slowly, carefully, thought about it, decided that it was excellent, and lay
down on his bed to consider it. At that moment it struck him that he had
better calculate how much he had spent in the last ten days. He gathered
himself into a sitting posture and counted his money; he had spent thirty
shillings, and at that rate his money would not hold out till the end of
the month. He must reduce his expenditure; but how? Impossible to find a
room where he could live more cheaply than in the one he had got, and it is
not easy to dine in London on less than ninepence. Only the poor can live
cheaply. He pressed his hands to his face. His head seemed like splitting,
and his monetary difficulty, united with his literary difficulties,
produced a momentary insanity. Work that morning was impossible, so he went
out to study the eating-houses of the neighbourhood. He must find one where
he could dine for sixpence. Or he might buy a pound of cooked beef and take
it home with him in a paper bag; but that would seem an almost intolerable
imprisonment in his little room. He could go to a public-house and dine off
a sausage and potato. But at that moment his attention was caught by black
letters on a dun, yellowish ground: 'Lockhart's Cocoa Rooms.' Not having
breakfasted, he decided to have a cup of cocoa and a roll.

It was a large, barn-like place, the walls covered with a coat of grey-blue
paint. Under the window there was a zinc counter, with zinc urns always
steaming, emiting odours of tea, coffee, and cocoa. The seats were like
those which give a garden-like appearance to the tops of some omnibuses.
Each was made to hold two persons, and the table between them was large
enough for four plates and four pairs of hands. A few hollow-chested men,
the pale vagrants of civilisation, drowsed in the corners. They had been
hunted through the night by the policeman, and had come in for something
hot. Hubert noted the worn frock-coats, and the miserable arms coming out
of shirtless sleeves. One looked up inquiringly, and Hubert thought how
slight had become the line that divided him from the outcast. A