"Pore chap!" said the landlord, leaning over the bar. "He was in 'ere
only 'arf an hour ago, standing in this very bar."

"Well, he's 'ad his last drop o' beer," said a carman in a chastened
voice.

"That's more than anybody can say," said the landlord, sharply. "I never
heard anything against the man; he's led a good life so far as I know,
and 'ow can we tell that he won't 'ave beer?"

He made Mr. Kidd a present of another small glass of brandy.

"He didn't leave any family, did he?" he inquired, as he passed it over.

"Only a wife," said Mr. Kidd; "and who's to tell that pore soul I don't
know. She fair doated on 'im. 'Ow she's to live I don't know. I shall
do what I can for 'er."

"Same 'ere," said Mr. Brown, in a deep voice.

"Something ought to be done for 'er," said the carman, as he went out.

"First thing is to tell the police," said the landlord. "They ought to
know; then p'r'aps one of them'll tell her. It's what they're paid for."

"It's so awfully sudden. I don't know where I am 'ardly," said Mr. Kidd.
"I don't believe she's got a penny-piece in the 'ouse. Pore Joe 'ad a
lot o' pals. I wonder whether we could'nt get up something for her."

"Go round and tell the police first," said the landlord, pursing up his