ithin our power to give."

"Hear, hear, guv'nor!"

"That's ginger for 'im."

"Out of this, old white choker. There's beans for you."

They let him pass through. On the threshold he turned and faced Brooks
again.

"At least," he said, "I can promise you this. God's blessing will never
be upon your work. I doubt whether you will be allowed to continue it
in this Christian country."

Brooks rose to his feet.

"Mr. Deeling," he said, "you and your mission system of work amongst
the poor have been fighting a losing battle in this country for fifty
years and more. A Christian country you call it. Go outside in the
streets. Look north and south, east and west, look at the people, look
at their children, look at their homes. Is there one shadow of
improvement in this labyrinth of horrors year by year, decade by decade?
You know in your heart that there is none. Therefore if new means be
chosen, do not condemn them too rashly. Your mission houses, many of
them, have been nothing but breeding-places for hypocrisy. It is time
the old order was changed. Now, sir, you are next. What can we do for
you?"

A weary-looking man with hollow eyes and nervously-twitching fingers
found himself pushed before the desk. He seemed at first embarrassed
and half dazed. Brooks waited without any sign of impatience. When at
last he spoke, it was without the slightest trace of any Cockney accent.

"I--I beg your pardon, sir! I ought not perhaps to intrude here, but I
don't know who needs help more than I do."

"He's orl right, sir," sung out the costermonger. "He is a bit queer in
the 'ead, but he's a scholar, and fair on his uppers. Speak up, Joe."

"You see, my friends are willing to give me a character, sir," the man
remarked, with a ghost of a smile. "My name is Edward Owston. I was
clerk at a large drapery firm, Messrs. Appleby, Sons, and Dawson, in
St. Paul's Churchyard, for fourteen years. I have a verified character
from them. They were obliged to cult down their staff, owing to foreign
competition, and--I have never succeeded--in obtaining another
situation. There is nothing against me, sir. I would have worked for
fifteen shillings a week. I walked the streets till my boots were worn
through and my clothes hung around me like rags. It was bad luck at
first--afterwards it was my clothes. I have been selling matches for a
month it has brought me in two shillings a week."

"How old are you?" Brooks asked. "Thirty-four, sir." Bro