eek. He wore, on Saturday afternoons and Sundays, a tall hat and
a frock coat and overcoat made cheaply in the latest fashion, so he
couldn't afford to help the old folk much.

"David is very extravagant," said the old man, gently. "He won't wear
anything when once the gloss is off it. But," with a sad smile, "I get
the left-off overcoats."

He took me across to see his daughter. She had married a tradesman and
they were having a hard struggle in three rooms in a workman's dwelling.
She was twenty-five, thin, yellow, and looking ten years older.

There were other children who had died. "I think we might have done
better for the children in Australia," said the old man to me, sadly,
when we got outside, "but we did our best."

We went into a hotel and had a drink. Johnson had treated last
time--twenty years before. We call treating "shouting" in Australia.
Presently Johnson let fall a word or two of Australian slang, and
brightened up wonderfully; we got back out into Australia at once and
stayed there an hour or so. Being an old man, Johnson's memory for the
long ago was better than mine, and I picked up links; and, in return,
I told him what Solong was like now, and how some men he knew, who were
going up, had gone down, and others, who were going to the dogs in his
time, had gone up--and we philosophized. About one he'd say, "Ah, well!
who'd have thought it! I never thought that boy would come to any good;"
about another, "Ah, well! and he might have been an independent man."
How familiar that expression sounded!--I think it is used more often in
Australia than in any other country: "He might have been an independent
man."

When I left Johnson I felt less lonely in London, and rather humbled in
spirit. He seemed so resigned--I had never seen such gentle sadness in a
man's eyes, nor heard it in a man's voice. I could get back to Australia
somehow and start life again, but Johnson's day had been dead for many
years. "Besides, assisted emigration's done away with now," he said,
with his sad, sad smile.

I saw the Johnsons again later on. "Things have been going very sadly
with us, very sadly indeed," said the old man, when we'd settled down.
He had broken down at the beginning of the winter, he had dragged
himself out of bed and to work and back again until he could do so no
longer; he had been laid up most of the winter. Mrs Johnson had not been
outside the door for months.

"It comes very hard on us," she said,