Two little boys had flattened their noses to the whiteness of winkles against the jealously misty windows.  Algernon knew himself to be accounted a generous fellow, and remembering his reputation, he, as to hint at what Fortune might do in his case, tossed some coppers to the urchins, who ducked to the pavement and slid before the counter, in a flash, with never a “thank ye” or the thought of it.

Algernon was incapable of appreciating this childish faith in the beneficence of the unseen Powers who feed us, which, I must say for him, he had shared in a very similar manner only two hours ago.  He laughed scornfully:  “The little beggars!” considering in his soul that of such is humanity composed:  as many a dinnerless man has said before, and will again, to point the speech of fools.  He continued strolling on, comparing the cramped misty London aspect of things with his visionary free dream of the glorious prairies, where his other life was:  the forests, the mountains, the endless expanses; the horses, the flocks, the slipshod ease of language and attire; and the grog-shops.  Aha!  There could be no mistake about him as a gentleman and a scholar out there!  Nor would Nature shut up her pocket and demand innumerable things of him, as civilization did.  This he thought in the vengefulness of his outraged mind.

Not only had Algernon never failed to dine every day of his life:  he had no recollection of having ever dined without drinking wine.  His conception did not embrace the idea of a dinner lacking wine.  Possibly he had some embodied understanding that wine did not fall to the lot of every fellow upon earth:  he had heard of gullets unrefreshed even by beer:  but at any rate he himself was accustomed to better things, and he did not choose to excavate facts from the mass of his knowledge in order to reconcile himself to the miserable chop he saw for his dinner in the distance—­a spot of meat in the arctic circle of a plate, not shone upon by any rosy-warming sun of a decanter!

But metaphorical language, though nothing other will convey the extremity of his misery, or the form of his thoughts, must be put aside.

“Egad, and every friend I have is out of town!” he exclaimed, quite willing to think it part of the plot.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, and felt vagabond-like and reckless.  The streets were revelling in their winter muck.  The carriages rolling by insulted him with their display of wealth.

He had democratic sentiments regarding them.  Oh for a horse upon the boundless plains! he sighed to his heart.  He remembered bitterly how he had that day ridden his stool at the bank, dreaming of his wilds, where bailiff never ran, nor duns obscured the firmament.

And then there were theatres here—­huge extravagant places!  Algernon went over to an entrance of one, to amuse his mind, cynically criticizing the bill.  A play was going forward within, that enjoyed great popular esteem, “The Holly Berries.”  Seeing that the pit was crammed, Algernon made application to learn the state of the boxes, but hearing that one box was empty, he lost his interest in the performance.