Some time after the Gentleman's flight, I was in a common lodging-house
in Holborn, and in the kitchen I met a delightful vagabond of a
Frenchman with whom I had a long talk. He happened to say, "One of our
old friends died last week. He was a good man, and very well bred.
Figure it to yourself, he was brother of one of your judges!" Then I
knew that the Gentleman had gone. I wish I could have seen him again. As
I look back at the old leaves of my journal I seem to see that sweet,
patient smile which he wore as he told the story of his fall. There are
some things almost too sad to bear thinking about. This is one.
* * * * *
Our friend Dicky had a bad misfortune lately. I should say that Dicky is
an oldish man, who drifted into this ugly quarter some time ago, and
took his place in the parlour, which is a room that I now prefer to the
bar. I was holding a friendly discussion with a butcher when a strident
voice said, "You are absolutely and irredeemably ignorant of the
rudiments of your subject.
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