"Well, Westmacott, I am sure I am very much obliged to you," said the

Admiral. "You have stood by me when I was the better for a little help,

for I'm clean out of my soundings among these city sharks. But I've

something to do now which is more in my own line, and I need not trouble

you any more."

"Oh, it is no trouble. I have nothing to do. I never have anything to

do. I don't suppose I could do it if I had. I should be delighted to

come with you, sir, if I can be of any use."

"No, no, my lad. You go home again. It would be kind of you, though, if

you would look in at number one when you get back and tell my wife that

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all's well with me, and that I'll be back in an hour or so."

"All right, sir. I'll tell her." Westmacott raised his hat and strode

away to the westward, while the Admiral, after a hurried lunch, bent his

steps towards the east.

It was a long walk, but the old seaman swung along at a rousing pace,

leaving street after street behind him. The great business places

dwindled down into commonplace shops and dwellings, which decreased and

became more stunted, even as the folk who filled them did, until he was

deep in the evil places of the eastern end. It was a land of huge,

dark houses and of garish gin-shops, a land, too, where life moves

irregularly and where adventures are to be gained--as the Admiral was to

learn to his cost.

He was hurrying down one of the long, narrow, stone-flagged lanes

between the double lines of crouching, disheveled women and of dirty

children who sat on the hollowed steps of the houses, and basked in

the autumn sun. At one side was a barrowman with a load of walnuts, and

beside the barrow a bedraggled woman with a black fringe and a chequered

shawl thrown over her head. She was cracking walnuts and picking them

out of the shells, throwing out a remark occasionally to a rough man in

a rabbit-skin cap, with straps under the knees of his corduroy trousers,

who stood puffing a black clay pipe with his back against the wall. What

the cause of the quarrel was, or what sharp sarcasm from the woman's

lips pricked suddenly through that thick skin may never be known, but

suddenly the man took his pipe in his left hand, leaned forward, and

deliberately struck her across the face with his right. It was a slap

rather than a blow, but the woman gave a sharp cry and cowered up

against the barrow with her hand to her cheek.

"You infernal villain!" cried the Admiral, raising his stick. "You brute

and blackguard!"




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