“Well, old chap, who struck you this blow?” He bent his ear down to Jim’s lips, and the latter managed to reply: “A stranger.” Isaac came, humid and concerned, and pressed his hand. “Well, well, I’ve found you, old friend! A neighbor told me. Distressing indeed. They say you must not talk. Well, what can I do?” Jim indicated with his hands that he wished to write something down. Isaac produced an envelope and a pencil, and he wrote: “Go and see my little gal Annie. Send her to me. Keep an eye on her.” Isaac nodded gravely, and went away. There appeared an eternity of time before the child came, but when she did all his dark forebodings vanished. She came smiling up the ward, and kissed him. They held each other’s hands for a long time before she spoke. “They would not tell me where you were. It was old Mr. Rubens. Oh, Daddy, are you getting better?” Yes, he was getting better. Much better. During the last two minutes he had improved enormously. He felt that he could speak. He managed to mumble: “How are you, my love?” “All right. Mother has been very cross. That horrid man has gone away. Mr. Rubens said you hurt your face. How did it happen, Daddy?” “I slipped on the stairs, my dear, and fell.” Annie’s eyes opened very wide, but she did not speak. He knew by her manner that she did not believe him. At the back of her eyes there still lurked something of that horror which haunted them on the night when she had discovered “that horrid man” embracing her mother. It was the same night that her father “slipped on the stairs.” The child was too astute to dissociate the two incidents, but she did not want to distress him. “I shall come every day,” she announced. He smiled gratefully, and she stayed and chatted with him until the sister proclaimed that visitors were to depart. From that day the convalescence of Jim Canning, although slow, was assured. Apart from the broken jaw he had suffered a slight concussion owing to striking the back of his head against the wall when he fell. The hospital authorities could not get out of him how the accident happened. Annie and Isaac Rubens were regular visitors, but during the seven weeks he remained in hospital Clara only visited him twice, and that was to arrange about money. On the day that he was discharged he had drawn his last five pounds from the bank. “Never mind, never mind,” he thought to himself; “we’ll soon get that back.” And within a few days he was again trundling his barrow along the streets, calling out in his rather high _tremolo_ voice, “Old iron! Old iron!”