Reginald, meanwhile, blissfully unconscious of the arrangements which
were being made for him, spent as comfortable an evening as he could in
the conviction that to-morrow would witness his dismissal from the
_Rocket_, and see him a waif on the great ocean of London life. To his
mother, and even to young Gedge, he said nothing of his misgivings, but
to Horace, as the two lay awake that night, he made a clean breast of
all.
"You'll call me a fool, I suppose," he said; "but how could I help it?"
"A fool! Why, Reg, I know I should have done the same. But for all
that, it _is_ unlucky."
"It is. Even eighteen shillings a week is better than nothing," said
Reginald, with a groan. "Poor mother was saying only yesterday we were
just paying for our keep, and nothing more. What will she do now?"
"Oh, you'll get into something, I'm certain," said Horace; "and
meanwhile--"
"Meanwhile I'll do anything rather than live on you and mother, Horrors;
I've made up my mind to that. Why," continued he, "you wouldn't believe
what a sneak I've been already. You know what Bland said about the
football club in his letter? No, I didn't show it to you. He said it
would go down awfully well if I sent the fellows my usual subscription.
I couldn't bear not to do it after that, and I--I sold my tennis-bat for
five shillings, and took another five shillings out of my last two
weeks' wages, and sent them half a sov. the other day."