Tramp. I may get a job shovelling it in the morning—if I am in luck.
Horace. Why don’t you go back to your old trade?
Tramp. Why don’t I go back to my old trade? Why don’t I? Who’s going to take me on? Who’ll give me a job? Will you?
Horace. I told you I can’t do anything for you.
Tramp. Then what’s the good of asking? But it don’t matter. I’ve got nothing to live for now. Nothing to save for. The Law broke me up, killed the missus.
Horace. You were married, then?
Tramp. Yes.
Horace. Any children?
Tramp. One. God forgive me. (Affected.)
Horace. Care to take another? Some biscuits if you like.