not bound for
anywhere in particular, but looking about me, as usual, and holding on
to my hat, for it was a gusty day in early March, and the wind was
making the treetops in the Inn rock and quiver. I had come up from the
Holborn end, and I had almost got to Theobald's Road when I noticed a
man walking in front of me, leaning on a stick, and to all appearance
very feeble. There was something about his look that made me curious, I
don't know why, and I began to walk briskly with the idea of overtaking
him, when of a sudden his hat blew off and came bounding along the
pavement to my feet. Of course I rescued the hat, and gave it a glance
as I went towards its owner. It was a biography in itself; a Piccadilly
maker's name in the inside, but I don't think a beggar would have picked
it out of the gutter. Then I looked up and saw Dr. Black of Harlesden
waiting for me. A queer thing, wasn't it? But, Salisbury, what a change!
When I saw Dr. Black come down the steps of his house at Harlesden he
was an upright man, walking firmly with well-built limbs; a man, I
should say, in the prime of his life. And now before me there crouched
this wretched creature, bent and feeble, with shrunken cheeks, and hair
that was whitening fast, and limbs that trembled and shook together, and
misery in his eyes. He thanked me for bringing him his hat, saying, "I
don't think I should ever have got it, I can't run much now. A gusty
day, sir, isn't it?" and with this he was turning away, but by little
and little I contrived to draw him into the current of conversation, and
we walked together eastward. I think the man would have been glad to get
rid of me; but I didn't intend to let him go, and he stopped at last in
front of a miserable house in a miserable street. It was, I verily
believe, one of the most wretched quarters I have ever seen: houses that
must have been sordid and hideous enough when new, that had gathered
foulness with every year, and now seemed to lean and totter to their
fall. "I live up there," said Black, pointing to the tiles, "not in the
front--in the back. I am very quiet there. I won't ask you to come in
now, but perhaps some other day----" I caught him up at that, and told
him I should be only too glad to come and see him. He gave me an odd
sort of glance, as if he were wondering what on earth I or anybody else
could care about him, and I left him fumbling with his latch-key. I
think you will say I did pretty well when I tell y