‘Then you won’t see the master!’

He moved the door swiftly to; but, prepared for such a manoeuvre, I thrust my foot sufficiently inside to prevent his shutting it.  I continued to address him.

‘Are you sure that the ward is full?’

‘Full two hours ago!’

‘But what am I to do?’

‘I don’t know what you’re to do!’

‘Which is the next nearest workhouse?’

‘Kensington.’

Suddenly opening the door, as he answered me, putting out his arm he thrust me backwards.  Before I could recover the door was closed.  The man in rags had continued a grim spectator of the scene.  Now he spoke.

‘Nice bloke, ain’t he?’

’He’s only one of the paupers,—­has he any right to act as one of the officials?’

’I tell yer some of them paupers is wuss than the orficers,—­a long sight wuss!  They thinks they owns the ’ouses, blimey they do.  Oh it’s a——­fine world, this is!’

He paused.  I hesitated.  For some time there had been a suspicion of rain in the air.  Now it was commencing to fall in a fine but soaking drizzle.  It only needed that to fill my cup to overflowing.  My companion was regarding me with a sort of sullen curiosity.

‘Ain’t you got no money?’

‘Not a farthing.’

‘Done much of this sort of thing?’

’It’s the first time I’ve been to a casual ward,—­and it doesn’t seem as if I’m going to get in now.’

’I thought you looked as if you was a bit fresh.—­What are yer goin’ to do?’

‘How far is it to Kensington?’

’Work’us?—­about three mile;—­but, if I was you, I’d try St George’s.’

‘Where’s that?’

’In the Fulham Road.  Kensington’s only a small place, they do you well there, and it’s always full as soon as the door’s opened;—­ you’d ‘ave more chawnce at St George’s.’

He was silent.  I turned his words over in my mind, feeling as little disposed to try the one place as the other.  Presently he began again.

’I’ve travelled from Reading this——­day, I ’ave,—­tramped every—­ —­foot!—­and all the way as I come along, I’ll ’ave a shakedown at ’Ammersmith, I says,—­and now I’m as fur off from it as ever!  This is a——­fine country, this is,—­I wish every——­soul in it was swept into the——­sea, blimey I do!  But I ain’t goin’ to go no further,—­I’ll ’ave a bed in ’Ammersmith or I’ll know the reason why.’

‘How are you going to manage it,—­have you got any money?’

’Got any money?—­My crikey!—­I look as though I ’ad,—­I sound as though I ’ad too!  I ain’t ’ad no brads, ’cept now and then a brown, this larst six months.’

‘How are you going to get a bed then?’

‘Ow am I going to?—­why, like this way.’  He picked up two stones, one in either hand.  The one in his left he flung at the glass which was over the door of the casual ward.  It crashed through it, and through the lamp beyond.  ’That’s ‘ow I’m goin’ to get a bed.’