to renew the association He looked into 'Arry's face with a blank stare,
asked contemptuously, 'Who are you?' and pursued his walk.

'Arry hoped that he might some day have a chance of being even with Mr.
Rodman.

As indeed he had. One evening towards the end of February, 'Arry was
loafing about Brixton. He knew a certain licensed victualler in those
parts, a man who had ere now given him casual employment, and after a
day of fasting he trudged southwards to see if his friend would not at
all events be good for a glass of beer and a hunch of bread and cheese.
Perhaps he might also supply the coppers to pay for a bed in the New
Cut. To his great disappointment, the worthy victualler was away from
home; the victualler's wife had no charitable tendencies. 'Arry whined
to her, but only got for an answer that times was as 'ard with her as
with anyone else. The representative of unemployed labour went his way
despondently, hands thrust deep in pockets, head slouching forwards,
shoulders high up against the night blast.

He was passing a chemist's shop, when a customer came out He recognised
Rodman. After a moment's uncertainty he made up his mind to follow him,
wondering how Rodman came to be in this part of London. Keeping at a
cautious distance, he saw him stop at a small house and enter it by aid
of a latchkey.

'Why, he lives there!' 'Arry exclaimed to himself. 'What's the meanin'
o' this go?'

Rodman, after all, had seriously come down in the world, then. It
occurred to 'Arry that he might do worse than pay his sister a visit;
Alice could not be hard-hearted enough to refuse him a few coppers. But
the call must be made at an hour when Rodman was away. Presumably that
would be some time after eight in the morning.

Our unconventional friend walked many miles that night. It was one way
of keeping warm, and there was always a possibility of aid from one or
other of the acquaintances whom he sought. The net result of the night's
campaign was half-a-pint of 'four-half.' The front of a draper's shop in
Kennington tempted him sorely; he passed it many times, eyeing the
rolls of calico and flannel exposed just outside the doorway. But either
courage failed him or there was no really good opportunity. Midnight
found him still without means of retiring to that familiar lodging in
the New Cut. At half-past twelve sleet began to fall. He discovered a
very dark corner of a very dark slum, curled himself against the wall,
and