My grand evening party was over, but I had still my accounts for that
entertainment to square. And the result of that operation was
appalling. It was a fortnight since my salary had been raised, but so
far I had not a penny saved. The extra money had gone, I couldn't
exactly say how, in sundry "trifling expenditures," such as pomatum, a
scarf-pin, and a steel chain for my waistcoat, all of which it had
seemed no harm to indulge in, especially as they were very cheap, under
my altered circumstances.
On the strength of my new riches also I was already six shillings in
debt to the Oxford-shirt man, and four shillings in debt to the Twins,
who had paid my share in the boating expedition up the river. And now,
when I came to reckon up my liabilities for the supper, I found I owed
as much as eight shillings to the pastrycook and five shillings to the
grocer, besides having already paid two shillings for the unlucky
lobster (which to my horror and shame I found out after every one had
left had _not_ been fresh), one shilling for eggs, sixpence for shrimps,
and one-and-sixpence for the hire of the cups and saucers.
The ingenious reader will be able to arrive at a true estimate of my
financial position from these figures, and will see that so far, at any
rate, my increase of riches had not made me a wealthier man than when I
had lived within my income on eight shillings a week.
Nor had it made me either better or happier I made a few more good
resolutions after the party to be a fool no longer. I could see plainly
enough that all my so-called friends had been amusing themselves at my
expense, and were certainly not worth my running myself head over ears
in debt to retain. I could see too, when I came to reflect, that all my
efforts to pass myself off as "one of them" had ended pitifully for me,
if not ridiculously. Yes, it was time I gave it up. Alas! for the
vanity of youth! The very day that witnessed the forming of my
resolutions witnessed also the breaking of them.
"Hullo, young 'un!" cried Doubleday, as I put in my appearance at the
office; "here you are! How are you after it all?"
"I'm quite well," said I, in what I intended to be a chilly voice.
"That's right. Very brickish of you to have us up. We all thought so,
didn't we, Crow?"
"Rather," replied Crow.
"I'm afraid some of the fellows were rather rude," continued Doubleday.
"Those Twins are awfully underbred beggars. I believe, you know, their
mother never knew which of the two it was that wanted whopping, and so
she let them both grow up anyhow. If I'd been her, I'd have licked them
both regularly, wouldn't you, Crow?"
Without setting much store by Doubleday's moral disquisition on the duty
of the parents of Twins, I felt mollified by the half apology implied in
his reference to yesterday's entertainment, and to the manner of his
behaviour towards me now. It was clear he felt rather ashamed of
himself and his cronies for their behaviour. Who could tell whether, if
they had given me a fair chance, my supper might not have been a success
after all? At any rate, I didn't feel quite so downhearted about it as
I had done.
"How's that festive old lady," proceeded Doubleday, "this morning? I
pity you with an old dragon like her to look after you. That's the
worst of those boarding-houses. A fellow can't do the civil to his
friends but he's sure to be interfered with by somebody or other."
He was actually making excuses for me!
Yes; if it hadn't been for the rudeness of some of the fellows and the
aggravating behaviour of Mrs Nash, my supper would have gone off quite
well. I was quite thankful to Doubleday for the comfort he gave me, and
cheerfully accepted an invitation to go up to his lodgings "to meet just
the usual lot" next evening.
Which I did, and found the "usual lot" in their usual good spirits. No
one seemed to bear a grudge against me for that cold eel-pie, and one or
two assured me that they had enjoyed themselves immensely.
Nothing could speak more for my greenness and vanity than the fact that
I believed what they said, and felt more convinced than ever that my
party, however it had _seemed_ to go off, had really been a success.
On my return to Beadle Square that evening I found a letter waiting for
me, and to my joy and surprise it was in Jack Smith's own handwriting.
It said:
"Dear Fred,--You'll be glad to hear I'm off the sick list at last, and
have been turned out a perfect cure. Mrs Shield, my sister's nurse and
friend, insists on my taking it easy another week, and then I shall come
up to town, and mean to work like a nigger to make up for lost time.
I'll tell you all the news when I come. I'm afraid you've been having a
slow time.--Yours ever, Jack.
"P.S.--I've written to M., B., and Company, to tell them I'll be up on
Monday next."
