LITMIR.BIZ

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are lucky in their children. They don't forget to honour their father and their mother, that their days may be long in the land, and so on. There's big fish on the Stock Exchange, and they're worth trying for. What's the use of sprats? It takes a hundred to fill a dish. Catch one salmon, and your dish is filled. A grand fish, doctor, a grand fish! What to do with your sons? Why, put them where they can make money; don't make scavengers or coal-heavers of them. We know what we're about. There's no brain in the world to compare with ours, and that's no boast, let me tell you. Take your strikes, now. A strike of bricklayers for a rise of twopence a day in their wages. How many of our race among the strikers? Not one. Did you ever see a Jewish bricklayer carrying a hod up a hundred-foot ladder, and risking his neck for bread, cheese, and beer? No, and you never will. We did our share of that kind of work in old Egypt; we made all the bricks we wanted to, and now we're taking a rest. A strike of bootmakers. How many of our race among the cobblers? One in a thousand, and he's an addlepate. We deal in boots wholesale; but we don't make them ourselves. Not likely. We send consignments of them to the colonies, and open a dozen shops in every large city, with fine plate-glass windows. We build houses with our money and your bricks and mortar. When we're after birds we don't care for sparrows: we aim at eagles, and we bring them down; we bring them down." He beat his gloved hands together, and chuckled. "What's your opinion, doctor?"

      "You are right, quite right," said Dr. Spenlove, upon whose ears his companion's words had fallen like the buzzing of insects.

      "Should say I was," said Mr. Moss. "I ought to have gone on the Stock Exchange myself; but when I was a young man I fancied I had a voice; so I went in for music, studied Italian and all the famous operas till I knew them by heart almost, and found out in the end that my voice wasn't good enough. It was a great disappointment, because I had dreamt of making a fortune as a tenor. Signor Mossini-that was to be my name. My money being all spent, I had to take what was offered to me, a situation with a pawnbroker. That is how I became one, and I've no reason to regret it. Eh? Why are you running away?"

      For Dr. Spenlove suddenly left his companion, and hurried forward.

      During the time that Mr. Moss was unbosoming himself they had not met a soul, and Dr. Spenlove had seen nothing to sustain his hope of finding Mrs. Turner. But now his observant eyes detected a movement in the snow-laden road which thrilled him with apprehension, and caused him to hasten to the spot. It was as if some living creature were striving feebly to release itself from the fatal white shroud. Mr. Moss hurried after him, and they reached the spot at the same moment. In a fever of anxiety Dr. Spenlove knelt and pushed the snow aside, and then there came into view a baby's hand and arm.

      "Good God!" he murmured, and gently lifted the babe from the cold bed.

      "Is it alive? is it alive?" cried Mr. Moss, all his nerves tingling with excitement. "Give it to me-quick! there's some one else there."

      He saw portions of female clothing in the snow which Dr. Spenlove was pushing frantically away. He snatched up the babe, and, opening his fur coat, clasped the little one to his breast, and enveloped it in its warm folds. Meanwhile Dr. Spenlove was working at fever-heat. To release Mrs. Turner from her perilous position, to raise her to her feet, to put his mouth to her mouth, his ear to her heart, to assure himself there was a faint pulsation in her body-all this was the work of a few moments.

      "Does she breathe, doctor?" asked Mr. Moss.

      "She does," replied Dr. Spenlove; and added, in deep distress, "but she may die in my arms."

      "Not if we can save her. Here, help me off with this thick coat. Easy, easy; I have only one arm free. Now let us get her into it. That's capitally done. Put the baby inside as well; it will hold them both comfortably. Button it over them. There, that will keep them nice and warm. Do you know her? Does she live far from here? Is she the woman you are looking for?"

      "Yes, and her lodging is a mile away. How can we get her home?"

      "We'll manage it. Ah, we're in luck. Here's a cab coming towards us. Hold on to them while I speak to the driver."

