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workmen walked down Piccadilly together; one a grim, soured, pessimistic, elderly man, the other a cheerful, humorous person who seemed to be enjoying the Vanity Fair exhibited by this celebrated street of wealth and fashion, whose pavements were crowded by well-dressed, leisurely promenaders, and whose roadway gave forth a gentle purr of expensive automobiles, punctuated by the sharp click-click of hoofs belonging to high-bred horses drawing, in elegant vehicles, no less high-bred ladies, or otherwise, as the case might be. The elder workman spoke with some bitterness in an aggressive, independent tone of voice as one caring not who hears.

"Now, look at that brainless, conceited fop! What's he good for, I'd like to know? Never did a hand's turn of useful work in his life, I daresay,