e repeated her
remark of the previous evening. "But if you are going to be late, sir, I
must ask you to be very careful with the candle. One does read of such
awful things, folks burnt in their beds. I'm sure I'm afraid to look at
the papers in these days."

Jimmy tried to laugh, but the sound spoke of irritation rather than of
amusement. "I don't think you need be afraid of me, Mrs. Benn, though I
did twist my ankle on that loose piece of carpet last night."

The landlady sniffed, and descended to the basement, where she relieved
her feelings, and conveyed a moral lesson, by smacking the head of her
youngest son, who was not wearing his Band of Hope ribbon.

"Poor children, can't they keep sober without joining a temperance
society?" a young lady lodger had once said, with a show of sympathy,
and since then the badges had not been greatly in evidence; but now they
should be brought out again as a rebuke to Mrs. Marlow's brother.

Jimmy went to the club which he knew Kelly used most, but the journalist
was not there. The waiter on duty surveyed the caller critically through
a window, then, having grown grey and wise in the ways of literary men,
he decided that Jimmy was not a creditor, and volunteered some
information. "Mr. Kelly's not been in yet, sir; but he's sure to come to
get his letters. So you might call again."

Jimmy strolled about until two o'clock--he was not of the kind which
calls just before lunch-time--then went back to the club.

"Not in yet, sir," the waiter said. "But he may come about four o'clock
for a cup of tea. He usually does, if he's in town."

Jimmy sighed. He was sick of waiting about; but he craved for the
society of someone he knew, and the idea of going back to spend the rest
of the day in those suburban lodgings seemed intolerable. So he decided
to wait, and walked down the narrow side street into the Strand, and
thence westwards, in more or less aimless fashion. He had never known
town sufficiently well to note the changes which the last ten years had
brought; possibly, they would not have interested him greatly in any
case, for he was a Londoner by birth, and the true Londoner looks at the
people and ignores the buildings.

He walked slowly, up to Piccadilly Circus, and thence along Regent
Street to Oxford Circus, where he turned eastwards again.

"Are you saved?" A tall gaunt man, in shabby clerical costume and black
woollen gloves, whispered the words in his ear, endeavoured