Besides, he was sitting playing cards with a person I had seen down on the
quays, with the by-name of "Pane o' glass." An infant lay and prattled to
itself over in the bed, and an old man, the landlady's father, sat doubled
together on a settle-bed, and bent his head down Over his hands as if his
chest or stomach pained him. His hair was almost white, and he looked in
his crouching position like a poke-necked reptile that sat cocking its
ears at something.
"I come, worse luck, to beg for house-room down here tonight," I said to
the man.
"Did my wife say so?" he inquired.
"Yes; a new lodger came to my room."
To this the man made no reply, but proceeded to finger the cards. There
this man sat, day after day, and played cards with anybody who happened to
come in--played for nothing, only just to kill time, and have something in
hand. He never did anything else, only moved just as much as his lazy
limbs felt inclined, whilst his wife bustled up and down stairs, was
occupied on all sides, and took care to draw customers to the house. She
had put herself in connection with quay-porters and dock-men, to whom she
paid a certain sum for every new lodger they brought her, and she often
gave them, in addition, a shelter for the night. This time it was "Pane o'
glass" that had just brought along the new lodger.
A couple of the children came in--two little girls, with thin, freckled,
gutter-snipe faces; their clothes were positively wretched.
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