“You eat that bread or I’ll call a policeman and give you in charge,” said the other, raising his voice. “I believe you’re an impostor. Where’s your hawker’s license?” In a state bordering upon frenzy Sam bit off a piece of the bread and tried to swallow it. He took up a water-bottle and drank some of the contents, and within five minutes had swallowed as many mouthfuls. “Go on,” said the donor sternly. “I won’t,” said Sam fiercely; “damned if I will!” The other rose and went to the door. “Just step this way a minute, constable,” he said quietly. He stood aside, and, as Sam paused with the bread in his hand, the door opened and Dick and Henry entered, and shaking their heads, gazed sorrowfully upon him. The big man sat down and laughed until he cried as Sam, realizing the plot of which he had been the victim, flung the bread at Henry and made for the door. He went down the road mad with indignation, and with a firm resolve to have no more to do with bootlaces, pitched them away. “Hallo, Sam!” cried a figure from the other side of the road. “Any luck?” Sam shook his head speechlessly. “You’ve been drinkin,” said the cook as he came over. “I ain’t,” said Sam. Then a base idea occurred to him, and he took the other by the arm. “There’s a pub down here, cook,” he said in a trembling voice, “an’ there’s an old chap there I can’t be certain of. S’pose you go an’ have a look at ’im.” “Which one?” inquired his innocent friend. Full of a great joy, Sam led him to the place of his mortification, and waiting until he was fairly in, stood listening behind the door. “Why don’t they speak up?” he said crossly, as a low, indistinct murmuring reached him. He strained his ears intently, but could not catch anything, and losing all patience, was just about to push the door open and peep in when he heard a roar of laughter. Peal upon peal sounded until the bar shook with it, and an expression of peace and rest came over his face as he pictured the scene inside. “Don’t,” said the cook’s voice feebly. There was another roar of laughter, to which Sam grinned a silent accompaniment. “You’ll kill me,” said the cook again, in a choking voice. “No worse for you than for me, my lad,” said Sam, with great content. There was another roar in which Sam, to his amazement, fancied that the cook joined. He was still listening in a state of maddening perplexity when he heard the cook’s voice again. “Poor old Sam!” it said distinctly. “Poor old Sam! I’d ’ave given anythin’ to ’ave seen him.”