"More than ever I had," returned Salter; "keep me a month." Thomas relapsed into thought. This man was the only resemblance of a friend he had left. He did not like to let him go loose in the wilds of London, without the possibility of finding him again. If this man vanished, the only link Thomas felt between him and the world of men would be broken. I do not say Thomas _thought_ this. He only felt that he would be absolutely alone when this man left him. Why should he not go away somewhere with him? "Where do you live?" he asked. "Stepney way," answered Jim. "I want to see that part of London. What do you do now? I mean, what do you work at?" "Oh! nothin' perticlar, guvnor. Take a day at the docks now and then. Any job that turns up. I'm not perticlar. Only I never could stick to one thing. I like to be moving. I had a month in Bermondsey last--in a tan-yard, you know. I knows a bit of everthing." "Well, where are you going now?" "Nowheres--anywhere you like, guvnor. If you want to see them parts, as you say, there's nobody knows 'em better than I do--Tiger-bay and all." "Come, then," said Thomas. But here a thought struck him. "Wouldn't it be better, though," he added--"they're queer places, some of those, ain't they?--to put on a workman's clothes?" Jim looked at him. Thomas felt himself wince under his gaze. But he was relieved when he said, with a laugh: "You won't look much like a workman, guvnor, put on what you like." "I can't wear these clothes, anyhow," said Thomas; "they look so wretchedly shabby after their ducking. Couldn't you take me somewhere where they'd change them for a suit of fustian? I should like to try how they feel for a few days. We're about the same size--I could give them to you when I had done with them." Jim had been observing him, and had associated this wish of Thomas's with the pocket-book, and his furtive, troubled looks. But Jim was as little particular about his company as about anything else, and it was of no consequence to him whether Thomas had or had not deeper reasons than curiosity for seeking to disguise himself. "I tell you what," he said, "if you want to keep quiet for a day or two, I'm your man. But if you put on a new suit of fustian you'll be more looked at than in your own clo'es." Thomas had by this time finished his breakfast; it was not much he could eat. "Well," he said, rising, "if you've nothing particular to do, I'll give you a day's wages to go with me. Only let's go into Stepney, or away somewhere in that direction, as soon as possible."