could and would and did fight--not, indeed, as the little coward said
to himself _he_ could fight, like a wild cat, but like a blundering
hornless old cow defending her calf from a cur.

In the heart of all his selfishness, however, Tommy did a little love
Clare; and his love came, not from Tommy, but from the same source as
his desire for food, namely, from the God that was in Tommy, the God
in whom Tommy lived and had his being with Clare. Whether Tommy's love
for Clare would one day lift him up beside Clare, that is, make him an
honest boy like Clare, remained to be seen.

Finding his demonstration make no impression, Tommy took his knuckles
out of his eye-holes and thrust them into his pocket-holes, turned his
back on his friend, and began to whistle--with a lump of self-pity in
his throat.



Chapter XVIII.

Beating the town.


They turned their faces again toward the centre of the town, and
resumed their walk, taking in more of what they saw than while they
had not yet had the second instalment of their daily bread. What a
thing is food! It is the divineness of the invention--the need for the
food, and the food for the need--that makes those who count their
dinner the most important thing in the day, such low creatures:
nothing but what is good in itself can be turned into vileness. It is