ifty yards away, in the extreme angle of
the grass, a party of the chronically unemployed had got hold of a dog,
whom they were torturing in a manner not to be described. The heart of
Norris, which had grown indifferent to the cries of human anger or
distress, woke at the appeal of the dumb creature. He ran amongst the
Larrikins, scattered them, rescued the dog, and stood at bay. They were
six in number, shambling gallows-birds; but for once the proverb was
right, cruelty was coupled with cowardice, and the wretches cursed him
and made off. It chanced that this act of prowess had not passed
unwitnessed. On a bench near by there was seated a shopkeeper's
assistant out of employ, a diminutive, cheerful, red-headed creature by
the name of Hemstead. He was the last man to have interfered himself,
for his discretion more than equalled his valour: but he made haste to
congratulate Carthew, and to warn him that he might not always be so
fortunate.

"They're a dyngerous lot of people about this park. My word! it doesn't
do to ply with them!" he observed, in that _rycy Austrylian_ English,
which (as it has received the imprimatur of Mr. Froude) we should all
make haste to imitate.

"Why, I'm one of that lot myself," returned Carthew.

Hemstead laughed, and remarked that he knew a gentleman when he saw one.

"For all that, I am simply one of the unemployed," said Carthew, seating
himself beside his new acquaintance, as he had sat (since this
experience began) beside so many dozen others.

"I'm out of a plyce myself," said Hemstead.

"You beat me all the way and back," says Carthew. "My trouble is that I
have never been in one."

"I suppose you've no tryde?" asked Hemstead.

"I know how to spend money," replied Carthew, "and I really do know
something of horses and something of the sea. But the unions head me
off; if it weren't for them, I might have had a dozen berths."

"My word!" cried the sympathetic listener. "Ever try the mounted
police?" he inquired.

"I did, and was bowled out," was the reply; "couldn't pass the doctors."

"Well, what do _you_ think of the ryleways, then?" asked Hemstead.

"What do _you_ think of them, if you come to that?" asked Carthew.

"O, _I_ don't think of them; I don't go in for manual labour," said the
little man proudly. "But if a man don't mind that, he's pretty sure of a
job there."

"By George, you tell me where to go!" cried Carthew rising.

The heavy rains continued, the cou