"Please, sir," said the poor fellow, wiping away a tear from his eye, "I endeavour to earn an honest living by selling a little fruit in the streets. I have a wife and seven children to support, and I only stayed out so long to-night because I had had a bad day of it, and the money is so much wanted at home—it is indeed, sir! I do hope you'll let me go, sir: my poor wife will be ready to break her heart when she finds that I don't come home; and my eldest boy always sits up for me. Poor little fellow! he will cry so if he don't kiss Father before he goes to bed."
There was something profoundly touching in this poor man's manner and language; and Markham felt inclined to interfere in his behalf. He, however, remembered that he was only allowed to sit in that room by suffrance, and that he was at the mercy of the caprice of ignorant, tyrannical, and hard-hearted men: he accordingly held his tongue.
"Come, Crisp—have you got that down?" said the inspector.
"Yes, sir."
"Well, let the man be locked up: the magistrate must decide in the morning."
And the poor fellow, in spite of his remonstrances, was removed to a cell.
"I could not exactly understand what this new prisoner has done," said Markham.
"Obstructed the way and created a nuisance," replied the inspector pompously.
"But he is endeavouring to earn his bread honestly, I think; and the road is open to every one."
"Oh! no such thing. Those little carts frighten the horses in the great folks' carriages, and can't be allowed. He must have a month of it—he's been warned several times, and is incorrigible. I'll tell the magistrate so."