It was not till he had lighted his pipe after the negotiation of these delicacies that he could again focus his philosophical outlook. Then he thought to himself: “It’s a rum thing ’ow difficult it is to do a good action. You’d think it’d be dead easy, but everythin’ seems against yer. One must be able to do it _somewhere_. P’raps one ought to go abroad, among foreigners and black men. That’s it! That’s why all these ’ere Bible Society people go out among black people, Chinese and so on. They find there’s nothin’ doin’ over ’ere.” Had it not been for the beer and gin it is highly probable that Edwin would have given up the project, and have returned to fish and chips. But lying back in a comfortable seat in “The Two Tumblers” his thoughts mellowed. He felt broad-minded, comfortable, tolerant ... one had to make allowances. There must be all sorts of ways. Money wasn’t the only thing. Besides, he was spending too much. He couldn’t afford to go on throwing away seven-and-sixpences. One must be able to help people—by helping them. Doing things for them which didn’t cost money. He thought of Sir Walter Raleigh throwing down his cloak for Queen Elizabeth to walk over. Romantic but—extravagant and silly, really a shrewd political move, no doubt; not a good action at all. If he met an ill-clad tramp he could take off his coat and wrap round his shoulders and then—? Walk home to Quince Villa in his braces? What would Mrs. Pothecary have to say? Phew! One could save people from drowning, but he didn’t know how to swim. Fire! Perhaps there would be a fire. He could swarm up a ladder and save a woman from the top bedroom window. Heroic, but hardly inconspicuous; not exactly what he had meant. Besides, the firemen would never let him; they always kept these showy stunts for themselves. There _must_ be something.... He walked out of “The Two Tumblers.” Crossing the road, he took a turning off the High Street. He saw a heavily-built woman carrying a basket of washing. He hurried after her, and raising his hat, said: “Excuse me, madam, may I carry your basket for you?” She turned on him suspiciously and glared: “No, thanks, Mr. Bottle-nose. I’ve ’ad some of that before. You ’op it! Mrs. Jaggs ’ad ’ers pinched last week that way.” “Of course,” he thought to himself as he hurried away. “The trouble is I’m not dressed for the part. A bloomin’ swell can go about doin’ good actions all day and not arouse suspicions. If I try and ’elp a girl off a tram-car I get my face slapped.” Mr. Pothecary was learning. He was becoming a complete philosopher, but it was not till late in the afternoon that he suddenly realized that patience and industry are always rewarded. He was appealed to by a maiden in distress.