In the lower submerged world of the theatrical profession in which Paul found himself he had met with many such instances of awful poverty.

He had brushed elbows with Need himself.

That morning he had given, out of his scanty resources, her railway fare to a tearful and despairing girl who played the low-comedy part.

But he had not yet come across any position quite so untenable as that of Wilmer.

Forty odd years old, a wife, five children, all his life given honestly to his calling--and threepence half-penny to his fortune.
"But, good God!" said he, after a pause, "your kiddies?
If you have nothing--what will happen to them ?" "Lord knows," groaned Wilmer, staring in front of him, his elbows on the back of the chair and his head between his fists.
"And Mrs.Wilmer and yourself have got to get back to London." "I've got the dress suit I wear in the last act.