He was a miserable-looking wreck of a man about thirty years of age, supposed to be a carpenter, although he never worked at that trade now.

It was commonly said that some years previously he had married a woman considerably his senior, the landlady of a third-rate lodging-house.

This business was evidently sufficiently prosperous to enable him to exist without working and to maintain himself in a condition of perpetual semi-intoxication.

This besotted wretch practically lived at the 'Cricketers'.

He came regularly very morning and sometimes earned a pint of beer by assisting the barman to sweep up the sawdust or clean the windows.