had neither
people nor home nor relations in the world, if these once kindly women
had no welcome for him.

"I heard you call Jim," he hazarded at last, in an extremity of
disconcerted shyness.

Mrs. Sartin eyed the four-year-old nestling in her apron and pulled
him from cover.

"Yes, that be Jim. We called 'im Jim arter you. He was born arter you
an' your ma went away."

He longed to ask after Marley of unhappy memory, but the possibilities
were too apparent for him to venture, so silence again fell over
them.

At this precise juncture of affairs a shrill whistle was heard
ascending the stairway, growing momentarily louder and louder till it
became earsplitting in intensity as it arrived on landing No. 6. The
author of it pulled open the door and the whistle tailed off into a
faint "phew" at sight of the embarrassed group. The new-comer was a
thin-faced lad with light sandy hair cropped close to his square
head. He had light, undetermined eyes that were keen and lively.
Christopher had beaten him in the matter of size, but there were
latent possibilities in his ill-developed form.

Christopher sprang up and rushed forward, then suddenly stopped.

"Ullo, mother, didn't know as 'ow you 'ad swell company this
arternoon. I'd 'ave put on my best suit and topper," he grinned
affably as he deposited on the floor a big basket he carried.

"Oh, I say, Sam--don't you know me either?" began poor Christopher.

He wheeled round, stared hard, and a broad smile of recognition spread
over his face.

"Why, if it ain't Jim," he cried and seized his hand with a fervour
that set Christopher aglowing and strangely enough set him free from
the clinging shadow of his lost identity. _This_ was tangible flesh
and blood and of the real authentic present.

"Well, I'm blowed," ejaculated Sam, stepping back to look at his
erstwhile companion, "to think of you turning up again such a toff. No
need to ask what sort of luck came _your_ way. My. Ain't 'e a swell,
just."

But unlike the women, he was unabashed by externals. He demanded "tea"
of his mother that very moment, "cos 'e 'adn't no time for dinner and
'is bloke 'ad sent 'im round to get a bit o' somethink now," at a
slack hour.

"Greengrocer business, Clare Street," he explained. "Seven shillings a
week. Not a bad old cove. What d'yer say about yourself?"

He had the whole history out of Christopher in five minutes.

The women listened and flung in "Well, I never's," and