Thirty-four were ahead of us.
Disappointment and consternation dawned upon the faces about me. It is
not a nice thing, hungry and penniless, to face a sleepless night in the
streets. But we hoped against hope, till, when ten stood outside the
wicket, the porter turned us away.
"Full up," was what he said, as he banged the door.
Like a flash, for all his eighty-seven years, the old sailor was speeding
away on the desperate chance of finding shelter elsewhere. I stood and
debated with two other men, wise in the knowledge of casual wards, as to
where we should go. They decided on the Poplar Workhouse, three miles
away, and we started off.
As we rounded the corner, one of them said, "I could a' got in 'ere to-
day. I come by at one o'clock, an' the line was beginnin' to form
then--pets, that's what they are. They let 'm in, the same ones, night
upon night."
CHAPTER VIII--THE CARTER AND THE CARPENTER
The Carter, with his clean-cut face, chin beard, and shaved upper lip, I
should have taken in the United States for anything from a master workman
to a well-to-do farmer. The Carpenter--well, I should have taken him for
a carpenter. He looked it, lean and wiry, with shrewd, observant eyes,
and hands that had grown twisted to the handles of tools through forty-
seven years' work at the trade.
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