Nobody seemed to want anything done. There were scores of hungry applicants at the riverside and dozens outside the printing-office. There were no horses that wanted holding, no boxes or bags that wanted carrying, no messages or errands that wanted running. No shop or factory window that he saw had a notice of “Boys Wanted” posted in it; no junior clerk was advertised for in any paper he caught sight of; not even a scavenger boy was wanted to clean the road.
At last he was giving it up in despair, and coming to the conclusion he might just as well hasten back to his little charge and share his fate with him, when he caught sight of a stout elderly lady standing in a state of flurry and trepidation on the kerb of one of the most crowded crossings in the city.
With the instinct of desperation he rushed towards her, and, lifting his hat, said,—
“Can I help you across, ma’am?”
The lady started to hear words so polite and in so well-bred a tone, coming from a boy of Reginald’s poor appearance, for he was still without his coat.
But she jumped at his offer, and allowed him to pilot her and her parcels over the dangerous crossing.
“It may be worth twopence to me,” said Reginald to himself as he landed her safe on the other side.
How circumstances change us! At another time Reginald would have flushed crimson at the bare idea of being paid for an act of politeness. Now his heart beat high with hope as he saw the lady’s hand feel for her pocket.
“You’re a very civil young man,” said she, “and—dear me, how ill you look.”
“I’m not ill,” said Reginald, with a boldness he himself marvelled at, “but a little boy I love is—very ill—and I have no money to get him either food or lodging. I know you’ll think I’m an impostor, ma’am, but could you, for pity’s sake, give me a shilling? I couldn’t pay you back, but I’d bless you always.”