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The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch

by Talbot Baines Reed · English · Gutenberg #21035 · 430,427 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch

Author: Talbot Baines Reed


        
Release date: April 11, 2007 [eBook #21035]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21035

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF A THREE-GUINEA WATCH ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch

By Talbot Baines Reed
________________________________________________________________________
This is really a most unusual book.  Told, we must imagine, by the
watch, we are led through the owner's days at a boys' boarding school,
to being stolen, pawned, auctioned, taken to quite another small town,
given to a brilliant local boy when he left for Cambridge, lost in a
field, found, and through further adventures being taken to India to
fight in a battle near Lucknow, finally making its way into the pocket
of its original owner, whose life was saved by the watch having
deflected a bullet.

It's well-told, too, and not too long, at under ten hours.

The copy we worked from was very browned, and it was not too easy to do
the transcription, but we have done our best: if you find anything
obviously wrong, don't hesitate to tell us about it. NH.
________________________________________________________________________
THE ADVENTURES OF A THREE-GUINEA WATCH

BY TALBOT BAINES REED



CHAPTER ONE.

MY INFANCY AND EDUCATION--HOW I WAS SOLD AND WHO BOUGHT ME.

"Then you can guarantee it to be a good one to go?"

"You couldn't have a better, sir."

"And it will stand a little roughish wear, you think?"

"I'm sure of it, sir; it's an uncommon strong watch."

"Then I'll take it."

These few sentences determined my destiny, and from that moment my
career may be said to have begun.

I am old, and run down, and good for nothing now; but many a time do I
find my thoughts wandering back to this far-off day; and remembering all
that has befallen me since that eventful moment, I humbly hope my life
has not been one to disgrace the good character with which I went out
into the world.

I was young at the time, very young--scarcely a month old.  Watches
however, as every one knows, are a good deal more precocious in their
infancy than human beings.  They generally settle down to business as
soon as they are born, without having to spend much of their time either
in the nursery or the schoolroom.

Indeed, after my face and hands had once been well cleaned, and a brand-
new shiny coat had been put on my back, it was years before I found
myself again called upon to submit to that operation which is such a
terror to all mortal children.

As to my education, it lasted just a week; and although I am bound to
say, while it lasted, it was both carefully and skilfully managed, I did
not at all fancy the discipline I was subjected to in the process.  I
used to be handed over to a creature who took me up and examined me (as
if he were a policeman and a magistrate combined), and according as I
answered his questions he exclaimed, "You're going too fast," or "You're
going too slow," and with that he set himself to "regulate" me, as he
called it.  I was ordered to turn round, take off my coat, and submit my
poor shoulders to his instrument of correction.  But why need I describe
this experience to boys?  They know what "regulating" means as well as I
do!

Well in due time I profited by the instructions received, and one day my
tutor, after the usual examination, grumpily told me, "You're right at
last; you can go."  And I did go, and I've been going ever since.

The troubles of my infancy however were not all over.  I discovered at a
very early age that the one thing a watch is never allowed to do is to
go to sleep.  They'd as soon think of leaving an infant to starve as of
letting a watch go to sleep.

But to my story.  Ever since I had left school--or, in other words, gone
through my due course of regulation--I had remained shut up under a
glass-case, lying comfortably upon a bed of purple velvet, and decorated
with a little white label bearing the mysterious inscription, "Only
Three Guineas."  From this stately repose I was only once a day
disturbed in order to be kept from sleeping, and had all the rest of my
time to look about me and observe what went on in the world in which I
found myself.

It was not a big world indeed, but I could see I was not the only
inhabitant.  All around me were watches like myself, some of a golden
complexion, and some--of which I was one--of a silvery.  Some were big,
and made an awful noise, and some were tiny, and just whispered what
they had to say.  Some were very proud, and showed off their jewels and
chains in a way which made me blush for the vanity of my fellow-
creatures--"dear" watches, the ladies called these, and others were as
plain as plain could be.

Every now and then our case would be opened, and one of my neighbours
taken out and never put back.  Then we knew he had been sold, and we who
were left spent our time in gossiping about what had become of him, and
speculating whose turn would come next.  A gold repeater near me was
very confident the turn would be his, and so impressed us with the sense
of his "striking" importance and claims, that when the next time our
glass house was entered, and a hand came groping in our direction, I at
once concluded it was his summons into publicity and honour.  Imagine my
astonishment, then, when the hand, instead of reaching my gold
neighbour, took hold of me and cautiously drew me out of the case!  My
heart leaped to my mouth--or whatever part of a watch's anatomy
corresponds with that organ--and I was ready to faint with excitement.
I had always imagined I was to lie in that case for years, but now, when
I was barely a month old, here was I going out into the world.

It made me quite bashful to listen to all the flattering things my
master said of me.  I was worth twice the price he was selling me at, he
said; in fact, if trade had been good he would not have parted with me
under three times that price.  It was a relief to think the repeater
could not overhear this, or he would have sneered in a way to extinguish
me altogether.  As it was, no other watch was by, so that I was not very
much embarrassed.

After turning me over, and feeling my pulse, and listening to the
beating of my heart, and taking off my coat and waistcoat to inspect my
muscle, my master's customer at last laid me down on the counter and
pronounced the sentences with which I have begun my story.

"Then I'll take it," he said, and pulled out his purse.  "Stop a bit,
though!" exclaimed he; "I'd better have a chain too, my little chap will
think more of that than the watch.  Let me see some silver chains, will
you?"

So my master went and fetched a tray containing a large number of
tempting-looking chains.

While he was gone my new owner took me up again in his hand and turned
me over and put me to his ear; then as he laid me down again he smiled
to himself and murmured.

"Bless his little heart! how proud he'll be!"

I was quite taken aback.  Who was this taking upon himself to bless my
little heart and prophesy that I should be proud?  Then all of a sudden
it occurred to me this remark may have been intended to refer not to me,
but to the "little chap" the gentleman had just now spoken of.  So I
recovered my composure, especially when I saw what a kind, gentle face
my purchaser had.

He chose a neat, strong silver chain which was forthwith, in accordance
with the barbarous practice of the age, fixed to my poor neck.  I could
not help sighing as I felt for the first time the burden of bondage.

What had I done to be thus chained like a Roman captive, like a dog,
like a parrot?  But it was no use being in a rage.  I swallowed my
indignation as well as I could, and consoled myself with the reflection
that every watch, even gold repeaters themselves, are subject to the
same hardship.

Ah!  I was young then, and my knowledge of the world was small.  Many a
time since I have blessed the chain that held me, just as the ship,
could it speak, would bless the cable that saved it from the rocks.
Take the advice of an old ticker, you young watches, and instead of
rebelling against your chains, rather hope they may be strong and sound
in every link!

"That will be just five pounds, won't it?" said my purchaser.  "Here is
a bank note.  Never mind about doing it up, I'll just slip it into my
pocket.  Good-morning."

And with that I was conscious of being lowered into a dark, deep pit,
and without time to bid my comrades good-bye, or to take a last look at
my old master, I felt myself hurried away I knew not whither.

This, then, was my first step into the world.

I lay untouched and apparently forgotten for several hours.  Gradually
getting my eyes accustomed to the darkness, and looking about me as far
as I was able, I heard a ticking going on in a pocket not very far from
the one I was in, which I at once concluded to proceed from the watch of
my new master.  Thinking I might be able to gain some information from
him, I groped about till I found a small hole in my lodgings through
which I was able to peep, and call.

"Tick!" said I, as loud as I could, to secure the attention of my
fellow-watch.

"Who's that?" at once exclaimed the other.

"I'm a new watch, bought to-day."

"Humph!  How much?"

"Three guineas."

"Chain and all?"

"No; five pounds with the chain."

"Humph, I cost thirty guineas.  Never mind, you're for the boy."

"What boy?"

"The governor's.  I heard him say he was going to get him one.  That boy
will be spoiled, as sure as I go on springs; he's made such a lot of.
Have you been regulated?"

"I should think I have!" exclaimed I, in indignant recollection of my
education.

"All right; keep your temper.  What time are you?"