It seemed almost too good to be true that I should so soon see my friend
again. Ah! how different it would all be when he came back! For the
next week I could think of nothing else. What a lot I should have to
tell him! How he would laugh over my adventures and misfortunes, and
how he would scold me for my extravagances and follies! Well, these
would be over at last, that was a comfort.
So, during the week, in view of giving up my extravagances, I bought a
new suit of ready-made clothes that only half fitted me, and went on the
Saturday afternoon with Whipcord and the Twins to see a steeplechase,
where I was tempted to put two half-crowns, which I borrowed from the
Twins, into a sweepstake, and lost them both. This was a good finish up
to my little "fling" and no mistake; so much so that I began to think it
was a pity Jack had not come last Monday instead of next.
"He would have kept me out of all this mischief," said I to myself. Ah!
I had yet to learn that if one wants to keep out of mischief one must
not depend altogether upon one's friends, or even oneself, for the
blessing. Strength must be sought from a higher Power and a better
Friend!
At last the long-looked-for Monday arrived, and I went down to the
station in the evening to meet Jack's train.
I could scarcely have said what feeling it was which prompted me to
wear, not my new stripe suit, but my old clothes, shabby as they were,
or why, instead of wearing my coloured Oxford-shirt, I preferred to
array myself in one of the old flannel shirts with its time-honoured
paper collar.
Somehow I had no ambition to "make an impression" on my friend Smith.
There was his head out of the window and his hand waving long before the
train pulled up. The face was the same I had always known, pale and
solemn, with its big black eyes and clusters of black hair. His illness
had left neither mark nor change on him; still less had it altered his
tone and manner, as he sprang from the carriage and seizing me by the
arm, said, "Well, old fellow, here we are again, at last!"
What a happy evening that was! We walked to Beadle Square, carrying
Jack's bag between us, and talking all the way. The dull old place
appeared quite bright now he was back; and the meal we had together in
the parlour that evening before the other fellows came home seemed
positively sumptuous, although it consisted only of weak tea and bread-
and-butter.
Then we turned out for a long walk, anywhere, and having no bag to catch
hold of this time, we caught hold of one another's arms, which was quite
as comfortable.
"Well, old man," began Jack, "what have you been up to all the time?
You never told me in your letters."
"There wasn't much to tell," I said. "It was awfully slow when you
left, I can assure you."
"But you soon got over that?" said Jack, laughing.
He wasn't far wrong, as the reader knows, but somehow I would have
preferred him to believe otherwise. I replied, "There would have been
simply nothing to do of an evening if Doubleday--who is a very decent
fellow at bottom, Jack--hadn't asked me up to his lodgings once or twice
to supper."
I said this in as off-hand a way as I could. I don't know why I had
fancied Jack would not be pleased with the intelligence, for Doubleday
had never been very friendly to him.
"Did he?" said Jack. "That was rather brickish of him."
"Yes; he knew it would be dull while you were away, and I was very glad
to go."
"Rather! I expect he gave you rather better suppers than we get up at
Beadle Square, eh?"
"Yes. And then, you know, when I was there I heard where Flanagan was
living, and found him out. Do you remember our hunt after him that
night, Jack?"
"Don't I! By the way, Fred, has there been any news of the boy?"
"The young thief? I should fancy you'd had enough of him, old man, for
a good while to come. But I have seen him."
"Where?" asked Jack, with an interest that quite amused me.
"One would think that after giving you smallpox, and robbing you of your
money, you were really under an obligation to the young beggar, and
wanted to thank him personally. If you are so very anxious to pay your
respects, it's ten to one we shall run across him at the top of Style
Street--that's where his place of business is."
"Place of business? What do you mean?"
"I mean that he has spent the money he stole from us in buying a
shoeblack's apparatus, and seems to think it's something to be proud of,
too," I replied.
Jack laughed. "He might have done worse. My boots want blacking, Fred;
let's go round by Style Street."
The young vagabond was there, engaged, as we approached him, in walking
round and round his box on the palms of his hands with his feet in the
air.
At the sight of us he dropped suddenly into a human posture, and, with a
very broad grin on his face, said, "Shine 'e boots, governor? Why, if
it ain't t'other flat come back? Shine 'e boots?"
"Yes; I want my boots cleaned," said Jack, solemnly, planting one foot
on the box.
The boy dropped briskly on his knees and went to work, making Jack's
boot shine as it had never shone before. In the middle of the operation
he stopped short, and, looking up, said, "You _was_ a flat that there
night, you was!"