interest in his
companion.

"I don't know," Frank replied. "Perhaps," he added, seeing that the
interest in his condition roused the poor fellow from the thought of
his own deep sorrow, "you might give me some advice. I was thinking of
getting a place in an office, but of course I must give that up now, and
should be thankful to get anything by which I can earn my bread."

"You come along with me," the man said rising. "You've done me a heap of
good. It's no use sitting here. I shall go back to the station, and turn
in on some sacks. If you've nothing better to do, and nowhere to go to,
you come along with me. We will talk it all over."

Pleased to have some one to talk to, and glad that he should not have to
look for a place to sleep, Frank accompanied the porter to the station.
With a word or two to the nightmen on duty, the porter led the way to a
shed near the station, where a number of sacks were heaped in a corner.

"Now," the man said, "I will light a pipe. It's against the regulations,
but that's neither here nor there now. Now, if you're not sleepy, would
you mind talking to me? Tell me something about yourself, and how you
come to be alone here in London. It does me good to talk. It prevents me
from thinking."

"There is very little to tell," Frank said; and he related to him the
circumstances of the deaths of his father and mother, and how it came
that he was alone in London in search of a place.

"You're in a fix," the porter said.

"Yes, I can see that."

"You see you're young for most work, and you never had no practice
with horses, or you might have got a place to drive a light cart. Then,
again, your knowing nothing of London is against you as an errand boy;
and what's worse than all this, anyone can see with half an eye that
you're a gentleman, and not accustomed to hard work. However, we will
think it over. The daylight's breaking now, and I has to be at work at
six. But look ye here, young fellow, tomorrow I've got to look for a
room, and when I gets it there's half of it for you, if you're not too
proud to accept it. It will be doing me a real kindness, I can tell you,
for what I am to do alone of an evening without Jane and the kids, God
knows. I can't believe they're gone yet."

Then the man threw himself down upon the sacks, and broke into sobs.
Frank listened for half an hour till these gradually died away, and he
knew by the regular breathing that his companion was asleep. It was long