Having said which, he clenched his fists, squared his shoulders and launched himself at me like a charging bull. But profiting by Jessamy Todd's many lessons and painful instruction, I danced nimbly aside, tapped him with my left, spun round to meet his second rush, checked him with a flush hit, swung my right beneath his chin and next moment saw him sitting upon the cobblestones, legs wide-straddled, gaping about him with a vacant air. "'Oly 'eavens!" he murmured, glancing from the cloudless sky to me and back again. "An' sich a whipper-snapper--'oly 'eavens!" "A--weevily worm?" I enquired. "Sir, I takes it back!" he answered, tenderly feeling his chin. "There ain't a weevil breathin', no, nor yet a worm as could ha' knocked me off my pins so neat an' true! I takes back weevil an' likewise worm, sir." "Good!" said I, and tossed him a shilling. "What's this 'ere for?" he enquired. "The exercise you have afforded me; it has done me good, chased the dusty cobwebs from my brain, stimulated more healthy thought. Life perchance is not all dust and ashes nor the world a pit of noisome gloom; some day even I may learn perhaps to be--almost happy--" "Lord, sir, you sound as if you'd been crossed an' double-crossed in love, you do--" "Ah--what do you mean?" "No offence, sir! But y' see, I were in love once--ah, an' with a sweet purty lass an' she wi' me, but afore I could marry 'er she bolted along of a circus cove in a scarlet, laced coat an' whip, d'ye see." "Extremely feminine!" said I, nodding. "May be, sir, but one day she come creepin' back to me, very 'eart-broke an' shameful, pore lass; seems the circus cove, growin' tired-like, 'ad took to usin' 'is whip on 'er--an' so she come a-creepin' back to me." "And what then?" "Why, then, o' course I married 'er." "Married her! But after--the disgrace--" "There weren't no disgrace; I married 'er! Y' see, I loved 'er purty looks an' gentle ways." "And you--married her--notwithstanding! You forgave her!" "Aye, I did--years an' years ago! Ah, an' a danged good little wife she's been too--ah, an' mother--none better." "Have you many children?" "Nine!" "And you feed them all?" "Every one--an' very frequent, bless their little 'earts." "And clothe them?" "As well as I can, sir, though their clo'es gets uncommon wore an' 'oley, 'igh an' low--specially low, sir!" "You provide a roof to shelter them?" "Aye--such as it is--needs re-thatchin' bad." "And are you happy?" "Aye, I am--though times is 'ard." "And pray what is your name?" "Martin, sir--Thomas Martin." "Then, Thomas Martin, you are a man--and a better, a far better man than I, for--hear me confess, Tom Martin, I have never performed any one of these man's virtues. You have done nobly!" And I thrust five guineas into his work-hardened palm. "Well drown'd me!" he gasped, very much as if he were undergoing that watery ordeal. "Egad, sir! Lord love your eyes an' limbs--" "For the children and their mother," said I.