England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- England -- Fiction
some minor parts at the threepenny tavern concerts, so numerous at the
eastern end of the town; and whose finances, unfortunately, were not in
a much better condition than his own. Sickness had ruined her; and she
paid much more to keep herself alive, than her living ordinarily cost
her: he therefore could not find in his heart to apply to her. That
night he walked the streets, till, tired and worn out, he sat down about
two o'clock on the steps of Guildhall, and fell asleep. Here he was
apprehended and lodged in the watch-house; taken to the police-office
the next day, and committed to prison for sleeping in the open air;--a
sentence the term of which had expired but a short time before.
As Colin had yet a round sum left, and, as the day advanced, began
to feel something like the want of a dinner, he adopted the advice of
Wintlebury, and walked with him into one of those bow-windowed shops
in which a display of greasy-looking hams, varnished pork-pies, and dry
boiled-beef, is usually made; while a savoury steam ascends through the
bars of the area-gate, as a sort of hint to the nose of the 'passer-by
that in the region above he may make his dinner. Having regaled himself
and his companion with an ample repast, Colin discharged the bill, and
they wandered into the town. As neither of them knew where to put up at
night, Wintlebury, advised Colin, for economy's sake, to look out for
a private lodging; and recommended him to apply at the identical house
where his own sister lodged; as he thought the mistress most probably
would have one sort of room or another unoccupied.
To this proposal Colin consented. They walked in the direction of
Shoreditch, and did not halt until they arrived at the door of a house
in the Mile End Road.
“All right!” said Colin's companion,--“there's a paper in the window.”
Just as Wintlebury had ceased to agitate the knocker, Colin--whose eyes
were downwards--saw a dirty face popped close to the panes of the low
kitchen window, with a pair of white eyes turned up to catch a glimpse
of the applicants.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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