The room was clean, well lighted,
and airy; he could read his paper there, and forget his troubles in the
observation of character. He even made friends. An old wizen creature, who
had been a prize-fighter, told him of his triumphs. If he hadn't broke his
hand on somebody's nose he'd have been champion light-weight of England.
'And to think that I have come to this,' he added emphatically. 'Even them
boys knock me about now, and 'alf a century ago I could 'ave cleared the
bloomin' place.' There was a merry little waif from the circus who loved to
come and sit with Hubert. She had been a rider, she said, but had broken
her leg on one occasion, and cut her head all open on another, and had
ended by running away with some one who had deserted her. 'So here I am,'
she remarked, with a burst of laughter, 'talking to you. Did you never hear
of Dolly Dayrell?' Hubert confessed that he had not. 'Why,' she said, 'I
thought every one had.'
About eight o'clock in the evening, the table near the stairs was generally
occupied by flower-girls, dressed in dingy clothes, and brightly feathered
hats. They placed their empty baskets on the floor, and shouted at their
companions--men who sold newspapers, boot-laces, and cheap toys.
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