My evening at Doubleday's lodgings was the first of a course of small
dissipations which, however pleasant while they lasted, did not
altogether tend to my profit.
Of course, I had no intention of going in for that sort of thing
regularly; but, I thought, while Jack Smith was away for a few days,
there would be no harm in relieving the dulness of my life at Beadle
Square by occasionally accepting the hospitality of such decent, good-
natured fellows as Doubleday and his friends. There was nothing wrong,
surely, in one fellow going and having supper with another fellow now
and then! How easy the process, when one wishes to deceive oneself!
But two days after Smith had gone home I received a letter which
somewhat upset my calculations. It had the Packworth postmark, and was
addressed in the same cramped hand in which the momentous letter which
had summoned Jack from London had been written.
I was surprised that it was not in Jack's own hand. It ran as
follows:--
"Sir,--I am sorry to say Master Johnny has took ill since he came down.
The doctor thinks it is smallpox; so please excuse him to the gentlemen,
and say we hope it will make no difference, as he cannot come for a many
weeks. Your humble--Jane Shield."
John ill--with smallpox! This was a blow! My first impulse was, at all
risks, to go down and look after him. But I reflected that this would
be, after all, foolish. I should certainly not be allowed to see him,
and even if I were, I could not of course return to the office with the
infection about me. Poor Jack! At least it was a comfort that he had
some one to look after him.
My first care, after the receipt of the letter, was to seek an interview
with the partners and explain matters to them. And this I found not a
very formidable business. Mr Barnacle, indeed, did say something about
its being awkward just when they were so busy to do without a clerk.
But Mr Merrett overruled this by reminding his partner that in a week
or two his nephew would be coming to the office, and that, to begin
with, he could fill up the vacant place.
"Besides," said he, with a warmth which made me feel quite proud of my
friend--"besides, Smith is too promising a lad to spare."
So I was able to write a very reassuring letter to good Mrs Shield, and
tell her it would be all right about Jack's place when he came back.
Meanwhile, I entreated her to let me know regularly how he was getting
on, and to tell me if his sister was better, and, in short, to keep me
posted up in all the Smith news that was going.
This done, I set myself to face the prospect of a month or so of life in
London without my chum.
I didn't like the prospect. The only thing that had made Beadle Square
tolerable was his company, and how I should get on now with Mr
Horncastle and his set I did not care to anticipate.