When I have traversed the streets a houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought shelter,—when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,—or, worse than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation, and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,—when I have felt, at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink, and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. ’ ‘Well, I am glad he did not,’ intervened Lucilla, forestalling another withering comment from the captain.
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