n,
perhaps of five. He was hatless, coatless, waistcoatless, but he had a
pair of trousers, short in the leg, precariously held by one brace. That
is the fashion in Paradise Rents. I had come upon these two young men
about Fulham as they were staring with absorbed interest into the
undertaker's shop advantageously situated for custom at the corner of
the Rents and the main street. Certainly it was a pleasant window.
Besides the legends and texts, the artificial wreaths and the pictures
of tombs and tombstones, there was a number of model coffins in
miniature. It was these that had fascinated the attention of the two
young men.

"I should like one o' them to ply with," said the elder covetously.

"What would yer do with it, Bill?" the younger asked.

"I'd put the old KAYSER in it, along wi' Farver."

It is rude to laugh at other people's conversation, particularly if you
have not been introduced to them, but I caught myself in an audible
chuckle over this fine blend of patriotic and filial sentiment. Then I
pulled myself but not in time; I had been detected.

If you wish to know what it is to be stared at, you should interrupt, as
I had, a conversation between two young men of about this age in Fulham
or elsewhere. They stared in unison and in silence until the tension
became unbearable, and one of them, the elder, whose name was Bill,
relieved it with the above quest on, "Kin yer write a letter?"

Perhaps my answer was a little modest. He regarded me doubtfully, then
asked--

"'Ow soon kin yer write a letter?"

"You mean, how long does it take me to write a letter?"

He nodded his head vehemently.

"Well," I began, "it rather depends, you know, on what there is to say."
I saw dissatisfaction cloud his face, and hastened to add, "Oh, well,
about ten minutes."

At that his expression cleared to astonishment. Passing that emotion, it
went to incredulity. It was a beautifully legible face, though
everything but clean. He made up his mind.

"Will yer come," he asked, "and write a letter for my granmother?"

We were on the heels of adventure now; no one could say what new country
this might lead to.

"Where does she live?" I asked.

"Just round the corner, two doors from my Great-aunt Maria's," he said,
astonished that I should not know,

"Lead on," I said, concealing my ignorance of the residence of
great-aunt Maria.

He took me by the hand, which I could not in courtesy decline, and led
me down Paradi