"They do say," remarked Mrs. Wilkins, as she took the cover off the
dish and gave a finishing polish to my plate with the cleanest corner
of her apron, "that 'addicks, leastways in May, ain't, strictly
speaking, the safest of food. But then, if you listen to all they
say, it seems to me, we'd have to give up victuals altogether."

"The haddock, Mrs. Wilkins," I replied, "is a savoury and nourishing
dish, the 'poor man's steak' I believe it is commonly called. When I
was younger, Mrs. Wilkins, they were cheaper. For twopence one could
secure a small specimen, for fourpence one of generous proportions.
In the halcyon days of youth, when one's lexicon contained not the
word failure (it has crept into later editions, Mrs. Wilkins, the
word it was found was occasionally needful), the haddock was of much
comfort and support to me, a very present help in time of trouble.
In those days a kind friend, without intending it, nearly brought
about my death by slow starvation. I had left my umbrella in an
omnibus, and the season was rainy. The kind rich friend gave me a
new umbrella; it was a rich man's umbrella; we made an ill-assorted
pair. Its handle was of ivory, imposing in appearance, ornamented
with a golden snake.

[The unsympathetic Umbrella.]

"Following my own judgment I should have pawned that umbrella,
purchased one more suited to my state in life, and 'blued' the
difference. But I was fearful of offending my one respectable
acquaintance, and for weeks struggled on, hampered by this
plutocratic appendage. The humble haddock was denied to me. Tied to
this imposing umbrella, how could I haggle with fishmongers for