Several weeks elapsed, and I was beginning to doubt whether Hawkesbury's
advice, after all, was good, when a general holiday occurred to break
the monotony of my life both at Hawk Street and Beadle Square.
I had for some time meditated, if I had the funds, taking advantage of
my next holiday to run down to my uncle's. Not that I expected any
particular welcome from him, but I longed to see the old familiar haunts
of my childhood after my long imprisonment in London; and, even if there
were no more congenial friend than Cad Prog to hail me, it would at
least be a change from this dreary city, with its noise and bustle, and
disappointed hopes and lost friendships.
But my intention in this direction was upset by a double reason. One
was that I had no money. Indeed, my debts had got so far ahead of my
means that it was clear a crisis in my financial affairs must soon come.
The other reason was an invitation to join in a grand day's excursion
by road to Windsor.
It came from Hawkesbury.
"Are you doing anything particular on Monday?" he asked me, a day or two
before the holiday.
"No; I half thought of going home, but I can't afford that, so I may go
to the British Museum."
"Not a very cheerful place to spend a holiday," laughed Hawkesbury.
"What do you say to coming a quiet drive with me?"
Had the invitation come from Crow or Daly, or even Doubleday, I should
have regarded it shyly. But Hawkesbury was a steady fellow, I thought,
and not likely to lead one into mischief.
"I should like it awfully!" I said, "only--that is--I don't think I can
afford it."
"Oh!" said he, smiling affably, "you shan't be at any expense at all.
It's my affair, and I should like to take you with me."
Of course my gratitude was as profuse as it was sincere.
"My idea was," continued Hawkesbury, "to get a dogcart for the day and
go somewhere in the direction of Windsor, taking our own provender with
us, and having a jolly healthy day in the open air."
Nothing could be more delightful or more in accordance with my own
wishes.
"Will it be just you and I?" I asked.
"Well, these traps generally hold four. I thought perhaps Whipcord
would come for one; he's a good driver, you know, and a steady enough
fellow when he's by himself. And there's a friend of mine called Masham
I mean to ask as well."
I would have preferred it if the expedition had been confined to
Hawkesbury and myself, but I had no right to be discontented with the
arrangements which had been made, and spent the next few days in eager
anticipation.
I wondered what Jack Smith meant to do on his holiday; most likely he
would be reading hard for his "Sam," as Billy called it. It seemed
shabby of me to go off on a spree and leave him to drudge; but, as
Hawkesbury said when I referred to the matter, it would just show him
what he missed by holding aloof, and make him all the more ready to try
to get back my friendship.
Doubleday, when I told him of my plan for the day, snuffed up at it in
no very pleasant way. But then he had always been jealous of Hawkesbury
since giving up the petty-cash to his charge.
"All I can say is," said he, "_I'd_ think twice about going with that
party, and I'm not so very particular. I suppose you never met Mr
Masham, did you?"
"No," said I.
"Ah!" he replied, laughing, "you'll find him a very nice boy; just a
little too strait-laced for me, but he'll suit you."
I could not make out whether this was in jest or earnest; in any case, I
put it down to the petty-cash, and thought it a pity Doubleday should be
so put out by a trifle.
"What are you going to do?" I asked him.
"Oh! I'm going to do my best to be cheerful in a mild way," said he,
"down the river. It's a good job Hawkesbury's booked you, my boy, for I
meant to ask you to join us, and that would have done you out of your
quiet day with Petty-Cash and his friends, which would be a pity."
The Monday came at last, and opened perfectly. My spirits rose as I
looked out and saw the blue cloudless sky overhead, and thought of the
trees, and birds, and flowers, and country air I was so soon to be
among.
I was to meet my party at the Horseshoe stables in the City, and thither
I repaired in good time, in my smartest get-up, and with a shilling
plum-cake under my arm, which I had made up my mind to take as my
contribution to the commissariat of the expedition. I passed Style
Street on my way, and came in for hilarious greeting from Billy.
"Hi! shine 'e boots, governor? My eye, there's a nob! Shine 'e all
over, governor. Ain't you got 'em on, though? What's up, mister?"
"See you again soon, Billy," said I, bustling on. I was angry with him
for the way he laughed, and for the description of me I knew quite well
he would presently give to Jack Smith.
Early as I was at the rendezvous, Hawkesbury was before me, and with him
his friend Masham. The latter was a queer-looking fellow of about
thirty. He was pale and dark round the eyes, like a person who hadn't
slept for a week. His lips were large and red, and the lower part of
his face a good deal too big for the upper. Altogether Mr Masham was
neither a very healthy nor a very prepossessing-looking specimen; but
Hawkesbury had told me he was clever and very amusing, so I supposed I
oughtn't to judge by appearances.
"Punctual as usual," said Hawkesbury, as I approached. "Phil, this is
my friend Batchelor I was telling you of."