added with a smile, "my seven pounds."

"Seven pun' ten," he corrected me; "you're forgetting your own thin 'un."

He handed me the money and went back to his stand.

On my way into the town I came across him again. A small crowd was
collected, thoughtfully watching a tramp knocking about a
miserable-looking woman.

Jack, pushing to the front, took in the scene and took off his coat in
the same instant.

"Now then, my fine old English gentleman," he sang out, "come and have a
try at me for a change."

The tramp was a burly ruffian, and I have seen better boxers than Jack.
He got himself a black eye, and a nasty cut over the lip, before he
hardly knew where he was. But in spite of that--and a good deal more--he
stuck to his man and finished him.

At the end, as he helped his adversary up, I heard him say to the fellow
in a kindly whisper:--

"You're too good a sort, you know, to whollop a woman. Why, you very
near give me a licking. You must have forgot yourself, matey."

The fellow interested me. I waited and walked on with him. He told me
about his home in London, at Mile End--about his old father and mother,
his little brothers and sisters--and what he was saving up to do for
them. Kindliness oozed from every pore in his skin.

Many that we met knew him, and all, when they saw his round, red face,
smiled unconsciously. At the corner of the High Street a pale-faced
little drudge of a girl passed us, saying as she slipped by
"Good-evening, Mr. Burridge."

He made a dart and caught her by the shoulder.

"And how is father?" he asked.

"Oh, if you please, Mr. Burridge, he is out again. All the mills is
closed," answered the child.

"And mother?"

"She don't get no better, sir."

"And who's keeping you all?"

"Oh, if you please, sir, Jimmy's earning something now," replied the
mite.

He took a couple of sovereigns from his waistcoat pocket, and closed the
child's hand upon them.

"That's all right, my lass, that's all right," he said, stopping her
stammering thanks. "You write to me if things don't get better. You
know where to find Jack Burridge."

Strolling about the streets in the evening, I happened to pass the inn
where he was staying. The parlour window was open, and out into the
misty night his deep, cheery voice, trolling forth an old-fashioned
drinking song, came rolling like a wind, cleansing the corners of one's
heart with its breezy humanness. He was sitting at the head