Paul sipped his beer reflectively. "You may find happiness and peace
of soul under the stars," said he, sagely, "and if I were a free
agent I'd join you tomorrow. But you can't find fame. You can't rise
to great things. I want to--well, I don't quite know what I want
to do," he laughed, "but it's something big."

"Yuss, my boy," said Barney Bill. "I understand. You was always like
that. You haven't come any nearer finding your 'igh-born
parents?"--there was a twinkle in his eyes--"'ave yer?"

"I'm not going to bother any more about them, whoever they are,"
said Paul, lighting a cigarette. "When I was a kid I used to dream
that they would find me and do everything for me. Now I'm a man with
experience of life, I find that I've got to do everything for
myself. And by George!"--he thumped the bar and smiled the radiant
smile of the young Apollo--"I'm going to do it."

Barney Bill took off his Luke's iron crown of a billycock hat and
scratched his cropped and grizzled head. "How old are you, sonny?"

"Nearly nineteen," said Paul.

"By Gosh!" said Barney Bill.

He put on his hat at a comfortable but rakish angle. He looked like
a music-hall humourist. A couple of the gorgeous ladies giggled.

"Yuss," said he, "you're a man with an experience of life--and
nobody can do nothing for you but yerself. Poor old Barney Bill has
been past helping you this many a year."