knob of the street-door. He turned it to let me out and then he
added: "I just go downstairs, sir, again, and I stay there."

"My poor child," I replied in my emotion, quite as Mr. Offord used
to speak, "my dear fellow, leave it to me: WE'LL look after you,
we'll all do something for you."

"Ah if you could give me some one LIKE him! But there ain't two
such in the world," Brooksmith said as we parted.

He had given me his address--the place where he would be to be
heard of. For a long time I had no occasion to make use of the
information: he proved on trial so very difficult a case. The
people who knew him and had known Mr. Offord didn't want to take
him, and yet I couldn't bear to try to thrust him among strangers--
strangers to his past when not to his present. I spoke to many of
our old friends about him and found them all governed by the odd
mixture of feelings of which I myself was conscious--as well as
disposed, further, to entertain a suspicion that he was "spoiled,"
with which, I then would have nothing to do. In plain terms a
certain embarrassment, a sensible awkwardness when they thought of
it, attached to the idea of using him as a menial: they had met
him so often in society. Many of them would have asked him, and
did ask him, or rather did ask me to ask him, to come and see them,
but a mere visiting-list was not what I wanted for him. He was too
short for people who were very particular; nevertheless I heard of
an opening in a diplomatic household which led me to write him a
note, though I was looking much less for something grand than for
something human. Five days later I heard from him. The
secretary's wife had decided, after keeping him waiting till then,