Far up the line of streets the first strokes of the Knocker-up were heard.
The Man with the Broken Nose found himself a moment later standing in the street with one sovereign in his hand for a twenty-guinea garment, and looking at the shut door and the meaningless, dirty windows which contained his prize.
He wished the new owner joy in Hell, he wished it aloud with that amazing bitterness which the poor of our great cities distil more copiously than any men on earth: for of all men upon all the earth they are the most miserable.
He took out the sovereign he had just received, and his mood changed. He spat on it for luck. He felt himself going curiously lightly, and then he remembered of what a burden he was rid. He walked without difficulty, and only in a hundred yards or two did he remember his wound. It seemed to have healed quickly. It had not opened. He almost felt as though it were healing—and now I am concerned with him no more. The Green Overcoat is out of his keeping, and has no intention of returning to it.
But in the filthy little room of that filthy little house the filthy little bearer of the old
