At the moment we happened to be standing on an iron grating, and a man appearing underneath, the old sailor called down to him,-- "How many more do they want ?" "Twenty-four," came the answer.
We looked ahead anxiously and counted.

Thirty-four were ahead of us.
Disappointment and consternation dawned upon the faces about me.

It is not a nice thing, hungry and penniless, to face a sleepless night in the streets.

But we hoped against hope, till, when ten stood outside the wicket, the porter turned us away.
"Full up," was what he said, as he banged the door.
Like a flash, for all his eighty-seven years, the old sailor was speeding away on the desperate chance of finding shelter elsewhere.

I stood and debated with two other men, wise in the knowledge of casual wards, as to where we should go.