence; I gave mor'n that for
'em myself." "Garn!" "S'elp me, Gawd, I did, mum!"

"Isn't it a glorious scene?" said John; and Glory, who felt chilled and
sickened, recalled herself from some dream of different things altogether
and said, "Isn't it?"

"Sanctuary, too! What human cats we are! The poor sinners cling to the
place still!"

He took her into the alleys and courts that score and wrinkle the map of
Westminster like an old man's face, and showed her the "model"
lodging-houses and the gaudily decorated hells where young girls and
soldiers danced and drank.

"What's the use of saying to these people, 'Don't drink; don't steal'?
They'll answer, 'If you lived in these slums you would drink too.' But
we'll show them that we can live here and do neither--that will be the
true preaching."

And then he pictured a life of absolute self-sacrifice, which she was to
share with him. "You'll manage all money matters, Glory. You can't think
how I'm swindled. And then I'm such a donkey as far as money goes--that's
not far with me, you know. Ha, ha, ha! Who's to find it? Ah, God pays his
own debts. He'll see to that."

They were to live under the church itself; to give bread to the hungry
and clothes to the naked; to set up their Settlement in the gaming-house
of the Sharkeys, now deserted and shut up; to take in the _un_deserving
poor-the people who had nothing to say for themselves, precisely those;
and thus they were to show that they belonged neither to the publicans
and sinners nor to the Scribes and Pharisees.

"Only let us get rid of self. Only let us show that self-interest never
enters our head in one single thing we do----" and meantime Glory, who
had turned her head aside with a lump in her throat, heard some one
behind them saying:

"Lawd, Jow, that's the curick and his dorg--'im as got pore Sharkey took!
See--'im with the laidy?"

"S'elp me, so it is! Another good man gorn to 'is gruel, and all 'long of
a bloomin' dorg."

They walked round by the church. John was talking--rapturously at every
step, and Glory was dragging after him like a criminal going to the
pillory. At last they came out by Great Smith Street, and he cried: "