sell his clothes. And then--?

But help was at hand. One day he saw it advertised in a newspaper
that the secretary of a hospital in the north of London was in
need of a clerk; application was to be made by letter. He wrote,
and two days later, to his astonishment, received a reply asking
him to wait upon the secretary at a certain hour. In a fever of
agitation he kept the appointment, and found that his business
was with a young man in the very highest spirits, who walked up
and down a little office (the hospital was of the 'special'
order, a house of no great size), and treated the matter in hand
as an excellent joke.

'I thought, you know, of engaging someone much younger--quite a
lad, in fact. But look there! Those are the replies to my
advertisement.'

He pointed to a heap of five or six hundred letters, and laughed
consumedly.

'Impossible to read them all, you know. It seemed to me that the
fairest thing would be to shake them together, stick my hand in,
and take out one by chance. If it didn't seem very promising, I
would try a second time. But the first letter was yours, and I
thought the fair thing to do was at all events to see you, you
know. The fact is, I am only able to offer a pound a week.'

'I shall be very glad indeed to take that,' said Reardon, who was
bathed in perspiration.