"Seven minutes to six."

"Wrong!  It's seven and three-quarters!"

"How do you know?"

"Because that's what I make it."

"How do you know you are right?"  I asked, wondering at my own impudence
in thus questioning an old ticker.

"Look here, young fellow," said the other in an awful voice; "you don't
seem to know you are addressing a gold watch that has neither gained nor
lost a minute for five years!  There!  You may think yourself clever;
but you're too fast."

"I'm sure I beg your--"

"That'll do!" said the offended veteran.  "I want no more words."

I was completely shut up at this, and retired back to my pocket very
crestfallen.

Presently I began to feel drowsy; my nerves seemed to get unstrung, and
my circulation flagged.  It was long after the time I had generally been
in the habit of being wound up; and I began to be afraid I was really
going to be left to go to sleep.  That, by this time, I knew would be
nothing short of a calamity.  I therefore gave a slight tug at my chain.

"What's the matter?" it said, looking down.

"I've not been wound up."

"I can't help that," said the chain.

"Can't you let him know somehow?"  I gasped, faintly.

"How can I?  He's busy packing up books."

"Couldn't you catch yourself in his fingers or something?  I'm in a bad
way."

"I'll see," said the chain.

Presently I felt an awful tug at my neck, and I knew the chain had
managed to entangle itself somehow with his fingers.

"Hullo!"  I heard my master exclaim, "I mustn't smash Charlie's chain
before I give it to him.  I'd better put it and the watch away in my
drawer till the morning.  Heigho! it'll be a sad day for me to-morrow!"

As he spoke he drew me from the pocket, and, disengaging the chain from
his button-hole, he laid us both in a drawer and shut it up.  I was in
despair, and already was nearly swooning from weakness.

He had shut the drawer, and his hand was still on the knob, when all of
a sudden he exclaimed,--

"By the way, I must wind it up, or it'll stop!"

With what joy and relief I saw the drawer again opened, and felt myself
taken out and wound up!  Instantly new life seemed to infuse itself
through my frame; my circulation revived, my nerves were strung again,
and my drooping heart resumed its usual healthy throb.  Little did my
master think of the difference this winding up made to my health and
comfort.

"Now you're happy!" said the chain, as we found ourselves once more in
the drawer.

"Yes; I'm all right now, I'm glad to say," said I.  "What's going to
happen to us to-morrow?"  I asked presently.

"We're going to be given to the boy, and he's going to school;" so the
silver chain told me.  "Nice time we shall have of it, I expect."

After that he went to sleep, and I fell to counting the seconds, and
wondering what sort of life I was destined to lead.

About an hour after I heard two voices talking in the room.

"Well," said one, and I recognised it at once as my master's, "the
packing's all finished at last."

"Ah, Charles," said the other, and it seemed to be a woman's voice
speaking amid tears, "I never thought it would be so hard to part with
him."

"Tut, tut!" said the first, "you mustn't give way, Mary.  You women are
so ready to break down.  He'll soon be back;" but before my master had
got to the end of his sentence he too had broken down.

For a long time they talked about their boy, their fine boy who had
never before left his parents' roof, and was about now to step out into
the treacherous world.  How they trembled for him, yet how proudly and
confidently they spoke of his prospects; how lovingly they recalled all
their life together, from the days when he could first toddle about,
down to the present.

Many tears were mingled with their talk, and many a smothered sob
bespoke a desperate effort to subdue their common sorrow.  At last they
became quieter, then I heard my master say,--

"I positively have never shown you the watch I got for him," and with
that he opened the drawer and produced me.

"Oh, Charles," cried the mother, "how delighted he will be, and what a
capital watch it is!"

And she looked at me affectionately for a long time, for her son's sake,
smiling through her tears, and then put me back.

Need I say that as these two knelt together that night, their only son
was not forgotten in their prayers?

So ended the first day of my adventures.



CHAPTER TWO.

HOW I WAS PRESENTED TO A BOY, AND OF A CERTAIN JOURNEY WE TOOK TOGETHER.

Very early next morning, when my hands scarcely pointed to five o'clock,
the little household was astir.  There was a noise of hurried going and
coming, and of trunks being carried down stairs, and for the first time
I heard mingled with the sedate voices of my master and his wife,
another voice, cheery and musical, which I at once guessed to belong to
my future lord and master.

It was not till after this bustle had been going on for a good while
that I was taken out of the drawer and put back into the pocket in which
I had spent so many anxious hours the day before.  But here I was
destined not to remain long, as will be seen.

Breakfast was a sad meal to that little family.  Even the gay, high-
spirited boy was sobered in anticipation of the coming parting, and as
to his parents, they dared not open their lips for fear of breaking
down.

Then there was a rumbling of wheels in the street, and a banging about
of boxes at the hall door; then a last long embrace between mother and
son.  She no longer resisted her grief, and he for the time forgot
everything but her he was leaving; then father and son stepped into the
cab and drove away.

I felt the father's heart beating quicker and his chest heaving deeper
as we proceeded.  Presently his hand stole to the pocket where I lay
hid, and he said--

"Charlie, boy, I've said all I have to say to you.  You will remember
our talk last night, I am sure, and I shall remember it too.  I have no
greater wish than to see my boy brave and honest and true to himself.
Remember always I am your father, and never hesitate to tell me whenever
you are in trouble, or danger, or--and I hope this won't often be--in
disgrace.  See here," said he, drawing me forth, "this is a watch which
your mother and I have got for you.  Think of us when you use it; and
mind this, Charlie, make the best use of time, or time will become your
enemy."

The poor man faltered out these words with a half-broken heart, as he
handed me to his son.

The boy's eyes brightened and his face became radiant at the sight of
his unexpected treasure.  What boy does not covet a watch of his own at
some time or other?

"Oh, father!" he cried, "how good and kind of you!  What a beauty!"

The father smiled to see his son's delight, and helped to fasten the
chain to his button-hole.

"You and mother are bricks!" exclaimed Charlie, feasting his eyes upon
me, and half wild with delight.  "How _did_ you know I was longing to
have one?"

"Were you?" inquired the father.

"Of course I was, and you knew it.  What a swell I shall be!  And it
will always be sure to remind me of home."

While this talk was going on I had leisure to examine my new owner.
Picture to yourselves a curly-haired, bright-eyed boy of thirteen with
honest, open face, good features, and winning smile.  He is big for his
age, and strongly built.  At present his form is arrayed in a brand-new
suit of grey; his collar is new and his tie is new, his boots are new
and his socks are new; everything is new about him, down to the very
guard of his hat, and he himself is the newest and purest of all.  Was
ever such a radiant young hero turned loose into the world?

And now, over and above his other glories, he had me to crown all.  The
graceful curve of my chain on his waistcoat gave that garment quite a
distinguished appearance, and the consciousness of a silver watch in his
pocket made him hold his head even higher than usual.

"He is a beauty!" again he broke out, "exactly the kind I like most.
I'll take ever such a lot of care of him."  And so saying, he began to
swing me at the end of the chain, till I suddenly came sharply into
collision with the door of the cab.

"Hullo," exclaimed my young master, "that won't do.  I'll put him away
now.  It _was_ good of you, father."

With that we reached the railway station, and in the bustle that ensued
I was for the time forgotten.

Charlie's trunks were duly labelled for Randlebury, and then came the
hardest moment of all, when father and son must part.

"I wonder if you'll be altered, Charlie, when I see you again."

"Not for the worse I hope, anyhow," replied the boy, laughing.

"Tickets, please!" demanded the guard.

"There goes the bell," said Charlie, pulling me out of his pocket.
"They're very punctual.  Hullo, we're off!  Good-bye, father."

"Good-bye, boy, and God bless you."

And there was a close grasp of the hand, a last smile, a hasty wave from
the window; and then we were off.

How many grown-up men are there who cannot recall at some time or other
this crisis in their lives, this first good-bye from the home of their
childhood, this stepping forth into the world with all that is familiar
and dear at their backs, and all that is strange and unknown and
wonderful stretching away like a vast landscape before them?  How many
are there who would not give much to be back once more at that threshold
of their career; and to have the chance of living over again the life
they began there with such bright hopes and such careless confidence?
Ah, if some of them could have seen whither that flower-strewn path was
to lead them, would they not rather have chosen even to die on the
threshold, than take so much as the first step forth from the innocent
home of childhood!

