"That's for the bill," quoth he,--"Civil List!--a large item. That's
for Sophy, the darling! She shall have a teacher, and learn Music,--
Education Grant; Current Expenses for the next fortnight; Miscellaneous
Estimates; tobacco,--we'll call that Secret-service Money. Ah, scamp,
vagrant, is not Heaven kind to thee at last? A few more such nights, and
who knows but thine old age may have other roof than the workhouse? And
Sophy?--Ah, what of her? Merciful Providence, spare my life till she has
outgrown its uses!" A tear came to his eye; he brushed it away quickly,
and, recounting his money, hummed a joyous tune.

The door opened; Waife looked up in surprise, sweeping his hand over the
coins, and restoring them to his pocket. The Mayor entered.

As Mr. Hartopp walked slowly up the room, his eye fixed Waife's; and that
eye was so searching, though so mild, that the Comedian felt himself
change colour. His gay spirits fell,--falling lower and lower, the
nearer the Mayor's step came to him; and when Hartopp, without speaking,
took his hand,--not in compliment, not in congratulation, but pressed it
as if in deep compassion, still looking him full in the face, with those
pitying, penetrating eyes, the actor experienced a sort of shock as if he
were read through, despite all his histrionic disguises, read through to
his heart's core; and, as silent as his visitor, sank back in his chair,
--abashed, disconcerted.

MR. HARTOPP.--"Poor man!"

THE COMEDIAN (rousing himself with an effort, but still confused).--
"Down, Sir Isaac, down! This visit, Mr. Mayor, is an honour which may
well take a dog by surprise! Forgive him!"