luctuations he had experienced in
this city of London. At the Savoy that fatal day he had less than ten
pounds, next morning, though robed as a Lord, he had only a penny, the
penny had been reduced to a halfpenny by the purchase of a newspaper,
the halfpenny swelled to five pounds by Rochester's gift, the five
pounds sprang in five minutes to eight thousand, owing to Voles, the
eight thousand to a million eight thousand, owing to Mulhausen, Simms
and Cavendish had stripped him of his last cent, the Smithers affair had
given him five pounds, now he had only ten pence, and to-morrow at nine
o'clock he would have eight thousand.

It will be noted that he did not consider that eight thousand his, till
it was safe in his pocket in the form of notes--he had learned by bitter
experience to put his trust in nothing but the tangible. He reached the
river and the great bridge that spans it here, and on the bridge he
paused, leaning his elbow on the parapet, and looking down stream.

The waning moon had risen, painting the water with silver; barge lights
and the lights of tugs and police boats shewed points of orange and
dribbles of ruffled gold, whilst away down stream to the right, the airy
fairy tracery of the Houses of Parliament fretted the sky.

It was a nocturne after the heart of Whistler, and Jones, as he gazed at
it, felt for the first time the magic of this wonderful half revealed
city with its million yellow eyes. He passed on, crossing to the right
bank, and found the Strand. Here in a bar, and for the price of half a
pint of beer, he sat for some twenty minutes watching the customers and
killing Time, then, with his worldly wealth reduced to eightpence, he
wandered off westward, passing the Savoy, and pausing for a moment to
peep down the great archway at the gaily lit hotel.

At midnight he had gravitated to the embankment, and found a seat not
overcrowded.

Here he fell in with a gentleman, derelict like himself, a free spoken
individual, whose conversation wiled away an hour.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE BLIGHTED CITY

Said the person after a request for a match: "Warm night, but there's a
change in the weather coming on, or I'm greatly mistaken. I've lost
nearly everything in the chops and changes of life, but there's one
thing I haven't lost--my barometer--that's to say my rheumatism. It
tells me when rain is coming as sure as an aneroid. London is pretty
full for the time of year, don't you think?"

"Y