Joey Clayton soon fell slow. Newman had his idea; and the three were left behind, and Joey staggered after his mates with difficulty. He lacked sleep, and he lacked stamina. Dave Burge took the canvas bag, and there were many rests: when Newman, expressing a resolve to stick by his fellow-man through thick and thin, hinted at drinks. Dave Burge made twopence at Henlow level crossing by holding an unsteady horse while a train passed. Joey saw little of the rest of the day; the road was yellow and dazzling, his cough tore him, and things were red sometimes and sometimes blue. He walked without knowing it, now helped, now lurching on alone. The others of the party were far ahead and forgotten. There was talk of a windmill ahead, where there would be rest; and the three men camped in an old boathouse by the river just outside Biggleswade. Joey, sleeping as he tottered, fell in a heap and lay without moving from sunset to broad morning. When he woke Dave Burge was sitting at the door, but Newman was gone. Also, there was no sign of the canvas bag. "No use lookin'," said Dave; "'e's done it." "Eh?" "Skulky's 'opped the twig an' sneaked your tools. Gawd knows where 'e is by now." "No--" the little man gasped, sitting up in a pale sweat.... "Not sneaked 'em ... is 'e?... S'elp me, there's a set o' callipers worth fifteen bob in that bag ... 'e ain't gawn ...?" Dave Burge nodded inexorably. "Best feel in your pockets," he said, "p'raps 'e's bin there." He had. The little man broke down. "I was a-goin' to send 'ome that two bob--s'elp me, I was.... An' what can I do without my tools? If I'd got no job I could 'a pawned 'em--an' then I'd 'a sent 'ome the money--s'elp me I would.... O, it's crool!" The walking, with the long sleep after it, had left him sore and stiff, and Dave had work to put him on the road again. He had forgotten yesterday afternoon, and asked, at first, for the others. They tramped in silence for a few miles: when Joey suddenly flung himself upon a tussock by the wayside. "Why won't nobody let me live?" he snivelled. "_I'm_ a 'armless bloke enough. I worked at Ritterson's, man and boy, very nigh twenty year. When they come an' ordered us out, I come out with the others, peaceful enough; I didn't want to chuck it up, Gawd knows, but I come out promp' when they told me. And when I found another job on the Island, four big blokes set about me an' 'arf killed me. _I_ didn't know the place was blocked. And when two o' the blokes was took up, they said I'd get strike-pay again if I didn't identify 'em; so I didn't. But they never give me no strike-pay--they laughed an' chucked me out. An' now I'm a-starvin' on the 'igh road. An' Skulky ... blimy ... _'e's_ done me too!"