I did not cry for long, unheeded. I wish I had words that adequately could describe what happened, the sudden blessed sense of comfort that warmed my soul. Through my distress there loomed the large and kindly figure of a workman.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I⁠—I’m cold,” said I.

“It’s a bitter morning,” he answered. “What you wants is a cup o’ cawfee.”

I nodded, and more with the desire to terminate the interview than any hope of assistance, I told him that I hadn’t any money.

“That’s all right,” he said, “I’ll treat you.”

There was nothing but the purest chivalry in the invitation. He was distressed that I was cold and, manlike, wanted to give me succour. He took me to one of the little eating houses which abound in Hackney, and ordered a steaming bowl of hot, sweet coffee.