Not but what employment was often bobbed before his eyes: but there
was no grasping it. At last he heard of a place peculiarly suited to him;
a packing foreman's in a warehouse at Southwark; he went there, and was
referred to Mr. A.'s private house. Mr. A. was in the country for a day.
Try Mr. B. Mr. B. was dining with the Lord Mayor. Returning belated, he
fell in with a fire; and, sad to say, life was in jeopardy: a little old
man had run out at the first alarm, when there was no danger, and, as
soon as the fire was hot, had run in again for his stockings, or some
such treasure. Fire does put out some people's reason; clean. While he
was rummaging madly, the staircase caught, and the smoke cut off his
second exit, and drove him up to a little staircase window at the side of
the house. Here he stood, hose in hand, scorching behind and screeching
in front. A ladder had been brought: but it was a yard short: and the
poor old man danced on the window-ledge and dare not come down to a
gallant fireman who stood ready to receive him at great personal peril.
In the midst of shrieks and cries and shouts of encouragement, Edward, a
practised gymnast, saw a chance.
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