'I drove a cart twice, and once I rode a butcher's horse. A bloke worked me out of one billet, and I worked myself out of the other. I didn't know when I was well off. Then the banks went bust, and my last boss went insolvent, and one of his partners went into Darlinghurst for suicide, and the other went into Gladesville for being mad; and one day the bailiff seized the cart and horse with me in it and a load of timber. So I went home and helped mother and the kids to live on one meal a day for six months, and keep the bum-bailiff out. Another cove had my news-stand.'
Then, after a thought:
'Blast reconstriction!'
'But you surely can't make a living selling news-papers?'
'No, there's nothin' in it. There's too many at it. The blessed women spoil it. There's one got a good stand down in George-street, and she's got a dozen kids sellin'―they can't be all hers―and then she's got the hide to come up to my stand and sell in front of me.…What are you thinkin' about doin', Mrs. Aspinall?'
'I don't know,' she wailed. 'I really don't know what to do.'
And there still being some distance to go, she plunged into her tale of misery once more, not forgetting the length of time she had dealt with her creditors.
Bill pushed his hat forward and walked along on the edge of the kerb.
'Can't you shift? Ain't you got no people or friends that you can go to for awhile?'
