“What money’s in my purse? Seven groats and twopence.
“By Jove, I am not covetous of gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.
“But—
“I can get no remedy for this consumption of the purse.
“Here my lad—is that enough?”
“Yes, sir, I thank you.”
“Remember poor Jack, sir,” said the usual attendant at the landing place, catching his arm as he careened the wherry on getting out.
“If he fall in, good-night—or sink or swim.
“Jack, there is a penny for you. Jacob, farewell—we meet again;” and away he went, taking three of the stone steps at each spring. This gentleman’s name was, as I afterwards found out, Tinfoil, an actor of second-rate merit on the London boards. The Haymarket Theatre was where he principally performed, and, as we became better acquainted, he offered to procure me orders to see the play when I should wish to go there.