I put my hand in my pocket.
“You seem to be a good chap,” said I.
He shrugged his shoulders. The consciousness of applauded virtue offered no consolation. I drew out a couple of half-crowns and threw them into the basket.
“For the missus and the kids,” said I.
He picked them out of the welter, and holding them in his hand, looked at me stupidly.
“Can you afford it, guv'nor?”
At first I thought this remark was some kind of ill-conditioned sarcasm; but suddenly I realised that dripping wet and covered with mud from head to foot, with a shapeless, old, green, Homburg hat drooping forlornly about my ears, I did not fulfil his conception of the benevolent millionaire. I laughed, and rose from the bench.
“Yes. Quite well. Better luck next time.”
I nodded a good-bye, and walked away. After a minute, he came running after me.
“'Ere,” said he, “I ain't thanked yer. Gawd knows how I'm going to do it. I can't! But, 'ere—would you mind if I chucked a lot of the stuff into the river and told the missus I had sold it, and just got back my money? She's proud, she is, and has never accepted a penny in charity in her life. It's only because it would be better for 'er.”