the
terms were synonymous, at once headed for their garret.

"Don't walk so confoundedly fast," Curtis gasped; "this pain in my
side is like a hundred stitches rolled in one. It fairly doubles me
up. Ease down a bit, for heaven's sake!"

Kelson obeyed, and presently came to a dead halt before a
dingy-looking restaurant. Both men leaned against the window and gazed
wolfishly at the food. A warm, foetid rush of air from under the
grating at their feet tickled their nostrils and mocked their hunger
with a mockery past endurance. Arranged on the window-sill was a
miscellaneous collection of very smeary plates and dishes, containing
an even more miscellaneous collection of food. A half-consumed ham,
with more than a mere suspicion of dirt on its yellowish-white fat;
some concoction in a bowl that might have been brawn made from some
peculiarly liverish pig, or--from one of the many homeless mongrels
that roam the streets at night; a pile of noxious-looking mussels,
side by side with a glistening mass of particularly yellow whelks; a
round of what purported to be beef--very fat and very underdone; some
black shiny sausages, and a score or so of luridly red polonies. A
similar assortment was to be seen on the counter behind which lolled
an anaemic girl, in a dirty cotton blouse, and a much soiled sky-blue
skirt.

A month ago such an exhibition would have been an offence in the
fastidious eyes of Messrs. Kelson and Curtis; but now it was
otherwise. Their stomachs would have refused nothing short of garbage.

"Matt!" Curtis's hands had left off clutching at his belt and were now
hanging by his side; the fingers twitching to and fro in a manner that
fascinated Kelson. "Matt! Is there any logic in our starving?"

"None, excepting that we haven't a cent between us!" Kelson rejoined.

"I know that," Curtis went on slowly, "but--I mean--why should we
starve when all this grub is within two inches of us! It's
unreasonable--it's intolerable."

"Doesn't the smell of it satisfy you?" Kelson replied, attempting to
force a smile, and failing dismally.

"D--n the smell!" Curtis cried. "It's the ham I want. I'd give my soul
for a good munch at it. And just look at that tea, too! Don't you see
it steaming over there? What wouldn't I give for just one cup! Ten
minutes more and it may be too late. The pain will come on again--and
it will be very doubtful if I shall ever get home. I'm close on the
stage when one begins to digest one's