But I am wandering from my story.  For half an hour after that last
good-bye Charlie leaned back in the corner of his carriage and gave
himself up to his loneliness, and I could feel his chest heaving to keep
down the tears that would every now and then rise unbidden to his eyes.

But what boy of thirteen can be in the dumps for long?  Especially if he
has a new watch in his pocket.  Charlie was himself again before we had
well got clear of London, and his reviving spirits gradually recalled to
his memory his father's parting gift, which had for a while been half
forgotten amid other cares.

Now again I was produced, I was turned over and over, was listened to,
was peeped into, was flourished about, was taken off my chain, and put
on again with the supremest satisfaction.  At every station we came to,
out I came from his pocket, to be compared with the railway time.  By
the clock at Batfield I was a minute slow--a discrepancy which was no
sooner discovered than I felt my glass face opened, and a fat finger and
thumb putting forward my hand to the required time.  At Norbely I was
two minutes fast by the clock, and then (oh, horrors!)  I found myself
put back in the same rough-and-ready way.  At Maltby I was full half a
minute behind the great clock, and on I went again.  At the next station
the clock and I both gave the same time to a second, and then what must
he do but begin to regulate me!  After a minute calculation he made the
astounding discovery that I had lost a minute and a quarter in four
hours, and that in order to compensate for this shortcoming it would be
necessary for him to move my regulator forward the two hundred and
fortieth part of an inch.  This feat he set himself to accomplish with
the point of his scarf-pin while the train was jolting forward at the
rate of thirty miles an hour!

I began to grow nervous.  If this was a sample of what I was to expect,
I had indeed need be the healthy, hardy watch I was represented to be by
my maker.

And yet I could not be angry with my brave, honest little tormentor.

It was a sight to see him during that long journey, in all the glory of
a new suit, with a high hat on his head for the first time, and a watch
in his pocket.  _In_ his pocket, did I say?  I was hardly ever so lucky.
Every five minutes he whipped me out to see how the time was going.  If
he polished me up once with his handkerchief, he did it twenty times,
and each time with such vigour that I was nearly red-hot under the
operation.  And no sooner was he tired of polishing me, than he took to
paying his hat the same attention, till that wretched article of
decoration must have trembled for its nap.  Then he would take to
whistling and singing (what boy can help doing one or the other in a
train?) and as I heard all his little artless songs and gay chirping, I
thought it the pleasantest music one could possibly listen to.  And, not
to let his hands be less busy than his throat, he would bring out the
wonderful six-bladed knife his uncle had given him, and exploring all
its wonders, and opening all its blades at the same time, together with
the corkscrew, the gimlet, the pincers, and the button-hook, at
different angles, would terrify the lives out of his fellow-passengers
by twirling the awful bristling weapon in his fingers within a foot or
so of their faces.

"Mind, dear," said an old lady on the seat opposite, "you'll cut your
fingers off, I'm certain."

"Oh, no, I won't," exclaimed he, taking out his handkerchief, and
beginning to polish the blades one after another.

The old lady trembled as she watched him, and sighed with relief when
the operation was over.

Presently, having nothing particular to do, he stared at her.  "Would
you like to know the time, ma'am?" he inquired.

"If you please," replied the good old soul.

"Well, it's just seventeen minutes and nineteen seconds past three by my
watch.  Would you like to see for yourself, ma'am?"

And, pleased to have a confidant of his possessions, he loosed my chain,
and flourished me bodily before the eyes of his new friend.

She took me kindly, and said, "What a fine watch you've got, dear?"

"Yes," replied he, with lofty condescension; "like to see his works?"

"You should be careful, you know," she said, "watches so easily get out
of order."

"Oh, I won't hurt it," said he, proceeding to take off my coat and
waistcoat.  "There! there are his works.  Don't breathe hard, or you'll
damp them."

So the old lady held her breath and peeped in, much to my young master's
gratification.

"And so you're going to school, my man?" said she presently.

"Yes; who told you!  Did my father tell you?"

"No, I guessed."

"Did you though?  Can you guess what the name of the school is?"

"No, I can't do that."

"Have a try."

"Well, then, I guess Randlebury, because my boy is there, and it's the
only one I can think of."

The boy stared at her.  "How ever did you know that?"

"What!" she exclaimed, "you don't mean to tell me you _are_ going to
Randlebury?"

"I am, though."

"Well, I never," cried the good old soul, "who would have believed it!
Think of your going to the same school as my Tom."

"Is Tom your boy's name?"

"Yes."

"Is he a nice boy?"

Such a question to ask any one's mother!

The old lady burst into tears instead of answering--a proceeding which
greatly alarmed and disconcerted my master.

"Don't cry," he said excitedly.  "Look here!  I didn't mean--oh, don't!
Look here, shall I tell you the time?  It's--it's sixteen minutes to
four--I didn't mean, you know.  Of course he's a nice boy--oh, don't
cry!"

And he got into such a state that the old lady dried her eyes at once.

"Never mind me, dear," said she, "it wasn't you made me cry: it was
thinking of my Tom.  You'll be a good friend to him, won't you, dear?"

"Perhaps he won't like me."

"Now I'm sure he will," exclaimed the lady warmly; so warmly that I
quite loved her for my little master's sake.  Both were silent for some
time, and then Charlie asked,--

"I say, has he got a watch?"

"No."

"Oh, never mind," said he, in a tone of evident relief, "I can tell him
the time, you know, whenever he wants to know."

"To be sure you can."

Then Charlie took to polishing me and the chain up again, an occupation
which lasted until we arrived at Gunborough Junction, where passengers
changed for Randlebury.

"Good-bye, dear," said the old lady, as Charlie proceeded to get
together his things.

"Good-bye," said he.  "Would you like to know the time before I go?
It's eight past five.  Good-bye."

"May I give you a kiss?" said she.

Charlie blushed, but offered his cheek hurriedly.

"And you promise to be a good friend to Tom," said she, kissing him,
"won't you?"

"All right," said the boy, jumping out on to the platform, and running
to see after his luggage.

In a moment however he returned to the window and put his head in.

"I say," said he, "what's his name--Tom what?"

"Drift," said the old lady, "Tom Drift!"

"Oh!" replied my master, "all right, good-bye;" and next minute the
train went on, and he was left standing surrounded by his luggage in the
middle of the platform, like a lighthouse in the middle of an island.



CHAPTER THREE.

HOW MY MASTER AND I REACH RANDLEBURY IN STATE, AND OF A GREAT CALAMITY.

My master and I had nearly an hour to wait on the platform at Gunborough
before the Randlebury train came up.  Part of this interval Charlie, for
fear he might forget to do it at night, devoted to winding me up; an
experiment which nearly closed my career for ever, for he first began to
turn the key the wrong way; then, when he had discovered his mistake, he
started in the other direction with a sudden dash, and finally overwound
me to such an extent that I expected every second to hear my heart break
with the strain.

Then he sat on his boxes, whistling to himself and drumming his heels on
the platform.  The train came up at last, and in he jumped, finding
himself and a grave elderly gentleman in joint possession of the
carriage.

Charlie was too busy staring out of the window, whistling, and brushing
the dust off his new hat, to take much notice of his companion until the
train was fairly started; then, observing the gentleman look at his
watch, the boy at once recognised a bond of sympathy and pulled out me.

"I wonder if I'm the same as you?" he said eagerly.

"I hope you are not," said the gentleman, "for I'm a quarter of an hour
fast."

"Are you though?" said the boy, in astonishment.

"Why don't you put it right?  I would."

"It's a bad thing to put a watch back, my boy; besides, I rather like
keeping mine a little fast."

"Do you?  I say, do you think my watch is a good one?" said Charlie,
thrusting me into the hands of his astonished travelling companion.

"I can't say, my boy.  I know nothing about watches.  It looks a nice
one."