      He was off and back again with the cab-with the driver of which he had made a rapid bargain-in a wonderfully short space of time. The mother and her babe were lifted tenderly in, the address was given to the driver, the two kind-hearted men took their seats, the windows were pulled up, and the cab crawled slowly on towards Mrs. Turner's lodging. Dr. Spenlove's skilful hands were busy over the woman, restoring animation to her frozen limbs, and Mr. Moss was doing the same to the child.

      "How are you getting along, doctor? I am progressing famously, famously. The child is warming up, and is beginning to breathe quite nicely."

      He was handling the babe as tenderly as if it were a child of his own.

      "She will recover, I trust," said Dr. Spenlove; "but we were only just in time. It is fortunate that I met you, Mr. Moss; you have been the means of saving two helpless, unfortunate beings."

      "Nonsense, nonsense," answered Mr. Moss. "I have only done what any man would do. It is you who have saved them, doctor, not I. I am proud to know you, and I shall be glad to hear of your getting along in the world. You haven't done very well up to now, I fear. Go for the big fish and the big birds, doctor."

      "If that were the universal law of life," asked Dr. Spenlove, in a tone of exquisite compassion, with a motion of his hands towards Mrs. Turner and her child, "what would become of these?"

      "Ah, yes, yes," responded Mr. Moss, gravely; "but I mean in a general way, you know. To be sure, there are millions more little fish and birds than there are big ones, but it's a selfish world, doctor."

      "You are not an exemplification of it," said Dr. Spenlove, his eyes brightening. "The milk of human kindness will never be frozen, even on such bitter nights as this, while men like you are in it."

      "You make me ashamed of myself," cried Mr. Moss, violently, but instantly sobered down. "And now, as I see we are close to the poor woman's house, perhaps you will tell me what more I can do."

      Dr. Spenlove took from his pocket the money with which he had intended to pay his fare to London, and held it out to Mr. Moss. "Pay the cabman for me, and assist me to carry the woman up to her room."

      Mr. Moss thrust the money back. "I will pay him myself; it is my cab, not yours. I don't allow any one to get the better of me if I can help it."

      When the cab stopped he jumped out and settled with the driver, and then he and Dr. Spenlove carried Mrs. Turner and her babe to the top of the house. The room was dark and cold, and Mr. Moss shivered. He struck a match, and held it while Dr. Spenlove laid the mother and child upon their wretched bed.

      "Kindly stop here a moment," said the doctor.

      He went into the passage, and called to the lodger on the same floor of whom he had made inquiries earlier in the night. She soon appeared, and after they had exchanged a few words, accompanied him, but partially dressed, to Mrs. Turner's room. She brought a lighted candle with her, and upon Mr. Moss taking it from her, devoted herself, with Dr. Spenlove, to her fellow-lodger and the babe.

      "Dear, dear, dear!" she said, piteously. "Poor soul, poor soul!"

      Mr. Moss was not idle. All the finer qualities of his nature were stirred to action by the adventures of the night. He knelt before the grate; it was empty; not a cinder had been left; some grey ashes on the hearth-that was all. He looked into the broken coal scuttle; it had been scraped bare. Rising to his feet he stepped to the cupboard; a cracked cup and saucer were there, a chipped plate or two, a mouthless jug, but not a vestige of food. Without a word he left the room, and sped downstairs.

      He was absent fifteen or twenty minutes, and when he returned it was in the company of a man who carried a hundredweight of coals upon his shoulders. Mr. Moss himself was loaded: under his armpits two bundles of wood and a loaf of bread; in one hand tea and butter; in his other hand a can of milk.

      "God bless you, sir!" said the woman, who was assisting Dr. Spenlove.

      Mr. Moss knelt again before the grate, and made a fire. Kettle in hand he searched for water.

      "You will find some in my room, sir," said the woman.

      Mrs. Turner and her babe were now in bed, the child still

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