zed; but speedily priceless
trust in his arms, and the wickedness of the streets, he bade her follow
him. She did so with some difficulty, for he ran, and dodged, and treated
the world as his enemy, suddenly vanished, and appeared again breathing
freely.

"Why, my girl?" he said: "Why, Dahl--Mrs. What's-your-name? Why, who'd
have known you? Is that"--he got his eyes close to her hair; "is that the
ladies' fashion now? 'Cause, if it is, our young street scamps has only
got to buy bonnets, and--I say, you don't look the Pomp. Not as you used
to, Miss Ma'am, I mean--no, that you don't. Well, what's the news? How's
your husband?"

"Uncle," said Dahlia; "will you, please, let me speak to you somewhere?"

"Ain't we standing together?"

"Oh! pray, out of the crowd!"

"Come home with me, if my lodgings ain't too poor for you," said Anthony.

"Uncle, I can't. I have been unwell. I cannot walk far. Will you take me
to some quiet place?"

"Will you treat me to a cab?" Anthony sneered vehemently.

"I have left off riding, uncle."

"What! Hulloa!" Anthony sang out. "Cash is down in the mouth at home, is
it? Tell me that, now?"

Dahlia dropped her eyelids, and then entreated him once more to conduct
her to a quiet place where they might sit together, away from noise. She
was very earnest and very sad, not seeming to have much strength.

"Do you mind taking my arm?" said Anthony.

She leaned her hand on his arm, and he dived across the road with her,
among omnibuses and cabs, shouting to them through the roar,--

"We're the Independence on two legs, warranted sound, and no
competition;" and saying to Dahlia: "Lor' bless you! there's no retort in
'em, or I'd say something worth hearing. It's like poking lions in cages
with raw meat, afore you get a chaffing-match out o' them. Some of 'em
know me. They'd be good at it, those fellows. I've heard of good things
said by 'em. But there they sit, and they've got no circulation--ain't
ready, except at old women, or when they catch you in a mess, and getting
the worst of it. Let me tell you; you'll never get manly chaff out of big
bundles o' fellows with ne'er an atom o' circulation. The river's the
place for that. I've heard uncommon good things on the river--not of 'em,
but heard 'em. T' other's most part invention. And, they tell me,
horseback's a prime thing for chaff. Circulation, again. Sharp and
lively, I mean; not bawl, and answer over your back--most part impudence,
an