"What is a man on the market?"
"A chap who gets his living by his wits," explained the barrister leisurely, "and Spruce has been at that sort of game for ever so long. He started with a decent income but got rid of it at cards. Cards queered his pitch ultimately, as he was caught cheating and had to clear out. H'm! He's ruralizing at Bethnal Green, is he? I expect he will stay there until his little bad wind blows away. Then he'll try and return. But it's all of no use, Owain, as no one will have the little beast at any price."
"He told me quite a different story."
"Oh, he would, naturally. Spruce is very good at telling stories. He ought to be a novelist by rights."
"That's exactly what he claims to be," retorted Owain, opening his eyes widely. "He said that he had come to Bethnal Green to gather material for a yarn."
"Pretty thin," commented Vane, with a shrug, "considering he can't write a single paragraph of King's English without a dozen mistakes. I credited him with sufficient imagination to manufacture a better lie. However, it's useless for us to waste time over Spruce and his shady doings. Cheating at cards has finished him, and now he'll go under altogether. R.I.P. and be hanged to him. But what were you doing at Bethnal Green, old son?"
"I thought that a cheap boarding-house down there would suit my pocket."
"H'm! You explained that much before, even though I offered to share my pennies with you."
"Very good of you, Jim," said Hench hastily and colouring, "but I don't care about shoving my burden on to another man's shoulders. However, a gold mine I had a few shares in turned up trumps, and I have a hundred pounds more or less at my back."
"And for that reason you have come West?"