The tramp approached Bealby in a confidential manner. “’Oo’s going to believe you?” he said. “And besides, ’ow did you come by it? “Moreover, _I_ ain’t going to spend _your_ money. I got money of my own. _’Ere!_ See?” And suddenly before the dazzled eyes of Bealby he held and instantly withdrew three shillings and two coppers that seemed familiar. He had had a shilling of his own.... Bealby waited outside.... The tramp emerged in a highly genial mood, with acid drops, and a short clay pipe going strong. “’Ere,” he said to Bealby with just the faintest flavour of magnificence over the teeth-held pipe and handed over not only the acid drops but a virgin short clay. “Fill,” he said, proffering the tobacco. “It’s yours jus’ much as it’s mine. Be’r not let ’Erbert Samuel see you, though; that’s all. ’E’s got a lor abart it.” Bealby held his pipe in his clenched hand. He had already smoked—once. He remembered it quite vividly still, although it had happened six months ago. Yet he hated not using that tobacco. “No,” he said, “I’ll smoke later.” The tramp replaced the screw of red Virginia in his pocket with the air of one who has done the gentlemanly thing.... They went on their way, an ill-assorted couple. All day Bealby chafed at the tie and saw the security in the tramp’s pocket vanish. They lunched on bread and cheese and then the tramp had a good sustaining drink of beer for both of them and after that they came to a common where it seemed agreeable to repose. And after a due meed of repose in a secluded hollow among the gorse the tramp produced a pack of exceedingly greasy cards and taught Bealby to play Euchre. Apparently the tramp had no distinctive pockets in his tail coat, the whole lining was one capacious pocket. Various knobs and bulges indicated his cooking tin, his feeding tin, a turnip and other unknown properties. At first they played for love and then they played for the balance in the tramp’s pocket. And by the time Bealby had learnt Euchre thoroughly, that balance belonged to the tramp. But he was very generous about it and said they would go on sharing just as they had done. And then he became confidential. He scratched about in the bagginess of his garment and drew out a little dark blade of stuff, like a flint implement, regarded it gravely for a moment and held it out to Bealby. “Guess what this is.” Bealby gave it up. “Smell it.” It smelt very nasty. One familiar smell indeed there was with a paradoxical sanitary quality that he did not quite identify, but that was a mere basis for a complex reek of acquisitions. “What is it?” said Bealby. “_Soap!_” “But what’s it for?” “I thought you’d arst that.... What’s soap usually for?” “Washing,” said Bealby guessing wildly.