“Worse than ever! My God, he’d turn the milk sour! And I thought liquor might make him possible. He drank quite a lot.” “Only a few days now, and then!...” “Do you agree with mother that he doesn’t mean it, Mabel?” “Oh, yes, I do.” “The way he sits and smiles! Why doesn’t he get himself a desert to smile in?” “Perhaps he does....” 4 § “’Ere you are!” said the blind man. “Best I can do under the circs. ’Ad a bit o’ trouble with the cross; got it too ’eavy, I’m afraid; but thought you’d rather carry it.” “Quite a masterpiece!” “Speaking serious?” said the blind man. “You could improve it with a box o’ colours; make it more ’uman-like.” “I’ll do that.” “I wouldn’t touch the face, nor the cross--leave ’em wooden; but the hair and the dress, and the blood from the crown o’ thorns might be all the better for a bit o’ brightenin’. How’s the man that corrupted ’Adleyburg?” Late--299 opened the book. “‘ ... Goodson looked him over, like as if he was hunting for a place on him that he could despise the most; then he says: “So you are the Committee of Enquiry, are you?” Sawlsberry said that was about what he was. “H’m! Do they require particulars, or do you reckon a kind of _general_ answer will do?” “If they require particulars I will come back, Mr. Goodson; I will take the general answer first.” “Very well, then; tell them to go to hell--I reckon that’s general enough. And I’ll give you some advice, Sawlsberry; when you come back for the particulars, fetch a basket to carry what’s left of yourself home in.”’” The blind man chuckled. “Ah! I like that Mark Twain. Nice sense o’ humour--nothin’ sickly.” “Bark and quinine, eh?” “Bark and bite,” said the blind man. “What do you think of ’uman nature yourself?” “Little or nothing.” “And yet there’s a bit of all right about it, too. Look at you and me; we got our troubles; and ’ere we are--jolly as sandboys! Be self-sufficient, or you’ve got to suffer. That’s what you feel, ain’t it? Am I mistook, or did you nod?” “I did. Your eyes look as if they saw.” “Bright, are they? You and me could ’ave sat down and cried ’em out any time--couldn’t we? But we didn’t. That’s why I say there’s a bit of all right about us. Put the world from you, and keep your pecker up. When you can’t think worse of things than what you do, you’ll be ’appy--not before. That’s right, ain’t it?” “Quite.” “Took me five years. ’Ow long were you about it?” “Nearly three.” “Well, you ’ad the advantage of birth and edjucation; I can tell that from your voice--got a thin, mockin’ sound. _I_ started in a barber’s shop; got mine in an accident with some ’aircurlers. What I miss most is not bein’ able to go fishin’. No one to take me. Don’t you miss cuttin’ people up?” “No.”