For the life of him he could not burlesque the Cockney accent, and although he used the simplest phraseology, the man glanced at him sharply. "Where are yer workin'?" he said. "At Isaacstein's in Hatton Garden." The words had not left his lips ere he regretted them. "Wot is 'e?" "A Jew," and Philip laughed. This quip atoned for the error of the admission. "Bli-me, you won't get a lot aht of 'im." "No. It cost me some trouble to get an advance, I can assure you." Philip rattled all his silver and coppers onto the counter. He counted out sixteen shillings sixpence. "Not much left, is there?" he said. "Well, look 'ere," said the man. "Gimme fifteen bob. You're a sharp lad. You'll myke yer w'y all right. Nex' time you want some duds come to me an' I'll treat you fair." "Thank you very much," said Philip, considerably surprised by this generous act. "I certainly will not forget you." "You can change in my little back room if you like. That lot you've got on ain't worth tykin' 'ome." "I am obliged for your kindness, but I must be off now. It is late, and I have a long way to go." "Where to? Holloway?" "No, cityward." The clothes and boots were made up in a parcel by this time. Philip hurried away, glad to escape further questioning. "Queer sort o' kid, that," mused the shopkeeper. "My, but 'e must ha' bin 'ard up afore 'e took on wiv' a Jew. Wot did 'e s'y 'is nyme was? Isaacstein? I've seen that somewhere or other. Now where was it?" He knew two hours later, for he, too, read the evening paper. Philip sprang into a 'bus for the Bank. At the Royal Exchange he would catch a green 'bus for the Mile End Road. It was almost dark when he reached the Bank. Thus far the omnibuses going east were not crowded. Now the situation had changed. The human eddy in that throbbing center of life was sending off its swirls to all points of the compass, and the eastbound vehicles were boarded by an eager crowd almost before the passengers arriving at the terminus could descend. A poor woman, greatly hampered by a baby, was struggling with others to obtain a seat in the Mile End Road 'bus. Philip, coming late on the scene, saw her swept ruthlessly aside by a number of men and boys. The conductor jerked the bell-rope several times. There was no more room. The woman, white-faced and disappointed, looked around with a woe-begone expression. Philip, who would have gladly paid for a cab to take her to her destination, dared do nothing of the sort. But he said: "Keep close to me. I will get you a seat in the next 'bus." "Oh, I wish you would," she said, with a wan smile. "I am so tired. I have walked here from Shepherd's Bush." "That's a long way to carry a baby." "What could I do? People won't take care of children without payment. I heard I could get work in a laundry there, so I went to look after it. There's nothing to be had down our way, is there?" "Things turn up suddenly," said Philip.