"Yes, sir; Philpott's the soul of punctuality. He's gone for a day in the country to see an old friend, and his train is due at Victoria at twenty past nine. You're looking better than you did, sir."
"I am better, and in better spirits."
"Do you remember what I said, sir, about clouds with silver linings? Lord Sir! When things are at their worst they're sure to mend. What men and women have got to do is never to give in. Oh, I've had my lessons, sir."
"So have I, Mrs. Philpott: I shall be with you at ten."
Patting the children on their heads, and giving them a penny each--he felt like a shilling, but it was not exactly his own money he was spending, and this small benefaction was a luxury which did not properly come under the head of personal expenses--Basil, with pleasant nods, left them to their favourite occupation of taking people up and trying them for imaginary offences against the public peace. At nightfall, having an idle hour or two before his appointment with Mr. Philpott, an impulse which he made no effort to control directed his steps towards Long Acre, and then to Queen Street, where the woman whom Newman Chaytor had betrayed and deserted carried on her business. The workgirls from the large establishments in the vicinity of the street were coming from their shops, most of them in blithe spirits, being young and in agreeable employment. It was the holiday time of the day with them, and they were hurrying home, some doing a little sweet-hearting on the road which it was pleasant to contemplate. There were pictures not so pleasant; great hulking men smoking pipes and lounging about, with "Brute" stamped on their features, and women as coarse, whose birth and training perhaps were a legitimate answer to their worse than common language and manners. Basil's observations of London life during the last few months had supplied him with ample food for reflection, and he could honestly have preached a homily on charity which better men than he--say, for instance, philanthropists or statesmen with hobbies--might serviceably have taken to heart.
His attention was diverted from these unfortunates by a startling incident. There was a sudden cry of "Fire!" and the thoroughfare became instantly thronged.
"Where is it?--where is it?" "There, you fool! Can't you see it?--in Queen Street." "It's a private house." "No, it isn't, it's a shop--a milliner's. An old house; it'll burn like tinder." "A good job it isn't in the middle of the night; they'd have been burnt in their beds."
The sparks rushed up in fierce exultation. "The next house is caught! The whole street 'll be down. Here's the fire-engine!"
In gallant haste the horses tore along, the brave firemen, heroes one and all, standing firm and ready. Basil followed the crowd, and with difficulty pushed his way through as far as he was allowed. It was Mrs. Addison's shop that was on fire, and he saw immediately that there was no chance of saving it. The weeping women were outside, wringing their hands; among them the woman who had accused him, and her mother, who had cast upon him that ever vivid look of abhorrence and hatred. So quick and sudden and fierce was the fire that not a stick of furniture nor a yard of ribbon was saved. The women strove to rush into the shop, but the firemen held them back, and with firm kindness impelled them to a place of safety. Basil, edging near to them, and keeping his face hidden, heard what passed between. "We are ruined," said one, despairingly.
"Aren't you insured?" inquired a by-stander.