I hired him for company.
Dolby had been agent for concerts, and theatres, and Charles Dickens and all sorts of shows and "attractions" for many years; he had known the human being in many aspects, and he didn't much believe in him.

But the poet did.

The waifs and estrays found a friend in Stoddard: Dolby tried to persuade him that he was dispensing his charities unworthily, but he was never able to succeed.
One night a young American got access to Stoddard at the Concert Rooms and told him a moving tale.

He said he was living on the Surrey side, and for some strange reason his remittances had failed to arrive from home; he had no money, he was out of employment, and friendless; his girl-wife and his new baby were actually suffering for food; for the love of heaven could he lend him a sovereign until his remittances should resume?
Stoddard was deeply touched, and gave him a sovereign on my account.

Dolby scoffed, but Stoddard stood his ground.