"Yes, father gave it me.  I say, are you going to Randlebury?"

"Yes."

"Do you know the school?  I'm going there."

"Oh, yes; I know the school.  And you are going there, are you?"
inquired the gentleman, with interest.

"Yes, I'm a new boy, you know."

"And how do you like going to school?"

"Oh, all right; only I don't know what it'll be like.  Eat I say, I
don't suppose there's many of the boys my age have got watches, do you?"

The gentleman laughed.  "I dare say not," he said.  Charlie was silent
for a time, and then asked,--

"I say, what sort of fellow's the head master; do you know?"

"I've seen him now and then," said the gentleman.

"Is he awfully stuck-up and strict?" asked the boy anxiously.

"I really don't know," said the gentleman, biting his lips; "I hope
not."

"So do I.  I wish my father was the head master," said Charlie, the
tears for a moment starting to his eyes at the bare thought of such
happiness.

The gentleman looked at him very kindly, and said,--

"Cheer up, my little man; perhaps it won't be so bad after all."

Charlie smiled again as he said,--

"Oh, yes, I've got to be brave, you know, because I promised father.
But I say, if you ever come to the school, ask for me--my name's Charlie
Newcome--will you? because I don't know any of the fellows; and
besides," added he, brightening at the idea, "we can see if our watches
are going the same, you know."

The gentleman promised, and soon after this the train arrived at
Randlebury.  The boy bid his companion farewell, and went off as before
to look after his belongings.

As he was standing surrounded by his baggage, a man in the dress of a
coachman came up to him and said,--

"Are you the young party from London for the school?"

"Yes," replied the boy.

"It's all right," said the man; "give us hold of these things, and jump
inside my trap."

"How far is it?" he asked of the man.

"Better of three miles."

"Is it, though?  I say, can't you put the things inside, and then I can
ride on the box?"

"All square," said the man; "hop up, my young bantam."

The young bantam did hop up, and they were soon on their way to the
school.

I need hardly say it was not long before Charlie and the driver were on
confidential terms.  The boy duly produced first me and then his six-
bladed knife to the admiring eyes of his new companion, insisting on his
taking both into his hands, and demanding his candid opinion on their
merits.

Presently a wholly new idea seemed to strike him.

"I say, driver, what's your name?"

"Jim, if you want to know," replied that public servant.

"Well, Jim, I wish you'd just get inside and look after the luggage, and
let me drive; will you?"

The man opened his eyes and his mouth at the proposition, and then
bursting out laughing.

"Hark at him!" he exclaimed; "did you ever hear the like?  Me get inside
and let a young shaver like him drive me--ho! ho!"

"Come along, Jim; I know the way; and it _would_ be a lark.  Come on,
_dear_ Jim."

And the boy got quite affectionate in his eagerness.

"Dear Jim," who was one of those easy-going men who don't take much
persuading when they're approached the right way, at length consented to
hand over the reins to Charlie; and after waiting some time to see for
himself that the boy could really manage, after a fashion, to drive the
horse, he further gratified him by descending from the box, and leaving
him in sole possession of the coveted position.

"Get inside, Jim," cried the boy, with beaming face.

Jim, his face all one grin, obeyed, saying, as he did so,--

"Well, if you ain't a queer one!  That's the house there, on the top of
that hill.  Mind how you go, now."

"All right; you get inside.  And I say, Jim," added the boy, leaning
down from his perch, "make yourself comfortable, you know, and don't
bother about me.  I want to drive all by myself, and you aren't to help
me a bit, mind."

So the driver got inside, and seating himself among the luggage,
proceeded to make himself "comfortable," as instructed.

Meanwhile my master, as proud as an emperor, lashed his steed into a
canter, and rattled off in the direction of the school.

"That'll astonish some of them caps and gowns, I reckon," I heard cabby
say to himself.  "You see, if he don't drive us right up to the front
door, as comfortable as if we was the sheriff of the county."

You may imagine what was the astonishment of the grave and reverend
authorities at Randlebury School when they perceived, coming up the
carriage drive, a cab with a boy of thirteen perched on the box, tugging
at the reins, hallooing to the horse, and making his whip crack like so
many fireworks; while inside, comfortably lounging amid a pile of
luggage, reclined cabby at his ease, grinning from ear to ear.

The young Jehu, perfectly innocent of the sensation he was making,
pursued his triumphant career at full speed up to the very hall door,
pulling up his steed with such a sudden jerk as almost to bring him into
a sitting position, while the piled-up luggage inside fell all about the
cab with the shock, to the imminent risk of cabby's life.

"Well, if that ain't one way of doing it, I don't know what is!"
exclaimed that astonished charioteer, emerging from his precarious
quarters.  "Down you jump, young un."

Charlie descended, all jubilant with triumph, and pulling out me,
exclaimed, "We did that three miles in half an hour--not bad, was it?"

In his excitement he had not observed that the door of the house had
opened, and that these words, instead of being addressed to the cabby,
had been spoken to a stately female who stood in the portal before him.

Now however he caught sight of her, and not knowing exactly what was the
proper thing to do under the circumstances, stared at her.

"What do you say, young man?" inquired she, in a solemn voice.

"Oh," said the boy, "I didn't know it was you.  I was telling Jim we had
come from the station in half an hour.  You know we started at 6.2 by my
watch, and it's just 6.33 now.  Would you like to see for yourself,
marm?" added he, preparing to unfasten the chain.

"I know what the time is, young man," replied she sternly; "and pray,
who is Jim?" she asked, looking down in solemn perplexity at this queer
boy.

"Oh, he's the driver is Jim, and he got inside, you know, and I've
driven nearly all the way up by myself; haven't I, Jim?"

"Come inside, sir," said the matron hurriedly, "and don't stand talking
to vulgar cabmen and calling them by their Christian names.  Your name
is Charles Newcome, I suppose?  Come this way."

Charlie followed her in, his enthusiasm rather damped at this somewhat
frigid greeting, and sorry in his heart he had not been allowed an
opportunity of bidding farewell to his friend the driver.

And now I could hear the little fellow's heart begin to beat quicker as
he found himself at length for the first time in his life inside a
public school.  The rows of caps in the corridors, the distant hum of
voices through half-opened doors, the occasional shout from the
playground, and the fleeting vision of a master in cap and gown, all had
for him the deepest and most mysterious interest.  As he sat waiting in
the matron's room while that worthy lady went to superintend the
bringing in of his luggage, his mind became full of wonderings and
misgivings.  I who lay so near the seat of his emotions could tell what
was going on in his breast.  He wondered if the pair of socks lying on
the table with a hole in each heel, which appeared to be waiting their
turn for mending, belonged to the son of the old lady he had met in the
train.  He wondered if the footsteps in the passage belonged to the head
master, and whether that awful being was being fetched to punish him for
his crime of driving the cab.  He wondered who the boy was who put his
head in at the door and drew it back again.  With what reverential eyes
he followed that hero's retreating form, and how he hung on his
whistling.

When would _he_, he wondered, be sufficiently hardy to whistle within
those awful walls?  Then he wondered if he was the only new boy, and if
so, whether every one would stare at him and laugh at his new coat.  He
wished he'd got his old one on, then he wouldn't have felt so brand-new.
And then--and then...

But here, tired-out with his long journey and the excitement of the day,
a drowsy fit came over him, and without another thought he dropped off
to sleep, where he sat.  In this attitude the housekeeper found him when
she returned.

She could not help feeling rather more than a common interest in this
curly-haired, tired-out little fellow, as he sat there in his new
clothes, huddled up, with his little hat slipping from his head, and his
hand clasping his precious six-bladed knife.  Accustomed as she was to
boys and their rude ways, this matron had a good deal of softness left
in her heart, and I dare say she thought as she watched Charlie that
afternoon that if she had ever had a son of her own she would have liked
a boy something like the little fellow before her.  She went softly up
to him, took his hat from its perilous situation, and, lifting him in
her strong arms so gently as not to wake him, laid him on her own sofa,
and left him there to enjoy his well-merited sleep, while she busied
herself about making tea.

