"I didn't stop long, it's true. There was a devil of a row one night, and a man who knew me rounded on me and called me a thief. While the row wos goin' on in come the landlord with 'is fightin' potman, and I was bundled out neck and crop. It ain't easy to get a honest living, guv'nor. I wasn't flush of tin, when I lost my situation; 'arf a quid was all I 'ad, and that was soon blooed. Then I 'ad sech a spell o' bad luck that it drove me fairly wild. Windsor races wos on, and I thought I'd try my luck there, so I borrowed a old pack o' cards, a deal board, and a couple of tressels, and tramped it to the course, startin' in the night to get there in time. I give yer my word I wos 'most starved, and as for my togs--well, I 'ad to tie the soles of my boots to the uppers with bits of string. Between the races I set up my table, and begun to show my card tricks. Unfortunately I ain't wery good at patter, and you know, guv'nor, no one better, wot a long way that goes with a crowd. I tried to make clever speeches, but couldn't, and the consekence wos that the day wos nearly over, and eightpence was all I managed to screw out o' the mangy lot. A tanner o' that went in 'ard-biled eggs, and bread, and a go o' stooed eels, and there wos I with tuppence left to take me back to London. It wos Saturday, and there wos no chance of gittin' anythink to-morrer. A tight 'ole, wasn't it? A life like mine ain't all beer and skittles, I can tell yer. "Down-'earted as I wos, I went on with my tricks, and never did 'em better in all my life. But it wos no go; them as gathered round wouldn't part. I wos beggin' of 'em to chuck in their coppers when who should I see among 'em but Maxwell. 'E didn't speak to me jest then and 'e didn't give me nothink; presently 'e went away, and come back with Morgan, and they stood watchin' me shuffle the pasteboards. Then they looked at each other, and sed somethink I didn't 'ear. Morgan walked off, leavin' Maxwell be'ind. 'E took me aside. "Yer down on yer luck," said 'e. "Never 'ad sech a cussed run in all my born days," sed I, showin' my rags. "You're clever with the pasteboards," sed 'e. "Wish I could git my livin' out of 'em," sed I. "Per'aps yer can," sed 'e. "If I orfer yer a job will yer take it?" "Will a duck swim?" I answered. 'E scanned me all over, jest as if 'e was measurin' me for somethink, and sed, "You ain't over-partickler, I suppose?" "Me over-partickler!" I cried. "That's a good 'un. Wot sort of a job?" "Pickin' feathers," he said, as serious as a judge. "Wot sort of bird?" I arst. "Pigeon," he answered. "A fine fat 'un."