Henry Jones in similar circumstances relieved his great grief by walking up and down the alley smashing every window within reach of his stick.
[Illustration: "A spirit of quiet despair."] But these were men of spirit; Mr.Silk was cast in a different mould, and his fair neighbours sympathized heartily with him in his bereavement, while utterly failing to understand any man breaking his heart over Amelia Kybird.
His mother, a widow of uncertain age, shook her head over him and hinted darkly at consumption, an idea which was very pleasing to her son, and gave him an increased interest in a slight cold from which he was suffering.
"He wants taking out of 'imself," said Mr.Wilks, who had stepped across the alley to discuss the subject with his neighbour; "cheerful society and 'obbies--that's what 'e wants." "He's got a faithful 'eart," sighed Mrs.Silk.

"It's in the family; 'e can't 'elp it." "But 'e might be lifted out of it," urged Mr.Wilks.

"I 'ad several disappointments in my young days.

One time I 'ad a fresh gal every v'y'ge a'most." Mrs.Silk sniffed and looked up the alley, whereat two neighbours who happened to be at their doors glanced up and down casually, and retreated inside to continue their vigil from the windows.
"Silk courted me for fifteen years before I would say 'yes,'" she said, severely.
"Fifteen years!" responded the other.

He cast his eyes upwards and his lips twitched.