It so chanced, when he was taking home some frames to a customer on the outskirts of the town, that he met with an old pal whom he had missed sight of for years.
As he was walking along, the sound of a low whistle fell upon his ears. Peace looked round in the direction from whence it proceeded. He beheld at some distance off the dark features of a man which were very familiar to him.
Peace halted at the corner of the next street, and the stranger came up with him.
“What! don’t you know me, you old sinner?” cried the man.
“Know you? Why of course I do—it’s Bandy-legged Bill.”
“Right you are, old man; Bill it is.”
“Well, this is a surprise. Why, what on earth brought you to Sheffield?”
“What do you suppose? To see an old chum, to be sure.”
“I am glad to have met you, Bill. And how goes it with you?”
“Hardly enough. Have to scratch for a living—like the hens—and don’t always get much when I do scratch. And how goes it with you?”