The fact was that Dick knew from old experience how hard a matter it was for even an industrious man to get a living in the great city; and for him, whose livelihood depended entirely upon his muscles, to turn weak and helpless meant misery, privation, and perhaps the workhouse for his old age. That was what Dick thought, and therefore he fought hard against even the very semblance of weakness, making a point always at the auction-rooms of doing far more than he need, rushing at heavy pieces of furniture, tiring himself with extra work, and making himself an object of sport to the thoughtless, of pity to his older fellow-servants of the firm. The consequence was that poor old Dickey Bradds had to go one day to the hospital, to lie there for many weary weeks, and come out at last lame and uncured, for at threescore and ten there is not much chance of a man building up new tissue, piling on fresh muscle and strength, and renewing the waste of so many years. Poor old Dick left the hospital a confirmed cripple, but hopeful ever of regaining his strength and activity--at least he said so, whether merely to cheer up his grandchild or to mask his sufferings, that was known only to his own heart. STORY TWO, CHAPTER THREE. Now this was how old Dick became a cripple. It was early in winter, and there was a heavy sale on at the rooms, for the furniture of a noble mansion had been sent up from the country, and bargain-hunters and Jew brokers were there that day in force, chaffering, running down the value of the goods they coveted, and turning the crowded room into a Babel of confusion. The sale was progressing, and under the superintendence of one Joseph Brown, the head porter, the lots had been submitted to competition with ease and facility. Old Dick had as usual been working very hard, but, not content to show the others his power, he sought to do more. "You can't take that there chist o' drawers down," said the head porter, a man most careful in the way in which he looked after the corners and polish of pieces of furniture, saving them from scratch and chip. So careful, in fact, was Brown that he had never had time to look after the polish and corners of her Majesty's English, which he chipped and scratched most terribly. So "you can't take that there chist o' drawers down," said Brown, "it's too much for you;" and he meant it kindly, though his words were rough. "You wouldn't ha' talked to me like that ten year ago, Joe Brown!" quavered Dick, turning angrily upon the porter, for he was hurt and annoyed at being spoken to before the other men. "I didn't mean to hurt the poor old chap," said Brown at home to his wife that night, "for I like old Dick, who's as honest and true-hearted an old chap as ever stepped. All the years we've been together I never knew Dick do a man an ill turn; while the way he turns out o' Sundays to take that there granchile of his to a place o' wasshup ought to be a patten for some on us.