‘No, I don’t live nowhere,’ said the man. ‘The likes of me don’t live more one place nor another. We likes change we do: but give me a bob and I’ll soon get him a lodging. I don’t say it’ll be so easy getting him there, for he ain’t used to the streets, and he’s dazed like, and a little drop of drink, a matter of nothing, a thimbleful’s done for him. Young chap,’ added the man, sinking his voice, ‘that man was born a gentleman, talks like you do when he’s hisself, and knows a lot. But when a man once goes over the traces that don’t do nothing for him, not a bit. Young ’un, you mind what I say.’ There was a tipsy gravity about this admonition which, blended with the pity and the horror, took away all inclination to laugh, although the situation was miserably ludicrous too. ‘This is the third time I’ve seen you,’ said John. ‘Last time you were working at a foundry.’ ‘For a little bit,’ said the man, ‘but I’m not one to settle nowhere, that’s the truth. You see I never had no start to speak of, not like him there. I’ve al’ays been about the streets. It don’t make much difference in the end, if once you take to them sort of ways. See, there’s the p’liceman coming on, marching as if he was a whole regiment. Hi, mate! Wake up, there’s a good fellow. Wake up, I tell you. Ye can’t go to sleep on a doorstep. Hi, mate! I say.’ ‘What’s the matter, sir?’ said the policeman, coming up; and at the same time a cab, driving along without a fare, drew up to see if anything which might produce a shilling or an excitement was going on in this dark corner. The policeman threw the light of his lantern upon the face of the man who, half asleep, half stupefied, leaned up against the corner of the door. Notwithstanding the dazed condition in which the unfortunate man was, the face was not in the least like that of his miserable companion or his kind. It was clear-cut in features and mild in expression, a sort of humorous smile about the mouth, the air as of a man taking his ease in the attitude with which he leaned back upon the hard support of the door. White eyelids, which seemed to conceal large and somewhat prominent eyes, with very light eyelashes, showed the extremely fair complexion, which exposure had browned and reddened in the lower part of his face. He was dressed in decent clothes of an old-fashioned cut. Altogether, he was much more like the victim than the mate of the hoarse ruffian, who kept bawling in his ears, and from time to time shaking him roughly by the arm. ‘I can’t tell you,’ said John; ‘I found the two on the steps of the office to which I belong. I can’t have them here. What can be done? The other man looks--respectable, don’t you think?’