“Who and what is this particular brand of damned fool?”
Jimmie checked with a glance a working-man who had issued from the inner ring and was passing by, and translated Morland's question into soberer English.
“Him?” replied the working-man. “That's Daniel Stone, sir. Some people say he's cracked, but he always has something good to say and I like listening to him.”
“What does he do when he is n't talking?” asked Jimmie. “Snatches a nap and a mouthful of food, I should say, sir,” said the man, with a laugh. He caught Jimmie's responsive smile, touched his cap, like the downtrodden slave that he was, and went on his way. Jimmie glanced round for Morland and saw him striding off rapidly. He ran after him.
“What is the hurry?”
“That damned man—”
“Which? The one I was talking to? You surely did n't object—?”
“Of course not. The other—Daniel Stone—”
“Well, what of him?”
“He's a dangerous lunatic. I have heard of him. Why the devil did you want me to make an exhibition of myself among this scum?”