“Another tortured and maddened wretch, who, two nights ago, if conscience had not restrained him, would have sought rest and peace as you wish to seek them now, but would not have found them, as you would not have found them if you had taken that fatal plunge. What is your trouble, man? Tell me. Possibly, possibly, possibly, I may be able to help you bear it. God grant that I may! Come, what is your trouble?” demanded Harcourt, setting the stranger down upon a large box, placing himself at his side, and passing his arm around the man’s waist, the better to protect him from himself. “Trouble!” cried the other. “Trouble enough! Illness all autumn. No work. Wife and children freezing, starving, in a cellar. No food for two days. Everything pawned but just enough clothes to cover our nakedness. Trouble, indeed!” “Good Heaven! good Heaven! It is incredible! ‘In a whole city full!’” exclaimed Harcourt, quoting Hood. “Come with me. The stores are not all closed yet. We will get coal and wood, and have a fire and a supper. Come!” “I—I——What do you mean?” demanded the dazed little man. “‘All men are brethren.’ I cannot see my brother hunger or freeze while I have the means of getting him food and a fire. Come with me.” And Harcourt arose and took the man by the arm and raised him up. The two walked from the pier. There was a restaurant near at hand, Harcourt first took his protégé in there, ordered beefsteak and coffee, and made him eat. “How far is your home from this place?” inquired Harcourt. “About half a block.” “All right,” said the young man. “We will have something cooked just here and take it with us as soon as it is ready.” And he ordered half a gallon of stewed oysters, a quart of strong coffee, and bread and butter for six, to be put in a hamper to be taken away. “I don’t know how many you have at home,” he said, “but the order for six I judged a safe guess.” “There are three at home—my wife, son and daughter, the two last quite small children, the boy seven, the girl five,” said the stranger. “All right. You feel better now?” inquired the young man. “Yes, much better, thanks to you; but how or when can I ever repay you?” “You are repaying me now. I was feeling as unhappy as you yourself were when I was so blessed as to save you from suicide. I, too, feel better, much better now. I am fully repaid.” “It is good of you to look at it in that light. But have you had trouble, too?” inquired the stranger with much feeling. “Yes, but we will not talk of trouble now. We both feel better. Here comes the waiter with the wife’s and children’s supper in the hamper; let us go to them—that is, if you have finished.” “Oh, I have finished,” said the stranger, pointing to the empty platters, which he had cleaned. Harcourt paid the bill for the stranger’s supper and for the contents of the hamper. Then both arose and left the restaurant, followed by the waiter, with the hamper, who went with them to bring back the crockeryware.