Charlie could not fail to discover before long that there was something
wrong with my master.
Never before had he known him so silent, so spiritless, so mysterious.
No effort could rouse him into cheerfulness or conversation, and for the
first time for three years Charlie felt that Tom was sorry to see him.
Naturally, he put it all down to the results of overwork. Tom in his
letters had always represented himself as engrossed in study. Even the
few hurried scrawls of the past few weeks he had excused on the same
ground. It never once occurred to the simple-minded schoolboy that a
chum of his could possibly be struggling in the agonies of shame and
temptation and he know nothing of it; he who knew so little of evil
himself, was not the one to think or imagine evil where any other
explanation was possible.
And yet Tom's manner was so strange and altered, that he determined, as
soon as they should find themselves alone, to make an effort to
ascertain its cause.
The opportunity came when the two youths, having bid farewell to Mr and
Mrs Newcome, found themselves at last in Tom's lodgings in Grime
Street.
"Well," said Charlie, with all the show of cheerfulness he could muster,
for his spirits had been strangely damped by the irresponsive gloom of
his old schoolfellow--"well! here's the den at last. Upon my word, old
man, I've seen livelier holes! Why don't you explore and find some
place a trifle less dead-alive? But I dare say it's convenient to be
near the Hospital, and when a fellow's working, it doesn't much matter
what sort of a place he's in, as long as there's not a row going on
under his window--and I don't suppose there's much chance of that here,"
said Charlie, looking out into the black street with a kind of shudder.
Tom said nothing; he wished his friend would not everlastingly be
talking of hard work and study in the way he did. However Charlie
intended it, it was neither more nor less than a talking at him, and
that he could not stand.
Charlie took no notice of his silence, but continued his inspection of
the dismal apartment, lighting up with pleasure at the sight of the old
Randlebury relics.
"My old rod!" exclaimed he, taking down the very rod with the lance-wood
top which had figured so conspicuously in a certain adventure three
years ago; "how jolly to see it again! I'm afraid you don't get much
use for it here. And our fencing-sticks, too; see, Tom, here's the very
place where you got under my guard and snipped a bit out of the basket.
Ha, ha! what a crack that was! And here's the picture of old
Randlebury, with you at your window, and me lying on the grass (and
looking uncommonly like a recently felled tree). Look here, Tom, this
window here is where Jim and I hang out now. It used to be Callaghan's.
By the way, do you ever see Call? He's in London, articled to a
solicitor. A pretty lawyer he'll make! Have you seen him yet, Tom?"
Tom, during this rattle, had been looking listlessly out of the window.
He now turned round with a start and said--
"Eh? what did you say?"
The look which accompanied the words was so haggard and miserable, that
Charlie's pity was instantly touched. He stepped across the room and
put his arm in Tom's as he stood, and said,--
"Tom, old boy, what's wrong?"
Tom said nothing, but walked away and leaned against the mantelpiece.
"What is it, Tom? Are you ill, or in trouble? You'll tell me, won't
you?"
Tom still remained silent, but his flushing face and restless lips
showed that the appeal had at least been heard.
"Old boy," continued Charlie, venturing again nearer, "we never used to
have secrets. I'm sure something's the matter. Mayn't I know what it
is? Very likely I can't help you; but I could try."
Tom's lips quivered. The old influence was fast coming back. Already
in his mind he was picturing himself telling Charlie all and with his
help extricating himself from the slough into which he had sunk. How
_could_ he stand unmoved with that voice, familiar by many a memory of
simple courageous goodness, again falling on his ear; and that appealing
face, one so loved and delighted in, again turned to his?
"I'm afraid it's something more than ill health, old boy. You've
something on your mind. Oh! why won't you at least tell me what it is?"
Tom could stand it no longer. He _must_ speak. Whatever the confession
cost him, whatever its effect would be on his old schoolfellow's
friendship, Charlie must know all. To him at least he could not play
the hypocrite or the deceiver. He had turned from the mantelpiece, his
hand was held out to take that of his friend's, he was just about to
speak, when the door of his room opened, and there entered Gus,
Mortimer, and two companions.
"Here he is!" cried Gus, not noticing that Tom had company. "Tommy, old
man, you're in luck. Old Owl has got a supper on to-night, no end of
punch, my boy, and he's expecting you; and afterwards we're going for a
regular night of it to the-- Hullo! who's your friend?"
He caught sight of Charlie at this moment, and for an instant failed to
recognise in Tom's companion the boy whom he had treated so shamefully
at Gurley races. But he remembered him in a moment.
"What, surely--yet upon my honour so it is, our young sporting friend.
How are you, Charlie, my boy? Here's a game! You'll come too, of
course? Mortimer, this fellow is Drift's special--up to all the
wrinkles, no end of a knowing blade."
