own fightin'."

2

Issuing from the offices of "The Island Navigation Company," Sylvanus
Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to Sefton
Park. The crowded street had all that prosperous air of catching or
missing something which characterises the town where London and New York
and Dublin meet. Old Heythorp had to cross to the far side, and he
sallied forth without regard to traffic. That snail-like passage had in
it a touch of the sublime; the old man seemed saying: "Knock me down and
be d---d to you--I'm not going to hurry." His life was saved perhaps ten
times a day by the British character at large, compounded of phlegm and a
liking to take something under its protection. The tram conductors on
that line were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under
the arms and heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands
he pulled hard at the rail and strap.

"All right, sir?"

"Thank you."

He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get up
from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and there he
stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed. With his red face, tuft
of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven chin, and his big
high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty for his head with its
thick hair--he looked like some kind of an idol dug up and decked out in
gear a size too small.

One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges where
things are bought and sold, said:

"How de do, Mr. Heythorp?"

Old Heythorp opened his eyes. That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son! What a
young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his little
moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin!

"How's your father?" he said.

"Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships. Suppose you haven't
any news for him, sir?"

Old Heythorp nodded. The young man was one of his pet abominations,
embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new
generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers and
tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and he did
not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity.

"Come to my house," he said; "I'll give you a note for him."

"Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up."

The old man! Cheeky brat! And closing his eyes he relapsed into
immobility. The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he muse