It came to me one night when I sat down to dinner--fearfully hungry.

I had a thick English chop on the plate before me; and a green salad, oily in its bowl, and crisp, browned potatoes, and a mug of creamy ale.

I'd gone to the place for a treat.

I'd been whetting my appetite with nibbles of bread and sips of ale until the other things came; and then, even when I put my knife to the chop--like a blade pushed very slowly into my heart came the thought: 'My father is burning in hell--screaming in agony for a drop of this water which I shall not touch because I have ale.

He has been in this agony for years; he will be there forever.' That was enough, sir.