slatternly figure, unending toil in a foul and noisome coffee-house that faced on an alley ten feet between the walls, and a waterside environment that was ugly and sickening to say the least.
"You'll be hin hagain to 'ave a look?" she questioned wistfully, as I went out of the door.
And as I turned and looked at her, I realized to the full the deeper truth underlying that very wise old maxim: 'Virtue is its own reward.'
I went back to her. "Have you ever taken a vacation?" I asked.
"Vycytion!"
"A trip to the country for a couple of days, fresh air, a day off, you know, a rest."
"Lor' lumme!" she laughed, for the first time stopping from her work. "A vycytion, eh? for the likes o' me? Just fancy, now!—Mind yer feet!"—this last sharply, and to me, as I stumbled over the rotten threshold.
Down near the West India Dock I came upon a young fellow staring disconsolately at the muddy water. A fireman's cap was pulled down across his eyes, and the fit and sag of his clothes whispered unmistakably of the sea.
"Hello, mate," I greeted him, sparring for a beginning. "Can you tell me the way to Wapping?"
"Worked yer way over on a cattle boat?" he countered, fixing my nationality on the instant.