It was at this moment that a calamity befell me, which, in my
inexperience of the ways and natures of watches, I imagined to be
nothing short of fatal.  The excitement through which I had passed, and
the rough-and-ready usage to which I had been subjected during the day,
seemed all of a sudden to overpower me.  In some unaccountable way I
found my hands caught together in a manner I had never known them to be
before; no effort of mine could disengage them, and the exertion thus
required, added to the fatigues of the day, produced a sort of paralysis
of my whole system without quite losing consciousness.  I could feel my
circulation become slower and finally stop; my nerves and energies
became suspended, and my hands grew numb and powerless.  Even my heart
ceased to beat, and the little cry of alarm which I gave just before my
powers left me failed to bring me any help.  I was ill, very ill indeed;
to me it seemed as if my last moment had come, and I could not bear the
thought of thus early being taken from my young master, whom already I
had learned to love as my best, though my roughest friend.

How long I lay thus, speechless and helpless, I cannot say.  Once I was
just conscious of a slight jerk from my chain as he peeped in and
whispered,--

"What are you so quiet about down there?"

Of course I could not answer.

"Do you hear?  What are you so quiet about?"

It only added to my misery to know that there was a fellow-being so
close at hand, and yet that I was powerless to make him aware of my
condition.  My silence offended him, for he turned away, muttering to
himself,--

"Sulky humbug!  I declare some people haven't so much as the manners of
a kitchen clock."

After that I was left to myself, in agony and suspense, to wait the
moment of my dissolution.

A long time passed before my master stirred, and when he did the
housekeeper's tea was cold.  She bustled about to make him some more,
and was so kind in buttering his toast and hunting for some jam, that
the drooping spirits of the tired-out boy revived wonderfully.  Indeed,
as the meal proceeded he became on friendly and confidential terms even
with so awful a personage as Mrs Packer.

"Would you like to see my knife, ma'am?" he asked.

"Bless me, what a knife it is," cried the lady.  "You'll go doing
yourself some harm with it."

"That's what the other old lady in the train said," replied Charlie,
unconscious of wounding the feelings of his hostess, who fondly imagined
she was not more than middle-aged; "but then, you know, she thought it
was a fine knife, and I think so too, don't you?  I say, marm, do you
know Tom Drift?"

The change of subject was so sudden that Mrs Packer stared at the boy,
half wondering whether he was not talking in his sleep.

"What about him?" she inquired.

"Oh, only the old lady was his mother, and I promised her--at least she
said--do you know Tom Drift, ma'am?"

"To be sure; he's one of the boys here."

"Yes--I say, ma'am, might I see Tom Drift, do you think?  I've got
something to say to him."

Mrs Packer, wholly at a loss to understand her youthful guest, but at
the same time disposed to be indulgent to his little whims, said Tom
would be at lessons now, and she didn't think he would be able to come.

"Wouldn't it do in the morning?"

"Oh no," said Charlie, with the gravest face.  "I must see him to-night,
please, if you don't mind."

The housekeeper concluded that Charlie had some important message from
the mother to her son, and therefore rang for a servant, whom she
despatched with a message to Master Drift that some one wanted to see
him.

In a very little time that hero made his appearance; and as he was the
first Randlebury boy Charlie had set eyes on, he appeared for a moment a
very awful and a very sublime personage in that little new boy's eyes.
But Charlie was too intent on his mission to allow himself to be quite
overawed.

"Here's a new boy, Master Drift, wants to speak to you."

"What do you want, young un--eh?"

"Oh, it's all right, Tom Drift; only I saw your mother, you know, in the
train, and she said you were a nice boy, and she sent her love, and I
told her I'd let you know the time whenever you wanted, because you
ain't got a watch, you know, and I have.  I say, would you like to know
the time now, Tom Drift?"

All this was rattled out with such eager volubility, that Tom Drift,
hero as he was, was fairly taken aback, and looked quite sheepish, as
the beaming boy proceeded to pull me out of his pocket.

"Well, it's just--hullo!"

He saw in an instant something was wrong.

"Why, it says only half-past six--that must be wrong!"

"It's eight o'clock by the hall clock," said Mrs Packer; "it's just now
struck."

Charlie looked at me, opened me, held me to his ear, and then
exclaimed,--

"Oh! my watch has stopped!  My watch has stopped!  What shall I do?" and
the poor boy, overwhelmed with his misfortune, held me out appealingly,
and scarcely restrained the tears which started to his eyes.



CHAPTER FOUR.

HOW I WAS CURED OF MY AILMENTS, AND HOW MY MASTER BEGAN LIFE AT
RANDLEBURY.

All this while Tom Drift had said nothing, but had stood regarding first
my master, and then me, with mingled amusement, pity, and astonishment.
At last, when poor Charlie fairly thrust me into his hands, that he
might see with his own eyes the calamity which had befallen the watch
that had been destined to minister such consolation to his time-
inquiring mind, he took me gingerly, and stared at me as if I had been a
toad or a dead rat.

"Can't you make it go, Tom Drift?  Please do."

"How can I make him go?  I don't know what's the row."

"Do you think it would be a good thing to wind it up?" asked Charlie.

"Don't know; you might try."

Charlie did wind me up; but that was not what I wanted.  Already I had
had that done while waiting at Gunborough Junction.

"What do you say to shaking him?" asked Tom Drift presently.  Most
people spoke of me as "it," but Tom Drift always called me "him."

"I hardly like," said Charlie; "_you_ try."

Tom took me and solemnly shook me; it was no use.  I still remained
speechless and helpless.

"Suppose we shove his wheels on?" next suggested that sage philosopher.

Charlie demurred a little at this; it seemed almost too bold a remedy,
even for him; however he yielded to Tom's superior judgment.

The heir of the house of Drift accordingly took a pin from the lining of
his jacket, and, taking off my coat and waistcoat, proceeded first to
prod one of my wheels and then another, but in vain.  They just moved
for an instant but then halted again, as stiff end lifeless as ever.

For a moment the profound Tom seemed baffled, and then at last a
brilliant idea occurred to him.

"I tell you what, I expect he's got damp, or cold, or something.  We'd
better warm him!"

And the two boys knelt before the fire with me between them, turning me
at the end of my chain so as to get the warmth on all sides, like a leg
of mutton on a spit.

Of course that had no effect.  What was to be done?  No winding up, no
shaking, no irritation of my wheels with a pin, no warming of me at the
fire, could avail anything.  They were ready to give me up.  Suddenly,
however, Tom, who had been examining my face minutely, burst into a loud
laugh.

"What a young donkey you are!" he cried.  "Don't you see his hands are
caught?  That's what's the matter.  The minute-hand's got bent, and
can't get over the hour hand.  You're a nice chap to have a watch!"

It might have occurred to Charlie (as it did to me) that whatever sort
of watch-owner the former might be, a boy who successively shook,
tickled, and roasted me to get me to go, was hardly the one to lecture
him on his failings; but my master was too delighted at the prospect of
having his treasure cured to be very critical of the physician.  And
this time, at last, Tom Drift had found the real cause of my
indisposition.  In endeavouring to pass one another at half-past six, my
two hands had become entangled, and refusing to proceed in company, had
stopped where they were stopping my circulation and indeed my animation
at the same time.

Once more the astute Tom produced his pin; and sticking it under the end
of my minute-hand, disengaged it from its fellow and bent it back into
its proper position.  Instantly, as if by magic, the life rushed back
into my body; my circulation started afresh, and my heart beat its old
beat.  Charlie set up a shout of jubilation, and almost hugged Tom in
his gratitude.  The latter looked very wise and very condescending--as
had he not a right?--and, handing me back to my master, said, with the
air of a physician prescribing a course of treatment for a convalescent
patient,--

"You'd better shove him on to the right time, and then keep him quiet,
young un."

This Charlie did, and it would be hard to say which of us two was the
happier at that moment.

I had scarcely been deposited once more into my accustomed pocket, when
a loud bell sounded down the corridors, and made Tom Drift jump as if he
had been shot.

"I say, that's the prayer-bell!  Come on! unless you want to get into a
jolly row."

