But here was he, Lavirotte, in the full consciousness of the possession of youth and of health, save in so far as health had been exhausted by trying labours and wasting fasts, about to die because there was no pitcher of water from which he might slake his thirst, no crust which could allay the pangs of hunger. Suppose he had been upon the upper, gracious earth, without any of the money now in his pocket. Suppose he had nothing but his youth and youthful elasticity of spirits, even feeble as he now was, he might pick up a living somewhere. He had education and good manners. He might not be able to earn two hundred pounds a year, but he could make a shilling, eighteenpence a day somehow, and on eighteenpence a day a man could live. On eighteenpence a day no man could have splendours or luxuries, but he might have water free from the fountain he had just passed in front of that church in Fleet Street, and water was a great deal. Water was half life, more than half life--water was all life when one was thirsty, as he was now. Then, for eighteenpence a day he might have food, not luxurious or exquisite food; but in his wanderings through London he had seen places where suppers were set forth at threepence--large bowls of boiled eels swimming in appetising gravy, with, to each bowl, a huge junk of milky white bread. He had, when his pocket was comparatively full of money, often seen the wearied artisan or factory "hand" eating with relish eel-soup and bread. He had stood looking in at the windows, and, being full-fed himself, congratulated himself upon the comfort, the luxury, these poor people enjoyed in their savoury evening repast. He had watched them go in tired and dreary, worn out with the mean commonplaces of hard work and insufficient wages. He had watched them sit down in a listless, careless way, as though they cared not whether the next hour brought them death or not. Then, gradually, as the savour of the place penetrated them, and as the eager but delayed appetite became satisfied, he had seen a kind of attenuated conviviality arise between these poor folk, until, at the end, when they had finished their meal, they came forth congratulating themselves upon the cheapness, wholesomeness, and satisfying power of the food they had enjoyed. Now, supposing in a shop he had a basin of this eel-soup, not merely soup, but soup with luscious, succulent flesh of the rich fish swimming about in that delicious liquor, and in his hand a piece of bread larger than one fist, but not quite so large as two, what should he do?