‘Work’us?—about three mile;—but, if I was you, I’d try St George’s.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘In the Fulham Road. Kensington’s only a small place, they do you well there, and it’s always full as soon as the door’s opened;—you’d ’ave more chawnce at St George’s.’
He was silent. I turned his words over in my mind, feeling as little disposed to try the one place as the other. Presently he began again.
‘I’ve travelled from Reading this——day, I ’ave,—tramped every——foot!—and all the way as I come along, I’ll ’ave a shakedown at ’Ammersmith, I says,—and now I’m as fur off from it as ever! This is a——fine country, this is,—I wish every——soul in it was swept into the——sea, blimey I do! But I ain’t goin’ to go no further,—I’ll ’ave a bed in ’Ammersmith or I’ll know the reason why.’
‘How are you going to manage it,—have you got any money?’
‘Got any money?—My crikey!—I look as though I ’ad,—I sound as though I ’ad too! I ain’t ’ad no brads, ’cept now and then a brown, this larst six months.’
‘How are you going to get a bed then?’
‘’Ow am I going to?—why, like this way.’ He picked up two stones, one in either hand. The one in his left he flung at the glass which was over the door of the casual ward. It crashed through it, and through the lamp beyond. ‘That’s ’ow I’m goin’ to get a bed.’
The door was hastily opened. The grizzled pauper reappeared. He shouted, as he peered at us in the darkness,