of the table. Tom o' the
Gleam, by which name he seemed to be known to every one present, sat
down, and in response to the calls of the company, a wiry pot-boy in
shirt-sleeves made his appearance with several fresh tankards of ale, it
now being past the hour for the attendance of that coy handmaiden of the
"Trusty Man," Miss Prue.

"Any fresh tales to tell, Tom?" inquired Matt Peke then--"Any more
harum-scarum pranks o' yours on the road?"

Tom drank off a mug of ale before replying, and took a comprehensive
glance around the room.

"You have a stranger here," he said suddenly, in his deep, thrilling
voice, "One who is not of our breed,--one who is unfamiliar with our
ways. Friend or foe?"

"Friend!" declared Peke emphatically, while Bill Bush and one or two of
the men exchanged significant looks and nudged each other. "Now, Tom,
none of yer gypsy tantrums! I knows all yer Romany gibberish, an' I
ain't takin' any. Ye've got a good 'art enough, so don't work yer dander
up with this 'ere old chap what's a-trampin' it to try and find out all
that's left o's fam'ly an' friends 'fore turnin' up 'is toes to the
daisies. 'Is name is David, an' 'e's been kickt out o' office work
through bein' too old. That's _'is_ ticket!"

Tom o' the Gleam listened to this explanation in silence, playing
absently with the green tags of ribbon at his waistcoat. Then slowly
lifting his eyes he fixed them full on Helmsley, who, despite himself,
felt an instant's confusion at the searching intensity of the man's bold
bright gaze.

"Old and poor!" he ejaculated. "That's a bad lookout in this world!
Aren't you tired of living!"

"Nearly," answered Helmsley quietly--"but not quite."

Their looks met, and Tom's dark features relaxed into a smile.

"You're fairly patient!" he said, "for it's hard enough to be poor, but
it's harder still to be old. If I thought I should live to be as old as
you are, I'd drown myself in the sea! There's no use in life without
body's strength and heart's love."

"Ah, tha be graat on the love business, Tom!" chuckled "Feathery"
Joltram, lifting his massive body with a shake out of the depths of his
comfortable chair. "Zeems to me tha's zummat like the burd what cozies a
new mate ivery zummer!"

Tom o' the Gleam laughed, his strong even white teeth shining like a
row of pearls between his black moustaches and short-cropped beard.

"You're a steady-going man, Feathery," he said, "and I'm a wastrel. But
I'm