d finds herself, in the face of what she feels must mean Old
Jack's sudden death, thinking how sorry she is she can command no pair
of trousers of a reasonable size to replace this boy's drenched ones--a
pair that would need no string. A crude brew of hot toddy, and most of
the cake that had appealed to Major Roper in vain, and never gone back
to the cellaret, were the only consolations possible. They seemed
welcome, but under protest.

"Shan't I carry of 'em outside, missis?"

"On the stairs, then." This assent is really because both women believe
he will be comfortabler there than in the room. "Where are you going to
sleep?" Rosalind asks, as he takes the cake and tumbler away to the
stairs. She puts a gas-jet on half-cock.

"Twopenny doss in Spur Street, off of 'Orseferry Road, Westminster."
This identification is to help Rosalind, as she may not be able to spot
this particular doss-house among all she knows.

"Do you always sleep there?"

"No, missis! Weather permitting, in our mooze--on the 'eap. The
'orse-keeper gives a sack in return for a bit of cleanin', early,
before comin' away."

"What are you?" says Rosalind. She is thinking aloud more than asking
a question. But the boy answers:

"I'm a wife, I am. Never learned no tride, ye see!... Oh yes; I've been
to school--board-school scollard. But they don't learn you no tride.
You parses your standards and chucks 'em." This incredible boy, who
deliberately called himself a waif (that was his meaning), was it
possible that he had passed through a board-school? Well, perhaps he
was the highest type of competitive examinee, who can learn everything
and forget everything.

"But you have a father?"

"I could show him you. But he don't hold with teachin' his sons trides,
by reason of their gettin' some of his wiges. He's in the sanitary
engineering himself, but he don't do no work." Rosalind looks puzzled.
"That's his tride--sanitary engineering, lavatries, plumbin', and
fittin'. Been out of work better than three years. He can jint you off
puppies' tails, though, at a shillin'. But he don't only get a light
job now and again, 'cos the tride ain't wot it was. They've been
shearin' of 'em off of late years. Thank you, missis." The refreshments
have vanished as by magic, and Rosalind gives the boy the rest of the
cake and a coin, and he goes away presumably to the doss-house he
smells so strong of, having been warmed, that a flavour of the heap in
the mews woul