men. So she showed no pity for them, only for me,
who deserved it least or not at all. Not in honor
do gray hairs go down to the grave in London
Town.

On one side the door was a bell handle, on the
other side a press button.

"Ring the bell," said the Carter to me.

And just as I ordinarily would at anybody s door,
I pulled out the handle and rang a peal.

"Oh ! Oh ! " they cried in one terrified voice.
"Not so ard!"

I let go, and they looked reproachfully at me, as
though I had imperilled their chance for a bed and
three parts of skilly. Nobody came. Luckily, it
was the wrong bell, and I felt better.

"Press the button," I said to the Carpenter.

"No, no, wait a bit," the Carter hurriedly inter
posed.

From all of which I drew the conclusion that a
poorhouse porter, who commonly draw r s a yearly
salary of from thirty to forty dollars, is a very
finicky and important personage, and cannot be
treated too fastidiously by paupers.

So we waited, ten times a decent interval, when
the Carter stealthily advanced a timid forefinger to
the button, and gave it the faintest, shortest possi
ble push. I have looked at waiting men where life
and death was in the issue; but anxious suspense

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p083 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p084w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p085

v?