On this Dick was led away. The nurse and doctor consulted by the bed where the woman would lie for days, too weak even to dream, while the man went off into the Manchester crowd to search for food. Beyond the bare idea of 'going down to see what they were doing at the theatre,' he had no plans. The scavenger dog that prowls about the gutter in search of offal could not have less. But he felt sure that something would turn up; he was certain to meet someone to whom he could sell a piano or for whom he could build a theatre. He never made plans. There was no use in making plans; they were always upset by an accident. Far better, he thought, to trust to the inspiration of the moment; and when he awoke in the morning, heavy with sleep, he felt no trepidation, no fear beyond that of how he should get his sore feet into his shoes. It was only with a series of groans and curses that he succeeded in doing this, and the limps by which he proceeded down the street were painful to watch. At the stage-door of the Theatre Royal a conciliatory tone of voice was mechanically assumed as he asked the porter if Mr. Jackson was in. But before the official could answer, Dick caught sight of Mr. Jackson coming along the passage. 'How do you do, old man? Haven't seen you for a long time.' 'What, you, Dick, in Manchester? Come and have a drink, old man. Very glad to see you. Stopping long here?' 'Well, I'm not quite decided. My wife was confined, you know, last night.' 'What! you a father, Dick?' Mr. Jackson leered, poked him in the ribs, and commenced a list of anecdotes. To these Dick had to listen, and in the hopes of catching his friend in an unwary moment of good-humour, he laughed heartily at all the best points. But digressive as conversation is in which women are concerned, sooner or later a reference is made to the cost and the worth, and at last Mr. Jackson was incautious enough to say: 'Very expensive those affairs are, to be sure.' This was the chance that Dick was waiting for, and immediately buttonholing his friend, he said: 'You're quite right, they are: and to tell you the truth, old man, I'm in the most devilish awkward position I ever was in my life. You heard about the breaking up of Morton and Cox's company? Well, that left me stranded.' At the first words gaiety disappeared from Mr. Jackson's face, and during Dick's narrative of the tour in Lancashire he made many ineffectual wriggles to get away. Dick judged from these well-known indications that to borrow money might be attended with failure, and after a pathetic description of his poverty he concluded with: 'So now, my dear fellow, you must find something for me to do. It does not matter what--something temporary until I can find something better, you know.' It was difficult to resist this appeal, and after a moment's reflection Mr. Jackson said: