He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Your pets are gone. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. And think things out. "If we take him, I don't mind giving you a share—say a fourth—provided you lend a helping hand. I can vouch for that.
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