London's Heart. B. L. Farjeon

SURPRISES.

       CHAPTER XXVII.

       FELIX COMFORTS MARTHA DAY.

       CHAPTER XXVIII.

       LIZZIE IN HER NEW HOME.

       CHAPTER XXIX.

       FELIX FINDS HIS OYSTER DIFFICULT TO OPEN.

       CHAPTER XXX.

       JIM PODMORE HAS A "DAZE."

       CHAPTER XXXI.

       THE SWINDLE WHICH THE LAW PROTECTS KNOWN BY THE TITLE OF DISCRETIONARY INVESTMENTS.

       CHAPTER XXXII.

       THE POLISH JEW.

       CHAPTER XXXIII.

       LIZZIE DEEMS IT NECESSARY TO CALL CUNNING TO HER AID.

       CHAPTER XXXIV.

       GOOD COUNSEL.

       CHAPTER XXXV.

       MR. PODMORE WISHES TO BE INSTRUCTED UPON THE DOCTRINE OF RESPONSIBILITY, AND DECLARES THAT HE HAS A PRESENTIMENT.

       CHAPTER XXXVI.

       HOW FELIX GAINED A CLUB.

       CHAPTER XXXVII.

       JIM PODMORE HAS A DREAM, AND WAKES UP IN TIME.

       CHAPTER XXXVIII.

       FELIX BECOMES A LANDLORD.

       CHAPTER XXXIX.

       ALFRED'S LAST CHANCE.

       CHAPTER XL.

       ON EPSOM DOWNS.

       CHAPTER XLI.

       ON THE WATCH.

       CHAPTER XLII.

       THE CLOUDS BRIGHTEN FOR LILY.

       CHAPTER XLIII.

       MR. SHELDRAKE MAKES A BOLD MOVE.

       CHAPTER XLIV.

       A CRISIS.

       CHAPTER XLV.

       HOW MR. SHELDRAKE PLAYS HIS GAME.

       CHAPTER XLVI.

       FATHER AND DAUGHTER.

       CHAPTER XLVII.

       FELIX CHECKMATES MR. DAVID SHELDRAKE.

       THE END.

CHAPTER I.

       Table of Contents

IN WHICH MR. PODMORE DECLARES THAT HE IS NOT ACCOUNTABLE

       FOR HIMSELF.

       Table of Contents

      The scene opens in the locality of Soho--that labyrinth of narrow paths which always wears a depressed and melancholy air, as if it had just gone into mourning. If Soho ever had bright days in the shape of a sunny youth, it must have been very long ago. No trace of them remains; a settled sadness lies upon its queer narrow thoroughfares now and for evermore. The very voices of its residents are more subdued and resigned than other voices are in other places.

      No locality in London contains so strange a variety of life's phases as may be found in Soho. And yet it is full of mystery, and its ways are dark and secret. Men and women may live there for years, and their antecedents and present modes of life shall be as little known as if they lived in the most remote corner of the earth. Soho is the molehill of the Great City. You may have a thousand pounds a year and spend it in Soho, and your neighbours not only shall not notice it, but shall be as utterly indifferent to you as if you lived on tenpence a day--as hundreds of poor fellows are doing at this present moment. Hard-working mechanics live there; weary-eyed needlewomen; libertines; ballet-girls, whose salary is twenty shillings a week, and who wear furs and false hair and diamond rings; and man-owls, who sleep by day and prey by night. On the doorstep of some of the houses in which these persons dwell, children in the afternoon play with marbles and broken pieces of crockery. Here is a group composed of half a dozen dirty-stockinged little girls, who look at you shyly as you pause before them, and put their fingers in their mouths and giggle surreptitiously. Speak to this one--a clear gray-eyed girl of some eight summers,