and presently he heard Big Ben strike seven.  He had twelve hours to get through with nothing to do.  He dreaded the interminable night.  The sky was overcast and he feared it would rain; he would have to go to a lodging-house where he could get a bed; he had seen them advertised on lamps outside houses in Lambeth:  Good Beds sixpence; he had never been inside one, and dreaded the foul smell and the vermin.  He made up his mind to stay in the open air if he possibly could.  He remained in the park till it was closed and then began to walk about.  He was very tired.  The thought came to him that an accident would be a piece of luck, so that he could be taken to a hospital and lie there, in a clean bed, for weeks.  At midnight he was so hungry that he could not go without food any more, so he went to a coffee stall at Hyde Park Corner and ate a couple of potatoes and had a cup of coffee.  Then he walked again.  He felt too restless to sleep, and he had a horrible dread of being moved on by the police.  He noted that he was beginning to look upon the constable from quite a new angle.  This was the third night he had spent out.  Now and then he sat on the benches in Piccadilly and towards morning he strolled down to The Embankment.  He listened to the striking of Big Ben, marking every quarter of an hour, and reckoned out how long it left till the city woke again.  In the morning he spent a few coppers on making himself neat and clean, bought a paper to read the advertisements, and set out once more on the search for work.

He went on in this way for several days.  He had very little food and began to feel weak and ill, so that he had hardly enough energy to go on looking for the work which seemed so desperately hard to find.  He was growing used now to the long waiting at the back of a shop on the chance that he would be taken on, and the curt dismissal.  He walked to all parts of London in answer to the advertisements, and he came to know by sight men who applied as fruitlessly as himself.  One or two tried to make friends with him, but he was too tired and too wretched to accept their advances.  He did not go any more to Lawson, because he owed him five shillings.  He began to be too dazed to think clearly and ceased very much to care what would happen to him.  He cried a good deal.  At first he was very angry with himself for this and ashamed, but he found it relieved him, and somehow made him feel less hungry.  In the very early morning he suffered a good deal from cold.  One night he went into his room to change his linen; he slipped in about three, when he was quite sure everyone would be asleep, and out again at five; he lay on the bed and its softness was enchanting; all his bones ached, and as he lay he revelled in the pleasure of it; it was so delicious that he did not want to go to sleep.  He was growing used to want of food and did not feel very hungry, but only weak.  Constantly now at the back of his mind was the thought of doing away with himself, but he used all the strength