"You could surely get work, if you exerted yourself."
"Could I? You don't know how hard it is to get work in London. And who would employ a man like me, when there are plenty of big, strong fellows to be hired? I haven't the strength to lift or carry. I'm good for very little now. I was in the Infirmary for three months. They patched me up a bit there, but I'm not much the better. If it were not for my little girl, I shouldn't be living now. She works at the match-making, and she keeps me more often than I keep her, bless her!"
A feeling of cold disgust was creeping over Michael Betts. There was no room for pity in his heart. He was conscious only of intense annoyance that such a being as this should be his brother.
"I'm sorry for you," he said loftily, "but it's your own fault. You made your bed, and you must lie upon it. I did what I could for you years ago, and ill you repaid me for what I did. Now I must wipe my hands of you. But here is a shilling for you."
He held out the coin as he spoke, but the chilled fingers of the other made no attempt to take it. The shilling fell from them to the pavement, and the ill-clad man did not pick it up.
"I don't want your money, Michael," he said hoarsely. "I could not help speaking to you when I saw you by my side; but don't think that I should ever have sought you out or asked you to do anything for me again. I know too well that I deserve nothing from you."
"That is well," said Michael coldly. "I must confess that had you come, you would not have found a welcome from me, since the last time you were at my place, you left me with good cause to regret your visit."
He turned on his heel without giving another glance at his unhappy brother.
"Michael, Michael," the weak voice called after him.
But Michael strode on and paid no heed. He did not slacken speed till he was the length of several streets from the river. Then he paused and drew a deep breath as he wiped the heat from his forehead.