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A Theatrical Boarding-House in Sydney91We found our old friend Purser Smith in " My poor child," she said, " why didn'this little office smothered in papers. He you tell me? You could have stayed ondropped everything when he saw us, here till your people came. I would havehailed us in, gave us all the latest news taken care of you." And I really believefrom Honolulu, and then asked how we she would.liked "the antipodes." It was such a reliefSt. Mary's Terrace was on a quietto meet some one who knew us, that street, a sort of oasis in the midst of evilI poured out the whole story of our adventures.surroundings; for, in spite of every kindPurser Smith looked at his of safeguard and advice, I had landed inwatch, and said:the very worst quarter of Sydney, the"You have just time enough to reach notorious Wooloomooloo. But the terrace,the bank before closing hours."which for all its fine name, was only"What do you mean?" I said; "they a row of boarding-houses, turned its backwere horrid to me there."upon the slums and faced the iron railings"I understand the whole thing," he and beautiful trees of the Domain. Thesaid. "What actually happened was thatthe letters and papers Mr. Stevenson arrangedonly passers-by were occasional touristsfrom the incoming or outgoing steamers,for you were left with the bank and late and early a few laborers on theirofficials in Honolulu to post, and—they way to and from the docks. To be sure,missed the boat. What then? Why, we sometimes heard the horrible shrieksthey would be sent on the next steamer— of women being dragged to the policestation,this one. and were once startled by theThe mail went ashore earlythis morning. Hurry, and please send crack of pistol-shots from the shadows ofAustin down to tell me if everything is the Domain, and saw next day a morbidall right."crowd surrounding a dark stain upon theIt was as he had said. The papers had grass. But these were exceptions thatall arrived that morning on the Alameda. only served to accentuate the calm ofWhen I reached the bank my reception ordinary days.was very different, though I never saw thecold hard man again.With a light heart and a purse full ofSome years before we arrived at MissLeaney's a well-known comedian, TeddyRoyce, came to Sydney and put up withmoney, I went to see Mr. Hoffnung to his wife at a small hotel. They had onlyexplain about the arrival of the papersand pay back the money he had so generouslybeen there a few days when Mrs. Roycewas taken ill and a doctor, called in hur­given me. On the way I made up riedly, pronounced her sickness to bea speech beginning, "I was a stranger typhoid fever. The hotel proprietorin a strange land—" and ending with promptly ordered them to leave. There"though my thanks are inadequate, they was an epidemic raging and the hospitalsare none the less sincere." It was a beautifulwere all full. Mr. Royce rushed madlyspeech, and I said it over to myself a about trying to find lodgings, but everydozen times. When I waited in the office door shut at the word typhoid. He hadfor Mr. Hoffnung, I had it letter-perfect. to go to the theatre for the evening performanceto play his comedy part. He came in hurriedly, his kindly face aItlittle anxious."Oh, Mr. Hoffnung," I cried, "it's allright," and burst into tears on his blackand-white-checkedshoulder, while thedear man patted me on the back. I don'twas after eleven o'clock when he took hisfew belongings, and his wife, sick anddelirious, in a hired hack, to search thecity for a refuge. He found Miss Leaney,who took them in, helped to nurse Mrs.think I ever did tell him in words how Royce back to health, and not only wongrateful I was.their gratitude but that of the professionWhen I came home I met Miss Leaney as well, and from that moment Missin the hall, and told my story all overagain, for now it had a happy ending."You little knew," I said, "what a slimchance you had of getting your rentmoneythis week."Leaney's became a theatrical boardinghouse.A good story gains a lot when told byan actor, and though I came to know thattale by heart, I never failed to weep on