And without further words he seized the astonished Charlie by the arm,
and ran with him at full speed along one or two empty passages, dashing
at last in through a big door, which was in the very act of closing as
the two reached it.

Charlie was so confused, and so out of breath with this astonishing and
frantic race, that for a minute he did not know whether he was standing
on his head or his heels.

There was, however, no time for solving the problem just then, for Tom
Drift, still retaining his grasp on his arm, dragged him forward,
whispering,--

"This way; wasn't that a close shave?  Get in here, and don't make a
noise."

Charlie obeyed, and found himself in a pew, one of a congregation of
some two hundred boys, assembled in the school chapel for evening
prayers.  At the far end of the chapel he could hear a man's voice,
reading; but what it said it was impossible for him to make out, owing
to the talking that was going on around him.

He looked eagerly and curiously down the long rows of his new
schoolfellows, feeling half afraid at the sight of so many new faces,
and half proud of being a Randlebury boy, with a right to a seat in the
chapel.  And as he looked he saw some faces he thought he should like,
and some that he thought he would dislike; there were merry, bright-eyed
boys, like himself, and there were ill-tempered, sullen-looking boys;
there were boys haggard with hard-reading, and boys who looked as if
their heads were altogether empty.

But what puzzled and troubled Charlie not a little was to notice, that
though the school was supposed to be at prayers, and though most of them
must have been within hearing of the reader's voice, a considerable
proportion of the boys before him were neither listening nor evincing in
their behaviour the slightest sign of reverence for the service in which
they were engaged.

He was sorry to see that Tom Drift was laughing and whispering with his
companions; entertaining them with an account of the way in which he had
set the new "young un's" watch to rights, and what a shave they had from
being shut out from prayers.  (Charlie wondered, as he noticed all this,
whether, after all, he would have lost much good if that misfortune had
happened.)  And one or two boys were chewing toffee; at least, Charlie
thought it must be toffee, their mouths were so brown, and they made
such a noise over the process of mastication; some, with their hands in
their pockets, were listlessly staring up at the roof; and some were
reading books, anything but prayer-books, under the desk.

Charlie did his best to attend to what the invisible and inarticulate
voice was saying, and tried to recall what his father had told him about
not letting new scenes and new companions tempt him to forget of neglect
the lessons of duty and religion which he had learned at his parents'
home; but it was not easy work, and to him it was a relief when all was
over, and the boys proceeded to file out of the chapel.

"Where are they all going?" he inquired, turning round to where Tom
Drift had been standing.

That young man, however, was no longer there.  He had gone off to enjoy
the questionable luxury of roast potatoes in a friend's study, entirely
forgetting his young and forlorn charge.

Charlie was puzzled.  He was sure he could never find his way back to
Mrs Packer's through such a maze of passages, and he knew not where
else to go.

As he stood watching in despair the last remnant of his fellow-
worshippers passing out, and wondering what was to become of him, he
became aware of two big boys stopping in front of him and looking at
him.

"That's him!" said one, whose grammar was perhaps not his strongest
point at this moment.

"Why, he's only a kid!" said the other, who, being sixteen, felt fully
justified in so designating my young master.

"I can't help that, I know it's him," said the first.

"I say, you fellow," added he, addressing Charlie, "wasn't it you drove
up to the front door in a cab this afternoon?"

Charlie trembled in his shoes.  More than once had his heart misgiven
him, he had committed an unpardonable offence in the mode of his advent
to Randlebury; and now, with these two awful accusers before him, he
felt as if his doom was come.

"I'm very sorry," he began; "yes, it was--I didn't mean, I'm sure."

"What did you do it for, if you didn't mean, you young muff?--why don't
you go off to bed?"

"Because I don't know where to go, and Tom Drift--"

"Do you know Tom Drift?"

"Yes--that is, I met his mother," stammered Charlie, becoming more and
more embarrassed.

Both the big boys burst out laughing.  "What a treat for his mother!"
said one.  "I suppose she told you Tom was a real nice boy?"

"Yes."

"I thought so; so he is, isn't he, Joe?" and both boys laughed again.

"And she gave you a kiss to take to him?"

"No," said Charlie, blushing scarlet; "she did give me a kiss, but not
for him."

It was a hard effort for the poor boy to come out with this admission,
but candour compelled it.

"Oh, she gave you one for yourself, did she?" and again they laughed.
"What a dear old noodle she must be!"

"She was very kind to me," said Charlie, not liking to hear his friend
made fun of.

Just then a master came by.

"What are you three boys doing here?" he asked.

"Please, sir, this is a new boy," replied he who had been called Joe,
"and he doesn't know where to go."

"Hum!" said the master, "I thought Mrs Packer would have seen after
that.  Let me see.  You had better take him to your dormitory to-night,
Halliday; there's a vacant bed there.  Bring him to the doctor's room
after breakfast to-morrow," and he passed on.

"Here's a treat!" exclaimed Joe, with a not ill-natured grin.  "This
comes of stopping and talking to young scarecrows.  Come along,
youngster; think yourself lucky you've been handed over to me.  I wear
patent leather boots, and they don't need as much blacking as some of
the fellows'."

Charlie was at a loss to understand what the material of Master
Halliday's boots had to do with his own alleged good fortune in falling
into the hands of such a guardian; but he said nothing, and, reassured
by the good-humoured face of his conductor, followed him cheerfully from
the chapel.

"Hullo, Joe! got a donkey at last?" cried some one, as the two wended
their way up the stairs leading to the dormitories.

"Looks like it," was Joe's reply.

It was not very long before Charlie learned that the four-footed beast
thus vaguely referred to was a polite term which the big boys at
Randlebury used to designate their fags.

"Come in here," said his conductor, turning in at a small door.

Charlie found himself inside a small apartment, measuring about ten feet
square, lighted by a small window, warmed by a small fire, decorated
with a small bookcase, and furnished with a small table, two small
chairs, and a small cupboard.

"This is my den; and mind when you clean the window you don't crack that
pane more than it is; and when you brush my things, you know, see the
shelf isn't dirty, because I sometimes keep my worms there--do you hear?
And now come along to bed; they put out lights at half-past nine."

The mention of the time recalled me instinctively to Charlie's thoughts.
He could not resist the temptation, suggested half by anxiety and half
by vanity, of taking me out and looking at me.

"Hullo!  What, have you got a watch?"

"Yes," said Charlie meekly, not exactly knowing whether his companion
would be admiring or indignant with him.

"More than I have," was all Joe's rejoinder.

Charlie's generosity was at once touched.

"Oh, never mind, we can go shares sometimes, if you like, you know,"
said he, not without an effort.

"I don't want your watch," was Master Halliday's somewhat ungracious
reply.  "Let's have a look at it, will you?"

He took me, and examined me; and evidently would not have objected to be
the possessor of a watch himself, though he tried to make it appear it
was a matter of indifference to him.

"Why don't you get your father to give you one?" asked Charlie
innocently.

"Because I haven't got a father."

"Not got a father!  Oh, I am sorry!" and the starting tears in the
little fellow's eyes testified only too truly to his sincerity.  "Look
here," he added, "do take the watch, please; perhaps you would like it,
and my father would give me another."

Joe Halliday gazed at his young fag in amazement.

"Why, you are a queer chap," he said.  "I wouldn't take your watch for
anything; but I tell you what, I'll ask you the time whenever I want to
know."

"Will you really?" cried the delighted Charlie.  "How jolly!"

"And look here," continued Halliday, "take my advice, and don't go
offering your watch to everybody who hasn't got a father, or some of
them might take you at your word, and then you'd look foolish.  Come
along now."

And he led the boy into the dormitory, where there were about twenty
beds, most of them already occupied by boys, and the rest waiting for
occupants, who were rapidly undressing in different parts of the room.

"Look sharp and tumble in," said Joe, pointing out the bed Charlie was
to have.  "There's only five minutes more."

Charlie, with all the naturalness of innocence, knelt, as he was always
used to do, and said his prayers, adding a special petition for his dear
absent parents, and another for the poor boy who hadn't got a father.

