CHAPTER X STEPHEN BLACKPOOL

istance,andwereneartheirownhomes.Thewoman’swasthefirstreached.Itwasinoneofthemanysmallstreetsforwhichthefavouriteundertaker(whoturnedahandsomesumoutoftheonepoorghastlypompoftheneighbourhood)keptablackladder,inorderthatthosewhohaddonetheirdailygropingupanddownthenarrowstairsmightslideoutofthisworkingworldbythewindows.Shestoppedatthecorner,andputtingherhandinhis,wishedhimgoodnight. ‘Goodnight,dearlassgoodnight!’ Shewent,withherneatfigureandhersoberwomanlystep,downthedarkstreet,andhestoodlookingafterheruntilsheturnedintooneofthesmallhouses.Therewasnotaflutterofhercoarseshawl,perhaps,buthaditsinterestinthisman’seyesnotatoneofhervoicebuthaditsechoinhisinnermostheart. Whenshewaslosttohisview,hepursuedhishomewardway,glancingupsometimesatthesky,wherethecloudsweresailingfastandwildly.But,theywerebrokennow,andtherainhadceased,andthemoonshone,—lookingdownthehighchimneysofCoketownonthedeepfurnacesbelow,andcastingTitanicshadowsofthesteam-enginesatrest,uponthewallswheretheywerelodged.Themanseemedtohavebrightenedwiththenight,ashewenton. Hishome,insuchanotherstreetasthefirst,savingthatitwasnarrower,wasoveralittleshop.Howitcametopassthatanypeoplefounditworththeirwhiletosellorbuythewretchedlittletoys,mixedupinitswindowwithcheapnewspapersandpork(therewasalegtoberaffledforto-morrow-night),mattersnothere.Hetookhisendofcandlefromashelf,lighteditatanotherendofcandleonthecounter,withoutdisturbingthemistressoftheshopwhowasasleepinherlittleroom,andwentupstairsintohislodging. Itwasaroom,notunacquaintedwiththeblackladderundervarioustenantsbutasneat,atpresent,assucharoomcouldbe.Afewbooksandwritingswereonanoldbureauinacorner,thefurniturewasdecentandsufficient,and,thoughtheatmospherewastainted,theroomwasclean. Goingtothehearthtosetthecandledownuponaroundthree-leggedtablestandingthere,hestumbledagainstsomething.Asherecoiled,lookingdownatit,i