POLE TO POLE The waiting in London for July to come was daily more unbearable to Shelton, and if it had not been for Ferrand, who still came to breakfast, he would have deserted the Metropolis.

On June first the latter presented himself rather later than was his custom, and announced that, through a friend, he had heard of a position as interpreter to an hotel at Folkestone.
"If I had money to face the first necessities," he said, swiftly turning over a collection of smeared papers with his yellow fingers, as if searching for his own identity, "I 'd leave today.

This London blackens my spirit." "Are you certain to get this place," asked Shelton.
"I think so," the young foreigner replied; "I 've got some good enough recommendations." Shelton could not help a dubious glance at the papers in his hand.

A hurt look passed on to Ferrand's curly lips beneath his nascent red moustache.
"You mean that to have false papers is as bad as theft.

No, no; I shall never be a thief--I 've had too many opportunities," said he, with pride and bitterness.