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RIPPLING RUBY

CHAPTER I

The General Dealer

How it came about that on that particular Springtide morning I was stranded on the Clarence Pier at Portsmouth with, literally, a few pence in my pocket, is immaterial to the present purpose; the more pertinent fact is that there I was, in that miserable predicament, with none to turn to for immediate help, and utterly blank of mind as to what was next to be done. I had paid out two of my last coppers to obtain entrance to that pier - there was a vague notion that I might pick up some porterage job there which would bring in a shilling.

With a shilling I could send a telegram to the only man I knew who would be likely to wire me money - he was the last resource; for I had already pawned my watch and my overcoat, and, hourly expecting a remittance which up to then had not arrived, had not had the sense to make the application by letter which I was now feverishly anxious to make by

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