One evening, when crossing Leicester Square, Picard was accosted by a stranger in his own language. Looking round with a start, he saw at his side a cringing tramp, worse than shabbily dressed.
"What did you say?" asked Picard, with a tremor in his voice.
"Could you assist a poor countryman?" whined Delore.
"I have no money."
"Perhaps you could help me to get work. I don't know the language, but
I am a good workman."
"How can I help you to work? I have no work myself."
"I would be willing to work for nothing, if I could get a place to sleep in and something to eat."
"Why don't you steal? I would if I were hungry. What are you afraid of? Prison? It is no worse than tramping the streets hungry; I know, for I have tried both. What is your trade?"
"I am a watchmaker and a first-class workman, but I have pawned all my tools. I have tramped from Lyons, but there is nothing doing in my trade."
Picard looked at him suspiciously for a few moments.