To give my confidence to a stranger was an unwise proceeding, but I was guileless as to the craft of great cities, and in this case my innocence was in a manner my good fortune.
I told him that I was only yesterday from the country, after a three days’ tramp, and how I was benighted.
“Ah,” he said. “Up after work, I suppose?”
“Yes,” I answered.
“Well,” said he, “let’s understand your capacities. Guess my age first.”
“Forty,” said I, at a venture, for indeed he might have been that or anything else.
“I’m 21,” he said. “Don’t I look it? We mature early in London here. What do you think’s my business?”
“Oh, you’re a gentleman, aren’t you?” I asked, with some stir of shyness.
“I’m a printer’s hand. That means something very different to you, don’t it? Maybe you’ll develop in time. Where are you from?”
I told him.