“I’m so glad you have come,” she exclaimed.  “It is hard to send these people away, but do you know, they have come from all parts of London?  Neither Mr. Flitch nor I can make them understand that we can only deal with cases in the immediate neighbourhood.  You must try.”

Brooks stood up at once.

“I am very sorry,” he said, “if there has been any misunderstanding, but I want you all to remember this.  It is impossible for us to deal with any cases to-night unless you are residents of the immediate neighbourhood.  The list of streets is on the front door.  Please do not present yourselves before any of the desks unless you lodge or live in one of them.”

There was a murmur of disappointment, and in the background a few growls.

“I hope before very long,” Brooks continued, “that we shall have a great many more branches open, and be able to offer help to all of you.  But at present we cannot make any exceptions.  Will every one except our neighbours please help us by leaving the room.”

For the most part he was obeyed, and then one of the reporters touched him on the shoulder.

“Good-evening, Mr. Brooks.  I am representing the Evening Courier.  We should be glad to know what your ideas are as to the future of this new departure of yours, and any other information you might cane to give us.  There are some others here, I see, on the same errand.  Any exclusive information you cared to place at my disposal would be much valued, and we should take especial pains to put your case fairly before the public.”

Brooks smiled.

“Really,” he said, “it seems as though I were on my defence.”

The reporter took out his pencil.

“Well, you know,” he said, “some of the established charitable institutions are rather conservative, and they look upon you as an interloper, and your methods as a little too broad.”

“Well,” Brooks said, “if it is to be war between us and the other charitable institutions you name, I am ready for it, but I cannot talk to you now.  As you see, I have an evening’s work before me.”

“When can you spare me half-an-hour, sir?”

“At midnight—­my rooms, in, Jermyn Street.”

The reporter closed his book.

“I don’t wish to waste your time, sir,” he answered.  “If you are not going to say anything to the others before then I will go away.”

Brooks nodded.  The reporters whispered together.

“May we stay and watch for a few minutes?” one of them asked.

Brooks agreed, and went on with his work.  Once more the human flotsam and jetsam, worthy and unworthy, laid bare the sore places in their lives, sometimes with the smooth tongue of deceit, sometimes with the unconscious eloquence of suffering long pent up.  One by one they found their way into Brooks’ ledgers as cases to be reckoned out and solved.  And meanwhile nearly all of them found some immediate relief, passing out into the night with footsteps a little less shuffling, and hearts a little lighter.  The night’s work was a long one.  It was eleven o’clock before Brooks left his seat with a little gesture of relief and lit a cigarette.