lked with him in such a pleasant, homely way. Did their
expenditure outrun their means? He would never have supposed it, but for
the City man's singular behaviour. About the cheque so often promised he
cared little, but with all his heart he hoped Mrs. Warbeck did not know.

Somewhere near Camberwell Green, just as he had resumed the debate about
his purchases, a middle-aged woman met him with friendly greeting. Her
appearance was that of a decent shopkeeper's wife.

'I'm so glad I've met you, Mr. Bird. I know you'll be anxious to hear how
our poor friend is getting on.'

She spoke of the daughter of a decayed tradesman, a weak and overworked
girl, who had lain for some weeks in St. Thomas's Hospital. Mrs. Pritchard,
a gadabout infected with philanthropy, was fond of discovering such cases,
and in everyday conversation made the most of her charitable efforts.

'They'll allow her out in another week,' she pursued. 'But, of course, she
can't expect to be fit for anything for a time. And I very much doubt
whether she'll ever get the right use of her limbs again. But what we have
to think of now is to get her some decent clothing. The poor thing has
positively nothing. I'm going to speak to Mrs. Doubleday, and a few other
people. Really, Mr. Bird, if it weren't that I've presumed on your good
nature so often lately--'

She paused and smiled unctuously at him.

'I'm afraid I can't do much,' faltered Thomas, reddening at the vision of a
new 'chimney-pot.'

'No, no; of course not. I'm sure I should never expect--it's only that
every little--_however_ little--_does_ help, you know.'

Thomas thrust a hand into his pocket and brought out a florin, which Mrs.
Pritchard pursed with effusive thanks.

Certain of this good woman's critics doubted her competence as a trustee,
but Thomas Bird had no such misgiving. He talked with kindly interest of
the unfortunate girl, and wished her well in a voice that carried
conviction.

His lodgings were a pair of very small, mouldy, and ill-furnished rooms; he
took them unwillingly, overcome by the landlady's doleful story of their
long lodgerless condition, and, in the exercise of a heavenly forbearance,
remained year after year. The woman did not cheat him, and Thomas knew
enough of life to respect her for this remarkable honesty; she was simply
an ailing, lachrymose slut, incapable of effort. Her son, a lad who had
failed in several employments from sheer feebleness of mind and body,