Poor child, yonder is his breakfast--and mine,
but I have no hunger now; so, let the rats have it--speed, speed! that
is the word!”  As he wormed his swift way through the noisy multitudes
upon the Bridge he several times said to himself--clinging to the
thought as if it were a particularly pleasing one--“He grumbled, but he
_went_--he went, yes, because he thought Miles Hendon asked it, sweet
lad--he would ne’er have done it for another, I know it well.