"You don't 'ave to. There's three beds in the room, an' hit's not a very
small room."

"How much?" I demanded.

"'Arf a crown a week, two an' six, to a regular lodger. You'll fancy the
men, I'm sure. One works in the ware'ouse, an' 'e's been with me two
years now. An' the hother's bin with me six--six years, sir, an' two
months comin' nex' Saturday. 'E's a scene-shifter," she went on. "A
steady, respectable man, never missin' a night's work in the time 'e's
bin with me. An' 'e likes the 'ouse; 'e says as it's the best 'e can do
in the w'y of lodgin's. I board 'im, an' the hother lodgers too."

"I suppose he's saving money right along," I insinuated innocently.

"Bless you, no! Nor can 'e do as well helsewhere with 'is money."

And I thought of my own spacious West, with room under its sky and
unlimited air for a thousand Londons; and here was this man, a steady and
reliable man, never missing a night's work, frugal and honest, lodging in
one room with two other men, paying two dollars and a half per month for
it, and out of his experience adjudging it to be the best he could do!
And here was I, on the strength of the ten shillings in my pocket, able
to enter in with my rags and take up my bed with him. The human soul is
a lonely thing, but it must be very lonely sometimes when there are three
beds to a room, and casuals with ten shillings are admitted.

"How long have you been here?" I asked.