full of them all
so fine and pretty, and no sooner do I get on the 'Eath than the rain
comes down and wipes out the whole blooming lot, before I could sell
one. Look 'ere!"

He drew a bedraggled sheet of newspaper from the clothes-basket and
displayed a piteous sodden welter of sticks and gaudy pulp. At the sight
of it he broke down again and sobbed like a child.

"And there's not a bite in the 'ouse, nor not likely to be for days;
and I daren't go home and face the missus and the kids--and I wish I was
dead."

I had already seen many pitiful tragedies during my brief experience
with Campion; but the peculiar pitifulness of this one wrung my heart.
It taught me as nothing had done before how desperately humble are the
aspirations of the poor. I thought of the cosy comfort that awaited me
in my own home; the despair that awaited him in his.

I put my hand in my pocket.

"You seem to be a good chap," said I.

He shrugged his shoulders. The consciousness of applauded virtue offered
no consolation. I drew out a couple of half-crowns and threw them into
the basket.

"For the missus and the kids," said I.

He picked them out of the welter, and holding them in his hand, looked
at me stupidly.

"Can you afford it, guv'nor?"

At first I thought this remark was some kind of ill-conditioned sarcasm;
but suddenly I realised that dripping wet and covered with mud from head
to foot, with a shapeless, old, green, Homburg hat drooping forlornly
about my ears, I did not fulfil his conception of the benevolent
millionaire. I laughed, and rose from the bench.

"Yes. Quite well. Better luck next time."

I nodded a good-bye, and walked away. After a minute, he came running
after me.

"'Ere," said he, "I ain't thanked yer. Gawd knows how I'm going to do
it. I can't! But, 'ere--would you mind if I chucked a lot of the stuff
into the river and told the missus I had sold it, and just got back my
money? She's proud, she is, and has never accepted a penny in charity in
her life. It's only because it would be better for 'er."

He looked at me with such earnest appeal that I saw that the saving of
his wife's pride was a serious matter.

"Of course," said I, "and here's a few ha'pence to add to it, so as to
give colour to the story."

He saw that I understood. "Thank you kindly, sir," said he.

"Tell me," said I, "do you love your wife?"

He gaped at me for a moment; obviously the question had never been put
to him either by