The last time, I saw poor LUCKAPENNY, he looked a very shadow of
himself. He was haggard and thin, and was wearing clothes of an
ancient cut and threadbare material. He smiled as he met me, and
observed that he was still engaged on the trust matter.
"But I have come to the last stage," he said; "I have paid the costs
in full. And now I am going home."
"Going home," I repeated, and noticing that he seemed feeble, offered
him the support of my arm. "I will walk as far as your residence."
"You are very good," he replied, "but I am afraid that I cannot ask
you to come in."
"Never mind that; but where do you live?"
"Where should I live after a lawsuit?" he returned, with a short
laugh. "Why, in the Workhouse, to be sure--in the Workhouse!"
And as a ratepayer, I have assisted to support him ever since!
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