All this was hard enough to bear, but the worst was the hunger and thirst. Although it rained all day, his thirst remained unquenched. Toward evening he found himself in Covent Garden. As he looked shyly round his hopes rose just a little. To begin with, there seemed shelter. If he might only be allowed to stay in this place all night! On the ground was vegetable refuse, ancient cabbage leaves, odds and ends of garbage which littered the place. If he could only pick up one or two of those cabbage leaves and see how far they would go towards staying his appetite! Surely no one could object to that, since they were placed there only to be thrown away. So he began picking up the cabbage leaves. "Now then, what are you doing there? None of that now! Clear out of this, or I'll clear you out, and precious quick!" At the sound of a strident voice Bertie trembled as though he had been guilty of a heinous crime. He dropped the cabbage leaves out of his hands again. A little man, who was apparently some one in authority, had suddenly appeared from behind one of the pillars, and was shouting at Bertie with the full force of his lungs. Like a frightened ewe the hero of yesterday gave a look round and slunk away. He was disappointed of his meal. The ground was evidently holy ground, and the cabbage leaves were evidently sacred cabbage leaves. The disappointment seemed to make his hunger worse. He had scarcely strength enough to slink away. He put his arms around one of the pillars, and, leaning his head against it, cried. This was what had become of all his golden dreams! Of what stuff are heroes made? "I say, young one, what's in the wind? Any one trodden on your precious toes? You don't seem so chirpy as some." Bertie looked up through his tears to see who the speaker was. A little time ago to have been caught crying would have covered him with shame, now all shame of that sort seemed to have gone for ever. He vaguely feared that this was some new Jack-in-office again bidding him move on; but he was wrong. The speaker was a boy about his own age; but there was something about him which at a very first glance showed that he was different from other boys. He was respectably dressed; the chief peculiarity about his clothing being that it seemed to fit him like his skin. A tighter pair of trousers surely never imprisoned human legs. His waistcoat fitted him without a crease, and it seemed that he had been made for his coat, and not his coat for him. He wore a billycock hat of a particularly knowing pattern, set rakishly upon the side of his head; a stand-up collar made it difficult for him to look anywhere except straight in front of him; and an enormous pin, set in the centre of a gorgeous blue necktie, made his costume quite complete.