Mr. Smithson made a strange moaning noise, and, snatching his hat from the table, clapped it on his head and made for the door.  Mr. Clarkson flung his arms around him and dragged him back by main force.

“What are you carrying on like that for?” he demanded.  “What do you mean by it?”

“Fancy!” returned Mr. Smithson, with intense bitterness.  “I thought Digson was the biggest fool in the place, and I find I’ve made a mistake.  So have you.  Good-night.”

He opened the door and dashed out.  Mr. Clarkson, with a strange sinking at his heart, watched him up the road.

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

[Illustration:  “The lodger was standing at the foot o’ Ginger’s bed, going through ’is pockets.”]

The night-watchman shook his head.  “I never met any of these phil—­ philantherpists, as you call ’em,” he said, decidedly.  “If I ’ad they wouldn’t ’ave got away from me in a hurry, I can tell you.  I don’t say I don’t believe in ’em; I only say I never met any of ’em.  If people do you a kindness it’s generally because they want to get something out of you; same as a man once—­a perfick stranger—­wot stood me eight ’arf-pints becos I reminded ’im of his dead brother, and then borrered five bob off of me.

“O’ course, there must be some kind-’arted people in the world—­all men who get married must ’ave a soft spot somewhere, if it’s only in the ’ead—­but they don’t often give things away.  Kind-’artedness is often only another name for artfulness, same as Sam Small’s kindness to Ginger Dick and Peter Russet.

“It started with a row.  They was just back from a v’y’ge and ’ad taken a nice room together in Wapping, and for the fust day or two, wot with ‘aving plenty o’ money to spend and nothing to do, they was like three brothers.  Then, in a little, old-fashioned public-’ouse down Poplar way, one night they fell out over a little joke Ginger played on Sam.

“It was the fust drink that evening, and Sam ‘ad just ordered a pot o’ beer and three glasses, when Ginger winked at the landlord and offered to bet Sam a level ’arf-dollar that ‘e wouldn’t drink off that pot o’ beer without taking breath.  The landlord held the money, and old Sam, with a ’appy smile on ’is face, ’ad just taken up the mug, when he noticed the odd way in which they was all watching him.  Twice he took the mug up and put it down agin without starting and asked ’em wot the little game was, but they on’y laughed.  He took it up the third time and started, and he ’ad just got about ’arf-way through when Ginger turns to the landlord and ses—­

“‘Did you catch it in the mouse-trap,’ he ses, ‘or did it die of poison?’

“Pore Sam started as though he ’ad been shot, and, arter getting rid of the beer in ’is mouth, stood there ’olding the mug away from ’im and making such ’orrible faces that they was a’most frightened.