He was wholly unaware of the curiosity he had excited by his entrance
into the dormitory, still less did he imagine the sensation which his
simple act of devotion was creating.  Twenty pairs of eyes stared at the
unwonted spectacle of a boy saying his prayers, and many were the
whispered comments which passed from lip to lip.  No one however (had
any been so inclined) stirred either to disturb or molest him--an
immunity secured to him as much perhaps by the fact of his being under
the protection of so redoubtable a champion as Halliday as by any
special feeling of sympathy for his act.

The good example was not, however, wholly lost, for that same night,
after the lights were out, and when silence reigned in the room, more
than one boy covered his head with his sheet and tried to recall one of
the early prayers of his childhood.

As for Charlie, with me and the knife under his pillow, he slept the
sleep of the just, and dreamt of home; and I can answer for it his weary
head never turned once the livelong night.



CHAPTER FIVE.

HOW MY MASTER ENTERED AND QUITTED THE HEAD MASTER'S STUDY TWICE IN ONE
MORNING.

Charlie's first care in the morning was, as I need hardly say, to pull
me out from under his pillow, and consult me as to the time.  None of
his companions were astir, so that, not having anything particular to
do, he lay still, and abandoned himself to the luxury of an idle half-
hour in bed.

His spirits were so greatly revived by his night's rest that he forgot
both the novelty and the loneliness of his position, and fell to
polishing first his knife and then me as merrily as if he were at home.
What a difference a sound sleep often makes in the aspect of our
affairs!  Twelve hours ago he had felt as if he could never be
sufficiently bold as to whistle within the walls of Randlebury, and now
the first sight and sound which greeted Halliday's returning senses, as
he sat up and rubbed his eyes, was his young _protege_ whistling to
himself like a lark, and brightening me up with all his might with the
corner of his blanket till I glowed again at nearly a red heat.

"Who's that kicking up that row whistling?" growled a voice from the far
end of the room; "because I'd like to shy a boot at his head."

At this Charlie subsided, not desiring to gratify his unknown auditor in
his benevolent desire, and very soon after jumped up and dressed
himself.

"Look here, youngster," said Joe, "you'd better do my study now, as you
mayn't have time after breakfast to-day.  You know which room it is--the
sixth on your right when you get downstairs.  Cut along, look sharp,
you've a good half-hour."

Charlie made his way down to the lion's den, meeting on his way several
other discontented fags, bound on similar errands.  He set himself to
clean the window, tidy the cupboard, and generally put things square,
and had succeeded fairly well in this endeavour by the time his patron
made his appearance.

"What's the time?" inquired that lord of creation, running his eye
rapidly round the room at the same time, to notice how his fag had done
his duty.

"It's five minutes to eight," replied Charlie, after consulting me, and
highly delighted to be thus appealed to.

"Come along to breakfast, then.  You'll have to sit at a different table
from me; but mind and wait for me afterwards, for I've got to take you
to the doctor."

So Charlie was conducted down to the hall to breakfast, and provided
with a humble seat at the foot of the lowest table, while Joe Halliday
made his way with all the dignity that became his years to a
distinguished place at the highest.

My master found himself among a set of noisy little boys, who amused
themselves during the greater part of the meal by interchanging volleys
of bread pellets, which much oftener missed their marks than reached
them, in consequence of which he himself came in for the brunt of the
cannonade.  Once he ventured to return one of the random shots which had
found its way to his fingers.  Fortune favoured his aim, and his shaft
hit the boy it was intended for full in the eye.

"Who did that?" cried the wounded hero sharply.

"I did," replied Charlie, quite proud of his achievement.

"All right, I'll punch your head for it when we get outside."

This was by no means what Charlie had expected.  He had imagined the
wound would be received in the same spirit of jest in which it was
aimed.

"It was only in fun," he explained; "did it hurt you?"

"Of course it did," exclaimed the injured youth, who till Charlie's
arrival had been the junior pupil of the school, and was now delighted
to find some one below himself in the scale of seniority.  "Of course it
did, and you'll catch it."

All the other boys laughed, and Charlie, who could not find it in him to
be overawed by even so majestic a hero as little Master Johnny Walker,
made the best of his position.

"Look here," he said, "I'll give you three shots at my mouth, and if
you--"

"There's too much talking at table six!" exclaimed an awful voice, and
instantly every voice was hushed, including Charlie's, who blushed to
the roots of his hair, and felt as if he had been singled out before the
whole school as a rioter.  He gulped down his breakfast without further
argument with Master Walker, and was relieved, when the meal was over,
to find that that doughty warrior appeared to have altered his mind
about punching his youthful head.

After some time he saw Halliday beckoning to him from the other side of
the room.

"Now you've got to go to the doctor," said he; "come along."

This was the first time my master had fully realised the solemn nature
of the approaching interview, and I felt his heart flutter as he
inquired,--

"I say, what will he say to me?"

"Oh, all sorts of things; you'd better mind what you're up to, I can
tell you," was the reassuring reply.

"Do you think I shall get in a row for driving the cab yesterday?"
faltered Charlie.

"Shouldn't wonder," was the reply.

"Oh, dear!  And do you think he saw me hit Johnny Walker in the eye at
breakfast?"

"What, were you the boy who was kicking up all that row?  My eye! you're
in for it!  Here you are; I'll knock for you."

And giving the poor trembling boy not so much as an instant in which to
collect his flurried ideas, Joe gave a rap at the door, which was
answered at once by a sharp "Come in!" from within.

"Now then," said Halliday, "in you go."

Charlie's knees shook under him, and he hung back from that awful door
in mute terror.

"Come in!" again cried the voice.

"Do you hear, you young muff?" exclaimed Halliday.  "Won't you catch it!
Go in, will you?"

And opening the door himself he fairly pushed my poor master into the
head master's study.

Fancy the agony of the poor boy, fully believing himself a doomed
miscreant, entering for the first time the awful presence of the head
master of Randlebury School.

He stood there with downcast eyes, not daring to speak, and rooted to
the spot.

"Why, what's the matter, my boy?"

At the words Charlie started like one electrified.  He had surely heard
that voice before somewhere!  He looked up, and what was his
astonishment to find in his dreaded principal no other than the
gentleman with whom he had yesterday spent such a friendly hour in the
train between Gunborough and Randlebury!

And his face was as kind as ever, and his voice encouraging, as he
repeated,--

"What's the matter, my man? has the watch stopped."

"Oh, sir," said Charlie, running up to him, "I am glad it's you, and I'm
so sorry I drove the cab, and hit Walker in the eye.  I'll never do it
again!"

"Tut, tut," said the head master; "if you never do any worse than that,
you won't go far wrong.  I didn't tell you who I was yesterday, because
I wanted you to manage for yourself, and fight your own battle on first
arriving.  Now tell me how you have got on."

And Charlie faithfully recounted to him everything, including my sudden
indisposition, and my cure by Tom Drift.

Dr Weldon (for that was his name) listened to his story, and then
said,--

"Well, you've made a pretty good beginning.  Now try to remember this:
your father has sent you here for two reasons; one is that your head may
be furnished, and the other is that your character may be trained.  I
and your teachers can undertake the first; but it depends chiefly on you
how the second succeeds.  You will constantly be having to choose for
yourself between what is right and what is wrong, and between what is
true and what is false.  Take the advice of one who has passed through
all the temptations you are likely to meet here--rely always on a wisdom
that is better than your own, and when once you see which way duty
calls, follow that way as if your life depended on it.  Do this, and
you'll turn out a far better man than the man who is talking to you.
Whenever you are in trouble come to me, I shall always be glad to see
you.  I promised you, you know, I would ask for you occasionally, didn't
I?  And now let's see what you've got in your head."

And then followed a brief examination, conducted in a way which put
Charlie quite at his ease, and so enabled him to acquit himself with a
fair amount of credit and win from his master a commendation, which he
prized not a little, for it was that his father's efforts had not been
wasted on him.

"You will be put in the second-form," said the doctor, "and if you work
hard, I see no reason why you should not get up into the third next
midsummer.  Now, good-bye.  I hope you won't find the head master of
Randlebury is as `stiff and stuck-up a fellow' as you dreaded, and I
trust I shall find you as honest and brave a fellow as I hoped you would
turn out the first time I saw you.  Good-bye."

