A shuffling noise was heard, and an old Jew appeared, a very cheerful old Jew indeed, who mumbled his skinny lips together, which was his way of laughing, and seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. “Just go to the door, Uncle Abraham,” said Mr. Cohen, junior, “and if yer see a perliceman about, ask him what he thinks of the weather, while I finish my business with--Mr. _Smith_.” “For heaven’s sake, give me what you can, and let me go,” cried Wilfred, in an agony. Mr. Cohen, junior, smiled a very unpleasant smile indeed, and proceeded to put the money down on the counter, piece by piece. “There, no hurry, Mr. _Smith_,” said he, leering at his victim, “no hurry in the least. P’raps I can sell yer some’ut which will be useful on the voyage out, for I presume yer are bound across the herring-pond. I hope yer’ll find the air of New York saloobrious to yer health; change of air is often useful, Mr. _Smith_; I’m sure I hope it ’ill----;” but before young Mr. Cohen could finish his speech some other customers came in, and Wilfred, seizing his money, made his escape. At the corner of the street, in front of a gin-palace--the licensing magistrates of Liverpool think it necessary to have a gin-palace at the corner of every street--Wilfred found Mrs. Maguire. When he came up, he put into her hand no small portion of the pittance he had just received for his wardrobe. The old woman looked at the money, and then at him, with amaze. “May God and S. Patrick bless ye,” she cried at length; “here’s food, and fire, and medicine for me and mine. Ye’ve saved a poor, honest family from starving, ye have, young gintleman. May the Holy Angels make your bed. Ye seem in sorrow to-day, but there’s a day comin’ when your sorrow shall be turned into joy! When that day comes, remember ould Biddy Maguire, and be shure that to the last days of her life she will pray to the Blessed Lord for you and yours;” and so saying, the old woman seized his hand and kissed it, and wetted it with her tears. Wilfred hurried away, for a crowd of roughs had begun to gather, but it was with a less heavy heart than he could have supposed possible a few minutes before. His behaviour was very unpolitico-economical, no doubt--he ought to have applied to the Charity Organisation Society, of course, before he relieved a starving fellow-creature--but after all, he was perhaps rewarded, even in this world, for not following the example of Archbishop Whately; and at all events, an honest, needy family received the necessaries of life without having to wait until some fussy old frump poked her nose into the cottage, in order to investigate and report on “the circumstances of the case.” CHAPTER XXIV. WILFRED SMITH’S VOYAGE OUT.