Of course, he had no trade.  The manual skill of a policeman is useless outside the police force.  One cannot sell it in other markets.  People said that Chadwick was a fool to leave the police force.  He was; but he was a sublime and dignified fool in his idle folly.  What he wanted was a position of trust, a position where nothing would be required from him but a display of portliness, majesty and incorruptibility.  Such positions are not easy to discover.  Employers had no particular objection to portliness, majesty and incorruptibility, but as a rule they demanded something else into the bargain.  Chadwick’s first situation after his defection from the police was that of night watchman in an earthenware manufactory down by the canal at Shawport.  He accepted it regretfully, and he firmly declined to see the irony of fate in forcing such a post on a man who conscientiously objected to night duty.  He did not maintain this post long, and his reasons for giving it up were kept a dark secret.  Some said that Chadwick’s natural tendency to sleep at night had been taken amiss by his master.

Thenceforward he went through transformation after transformation, outvying the legendary chameleon.  He was a tobacconist, a park-keeper, a rent collector, a commission agent, a clerk, another clerk, still another clerk, a sweetstuff seller, a fried fish merchant, a coal agent, a book agent, a pawnbroker’s assistant, a dog-breeder, a door-keeper, a board-school keeper, a chapel-keeper, a turnstile man at football matches, a coachman, a carter, a warehouseman, and a chucker-out at the Empire Music Hall at Hanbridge.  But he was nothing long.  The explanations of his changes were invariably vague, unseizable.  And his dignity remained unimpaired, together with his broadcloth.  He not only had dignity for himself, but enough left over to decorate the calling which he happened for the moment to be practising.  He was dignified in the sale of rock-balls, and especially so in encounters with his creditors; and his grandeur when out of a place was a model to all unemployed.

Further, he was ever a pillar and aid of the powers.  He worshipped order, particularly the old order, and wealth and correctness.  He was ever with the strong against the weak, unless the weak happened to be an ancient institution, in which case he would support it with all the valour of his convictions.  Needless to say, he was a very active politician.  Perhaps the activity of his politics had something to do with the frequency of his transformations—­for he would always be his somewhat spectacular self; he would always call his soul his own, and he would quietly accept a snub from no man.

And now he was a tram-conductor.  Things had come to that.