When he got into the main street, the only street of shops, it was
crowded. There seemed to have been some violent but quiet contest,
a subdued fight, going on all the afternoon and evening: people
struggling to buy things, to get things. Money was spent like water,
there was a frenzy of money-spending. Though the necessities of life
were in abundance, still the people struggled in frenzy for cheese,
sweets, raisins, pork-stuff, even for flowers and holly, all of which
were scarce, and for toys and knick-knacks, which were sold out. There
was a wild grumbling, but a deep satisfaction in the fight, the
struggle. The same fight and the same satisfaction in the fight was
witnessed whenever a tram-car stopped, or when it heaved its way into
sight. Then the struggle to mount on board became desperate and savage,
but stimulating. Souls surcharged with hostility found now some outlet
for their feelings.

As he came near the little market-place he bethought himself of the
Christmas-tree candles. He did not intend to trouble himself. And
yet, when he glanced in passing into the sweet-shop window, and saw
it bare as a board, the very fact that he probably _could not_ buy
the things made him hesitate, and try.

"Have you got any Christmas-tree candles?" he asked as he entered
the shop.

"How many do you want?"

"A dozen."

"Can't let you have a dozen. You can have two boxes--four in a box--