Barney Bill, with twisted mouth and a kindly, satirical
glance.

Paul flushed. He had the consciousness of being a selfish,
self-centered little beast, not half enough grateful to Barney Bill for
delivering him out of the House of Bondage and leading him into the
Land of Milk and Honey. He was as much stung by the delicately implied
rebuke as touched by the solicitude as to his future welfare. Romantic
words, such as he had read in the story-books, surged vaguely in his
head, but he could find none to utter. He kept silent for a few
moments, his hand in his breeches pocket. Presently he drew it forth
rather slowly, and held out the precious cornelian heart to his
benefactor.

"I 'ud like to give it thee," said Paul.

Barney Bill took it. "Thank 'ee, sonny. I'll remember that you gave it
to me. But I won't keep yer talisman. 'Ere, see--" he made a pretence
to spit on it--"that's for luck. Barney Bill's luck, and good wishes."

So Paul pocketed the heart again, immensely relieved by his friend's
magnanimity, and the little sentimental episode was over.

A month later, when Barney Bill started on his solitary winter
pilgrimage in the South of England, he left behind him a transmogrified
Paul, a Paul, thanks to his munificence, arrayed in decent garments,
including collar and tie (insignia of caste) and an overcoat (symbol of
luxury), for which Paul was to repay him out of his future earnings; a
Paul lodged in a small but comfortable third-floor-back, a bedroom all
to himself, with a real bed, mattress, pillow, sheets, and blankets all
complete, and a looking-glass, and a stand with ewer and basin so
beautiful that, at first, Paul did not dare wash for fear of making the
water dirty; a Paul already engaged for a series of sittings by Mr.
Cyrus Rowlatt, R.A., his head swimming with the wonder of the
fashionable painter's studio; a Paul standing in radiant confidence
upon the brink of life.

"Sonny," said Barney Bill, when he said good-bye, "d'yer see them there
lovely lace-up boots you've got on?"

"Ay," said Paul, regarding them complacently.

"Well, they've got to take yer all the way up the hill, like the young
man what's his name?--Excelsure--in the piece of poetry you recite; but
they'll only do it if they continues to fit. Don't get too big for 'em.
At any rate, wait till they're worn out and yer can buy another pair
with yer own money."

Paul grinned, because he did not know what else to do, so as to show