ies and by two
ecstasies--food and warmth.

Ursus continued his imprecations, muttering to himself,--

"I have seen King James supping _in propria persona_ in the Banqueting
House, where are to be admired the paintings of the famous Rubens. His
Majesty touched nothing. This beggar here browses: browses, a word
derived from brute. What put it into my head to come to this Weymouth
seven times devoted to the infernal deities? I have sold nothing since
morning I have harangued the snow. I have played the flute to the
hurricane. I have not pocketed a farthing; and now, to-night, beggars
drop in. Horrid place! There is battle, struggle, competition between
the fools in the street and myself. They try to give me nothing but
farthings. I try to give them nothing but drugs. Well, to-day I've made
nothing. Not an idiot on the highway, not a penny in the till. Eat away,
hell-born boy! Tear and crunch! We have fallen on times when nothing can
equal the cynicism of spongers. Fatten at my expense, parasite! This
wretched boy is more than hungry; he is mad. It is not appetite, it is
ferocity. He is carried away by a rabid virus. Perhaps he has the
plague. Have you the plague, you thief? Suppose he were to give it to
Homo! No, never! Let the populace die, but not my wolf. But by-the-bye I
am hungry myself. I declare that this is all very disagreeable. I have
worked far into the night. There are seasons in a man's life when he is
hard pressed. I was to-night, by hunger. I was alone. I made a fire. I
had but one potato, one crust of bread, a mouthful of bacon, and a drop
of milk, and I put it to warm. I said to myself, 'Good.' I think I am
going to eat, and bang! this crocodile falls upon me at the very moment.
He installs himself clean between my food and myself. Behold, how my
larder is devastated! Eat, pike, eat! You shark! how many teeth have you
in your jaws? Guzzle, wolf-cub; no, I withdraw that word. I respect
wolves. Swallow up my food, boa. I have worked all day, and far into the
night, on an empty stomach; my throat is sore, my pancreas in distress,
my entrails torn; and my reward is to see another eat. 'Tis all one,
though! We will divide. He shall have the bread, the potato, and the
bacon; but I will have the milk."

Just then a wail, touching and prolonged, arose in the hut. The man
listened.

"You cry, sycophant! Why do you cry?"

The boy turned towards him. It was evident that it was not he who cried.
He had his mout