During this brief and rapid salutation Tom and Charlie, I need hardly
say, were speechless. One in utter despair, the other in utter rage and
astonishment. In both the revulsion of feeling caused by the
interruption was almost stupefying, and they stood for a moment staring
at the intruders in simple bewilderment.
Tom was the first to find words. His cheeks were white, and his voice
almost choked as he said to Gus,--
"I wish you'd go. I'm engaged."
"So you are," said Gus, with a sneer; "but I say. Tom, old man, I wish
you'd come. It's too good a thing to miss."
"Go away!" almost gasped Tom.
"Oh, of course an Englishman's house is his castle," said Gus, offended
at this unusual rebuff; "you're a fool, though, that's all. We were
going to have a spree to-night that would make all sprees of the past
month look foolish. Come along, don't be an ass; and bring young
mooney-face; I dare say by this time he knows what's what as well as you
or me, Tom; eh, Jack?"
"Lookth tho," replied the amused Jack.
By this time Charlie had found words. The truth of course had all
flashed in upon him; he knew the secret now of Tom's strange manner, of
the neglected letters, of the haggard looks, of the reluctant welcome.
And he knew, too, that but for this untimely incursion he would have
heard it all from Tom himself, penitent and humble, instead of, as now,
hardened and desperate.
And he recognised in the miserable little swaggering dandy before him
the author and the promoter of his friend's ruin; on him therefore his
sudden rage expended itself.
"You little cowardly wretch!" he exclaimed, addressing Gus, "haven't you
done mischief enough to Tom already? Go out of his room!"
Poor Charlie! Nothing could have been more fatal to his hopes than this
rash outbreak. The words had scarcely escaped his lips before he saw
the mischief he had done.
Tom's manner suddenly altered. All signs of shame and penitence
disappeared as he stepped with a swagger up to Charlie and exclaimed,--
"What business have you to attack my friends? Get out yourself!"
"Bravo, Tom, old man," cried the delighted Gus. "Do you hear, young
prig? walk off, you're not wanted here."
Charlie stood for one moment stunned and irresolute. Had there been in
Tom's face the faintest glimmer of regret, or the faintest trace of the
old affection, he would have stayed and braved all consequences. But
there was neither. The spell that bound Tom Drift, his fear of being
thought a milksop, had changed him utterly, and as Charlie's eyes turned
with pleading look to his they met only with menace and confusion.
"Go!" repeated Tom, driven nearly wild by the mocking laugh in which
Mortimer and his two companions joined.
This, then, was the end of their friendship--so full of hope on one
side, so full of promise on the other.
It was a strange moment in the lives of those two. To one it was the
wilful throwing away of the last and best chance of deliverance, to the
other it was the cruel extinction of a love and trust that had till now
bid fair to stand the wear of years to come.
"Get out, I say!" said Tom Drift, once more goaded to madness by the
pitying sneers of Mortimer.
Charlie stayed no longer. Half stunned, and scarcely knowing what he
did, with one wild, mute prayer at his heart, he turned without a word
and left the room.
Tom's friends followed his departure with mocking laughter, and watched
his slowly retreating figure down the street with many a foul jest, and
then returned to congratulate Tom Drift on his deliverance.
"Well," said Gus, "you are well rid of _him_, at any rate. What a lucky
thing we turned up just when we did! He'd have snivelled you into a
shocking condition. Why, what a weak-minded fellow Tom is; ain't he,
Jack?"
"Wathah," replied Jack, with a laugh.
Meanwhile Tom had abandoned even himself. He hated his friends, he
hated himself, he hated Charlie and cursed himself for having ever
allowed him within his doors. He took no notice of Gus's gibes for a
long time. At last, "Ugh!" said he, "never mind if I'm weak-minded or
not, I'm sick of all this. Suppose we go off to the supper, and I'll
stand treat afterwards at the music-hall?"
And crushing his hat on his head, he dashed out of the house utterly
reckless and desperate.
Need I say my thoughts were with the poor injured boy, who, stung with
ingratitude, robbed of his friend, and ill with mingled pity, dread, and
sorrow, walked slowly down the street away from Tom's lodgings? Ah!
when should I see his face or hear his voice again now?
At the supper that evening Tom drank often and deeply, and of all the
party his shout rose highest and his laugh drowned all the others. They
led him staggering away among them, and brought him to their vile
resort. Even his companions wondered at his reckless demeanour, and
expostulated with him on his extravagant wildness. He laughed them to
scorn and called for more drink. After a while they rose to depart,
leaving him where he was, noisy and helpless.
How long he remained so I cannot say, for suddenly and most unexpectedly
I found myself called upon to enter upon a new stage in my career.
As my master leaned back hopelessly tipsy in his seat, a hand quietly
and swiftly slipped under his coat and drew me from my pocket; as
swiftly the chain was detached from its button-hole, and the next thing
I was conscious of was being thrust into a strange pocket, belonging to
some one who was quitting the hall as fast as his legs would carry him.