He saw fortune staring him in the face.
It was about eleven, and Mr.Crips was trudging contentedly along, the road, swinging his bag and singing his tender lay, at peace with the world, and buoyed with great hopes, when a trap drove up and a voice out of the accompanying dust said:-- "That's 'im.

That's the bloke!" A man jumped down and advanced to Nickie, and laid hands on him.
"You're that doctor bloke what's selling the Rheumatic Balm, ain't yeh ?" he asked.
Nickie said nothing.

Retribution had overtaken him.

He knew that.

His fair dreams fell from him, he sighed deeply, and philosophically, as was his wont, abandoned himself to the inevitable.
There were two young men in the trap.