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.
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