His head ached, and he grew crosser and crosser with every step.
He had never seen so many beggars.

It was insufferable.

For this evening, at least, every one was giving--except Livingstone.

Want was stretching out its withered hand even to Poverty and found it filled.
But Livingstone took no part in it.

The chilly and threadbare street-venders of shoe-strings, pencils and cheap flowers, who to-night were offering in their place tin toys, mistletoe and holly-boughs, he pushed roughly out of his way; he snapped angrily at beggars who had the temerity to accost him.
"Confound them! They ought to be run in by the police!" A red-faced, collarless man fell into the same gait with him, and in a cajoling tone began to mutter something of his distress.
"Be off.