Charlie rose to leave with overflowing heart.  He even forgot in the
midst of his pleasant emotion to inquire, as he had fully intended to
do, after the doctor's watch, and if it was still a quarter of an hour
fast.

As he left the room he could not help contrasting with thankfulness his
present state of mind with that in which he had entered it an hour ago.
He laughed at himself for all his foolish fears then, and as for the
future, that seemed now ever so much easier and brighter.

Outside the door he found Tom Drift passing along the corridor in a
state of great excitement.

"The very chap, I declare," cried he.  "I say, lend us your watch, young
un, will you?"

"What for?" asked Charlie.

"Only a time race.  Tom Shadbolt says he can run a mile in 4.40.  I say
he can't do it under 4.50, and we've got a bet of half-a-crown a side
upon it.  So lend us your watch to time him by."

Charlie hesitated, and a pang passed through his breast.  He knew that
one of the things which he had promised his father was that he would
have nothing to do with betting or gambling in any form, and how could
he obey in this respect if he now lent me for the purpose for which I
was required?  And yet he owed Tom Drift no common gratitude for the
good service he had done in setting me right yesterday, and surely if
any one had a right to borrow me it was he.  The struggle was a sore
one, but soon decided.

"I can't lend it you, Tom Drift."

"Why ever not?" asked Tom sharply.

"I'm very sorry; if it had been anything else--but I promised father I
would not gamble."

"Young ass! who wants you to gamble?  I only want you to lend us your
watch."

"_You_ are gambling, though," said Charlie timidly.

"And what's that got to do with you, you young idiot," exclaimed Drift,
fairly losing his temper, "if I am?"

"I'm very sorry," said Charlie, "especially as you put it all right.  If
it was anything else; but I can't for this."

"Look here," said Drift in a fury, "we've had fooling enough.  Hand me
the watch this moment, or I'll take it and smash it, and you into the
bargain!"

"Oh, Tom Drift, don't do that.  I would so gladly for anything else, but
I promised father--"

"Once more, will you, or will you not?"

"I can't."

"Then take that!" and next moment Charlie received a blow full on the
chest, which sent him staggering back against the wall.

Oh, how he wished that moment he had never owned me!

Tom came upon him with an angry oath, and seized him by the throat.

"Will you give it up?"

"No," replied Charlie.

He was fairly roused now; no boy--certainly no boy of his sort--can
stand quietly by and receive undeserved blows.  Tom tightened his grip
on the boy's throat, and strove to snatch me from his pocket.

Quick as thought Charlie threw his arms round him, and, though the
smaller boy of the two, extricated himself from the clutch of the bully,
and sent him in turn staggering back.  Livid with rage, Tom rushed at
him; but Charlie eluded him, and left him to overbalance himself and
fall sprawling on the paved floor.  At this instant the doctor's door
opened, and the head master stood gazing on the scene.

Poor Charlie! five minutes ago so full of bright hopes and brave
resolutions, and now, under the eyes of the very man who had inspired in
him those hopes and resolutions, engaged in a common fight with a
schoolfellow!

"What is all this?" asked the doctor sternly.  "Come in here, you two."

Charlie, with sinking heart, entered again that solemn room, and Drift
followed, sulky, and with a black bruise on his forehead.

Charlie left his antagonist to tell his story after his own fashion, and
was too dispirited either to contradict him or seek to justify himself.
He felt ashamed of himself, and in his self-humiliation saw neither
defence nor extenuation for his conduct.

Drift was dismissed with a few sharp words of reproof and warning.
Charlie remained longer.

What the doctor said to him, and what he said to the doctor, I need not
here repeat.  Suffice it to say, the former was able to form a fairer
estimate of my master's conduct than he himself was.  He did not blame
him; he even told him that no boy could expect to get through his school
days without some blows, and advised him to see they were always on the
right side.  He talked to him long and seriously about home, and so
comforted him in prospect of future difficulties and temptations, that
when he left that study the second time, it was as a wiser, though
perhaps a sadder boy than before.



CHAPTER SIX.

HOW MY MASTER HAD BOTH HIS FRIENDS AND HIS ENEMIES AT RANDLEBURY.

The events of Charlie's first day at Randlebury had at least taught him
one salutary lesson, and that was, to moderate his enthusiasm with
regard to me, and consequently for the next few weeks I had a quiet time
of it.  True enough, my master would occasionally produce me in
confidence to a select and admiring audience, and would ever and again
proffer the use of me to his protector, Joe Halliday, but he gave up
flourishing me in the face of every passer-by, and took to buttoning his
jacket over the chain, I found my health all the better for this gentler
usage, and showed my gratitude by keeping perfect time from one week's
end to the other.

It is hardly necessary for me to say that Charlie was not long in making
friends at Randlebury.  Indeed some of his acquaintance looked upon this
exceeding friendliness in the boy's disposition as one of his weak
points.

"I do believe," said Walcot, who was only four from the head of the
school, to his friend, Joe Halliday, one day, about a month after my
master's arrival at Randlebury--"I do believe that young fag of yours
would chum up to the poker and tongs if there were no fellows here."

"Shouldn't wonder," said Joe.  "He's a sociable young beggar, and keeps
my den uncommon tidy.  Why, only the other day, when I was in no end of
a vicious temper about being rowed about my Greek accents, you know, and
when I should have been really grateful to the young scamp if he'd given
me an excuse for kicking him, what should he do but lay wait for me in
my den with a letter from his father, which he insisted on reading aloud
to me.  What do you think it was about?"

"I couldn't guess," said Walcot.

"Well, you must know he's lately chummed up very thick with my young
brother Jim in the second, and--would you believe it?--he took it into
his head to sit down and write to his governor to ask him if he would
give Jim and me each a watch like the one he's got himself.  What do you
think of that?"

"Did he, though?" exclaimed Walcot, laughing.  "I say, old boy, you'll
make your fortune out of that youngster; and what did his father say?"

"Oh, he was most polite, of course; his boy's friends were his friends,
and all that, and he finished up by saying he hoped we should both come
and spend Christmas there."

"Ha! ha! and did he send the watches?"

"No; I suppose he wants to spy out the land first."

"Well," said Walcot, "the boy's all right with you, but he'll go making
a fool of himself some day if he makes up to everybody he meets."

My master, in fact, was already a popular boy with his fellows.  He had
a select band of admirers among the youth of the Second-Form, who
cackled round him like hens round a bantam.  Together they groaned over
their Latin exercises and wrestled with their decimals; together they
heard the dreaded summons to the master's desk; and side by side, I am
sorry to say, they held out their open palms to receive his cane.  If a
slate bearing on its surface an outline effigy of the gentleman who
presided over the lessons of the class was brought to light, and the
names of its perpetrators demanded, Charlie's hand would be seen among a
forest of other upraised, ink-stained hands, and he would confess with
contrition to having contributed the left eye of the unlucky portrait.
And if, amid the solemn silence which attended a moral discourse from
the master on the evils of gluttony, a sudden cataract of nuts, apples,
turnips, and jam sandwiches on to the floor should drown the good man's
voice, Charlie would be one of the ill-starred wights who owned to a
partnership in the bag of good things which had thus miserably burst,
and would proceed with shame first to crawl and grope on the dusty floor
to collect his contraband possessions, and then solemnly to deposit the
same jam, turnips, and all, on the desk of the offended dominie as a
confiscated forfeit.

By these and many other like experiences Charlie identified himself with
his comrades, and established many and memorable bonds of sympathy.  He
took the allegiance of his followers and the penalties of his masters in
equal good part.  He was not the boy to glory in his scrapes, but he was
the boy to get into them, and once in, no fear of punishment could make
a tell-tale, a cheat, or a coward of him.

With the elder boys he was also a favourite, for what big boy does not
take pride in patronising a plucky, frank youngster?  Patronising with
Charlie did not mean humiliation.  It is true he would quake at times in
the majestic company of the heroes of the Sixth Form, but without
hanging his head or toadying.  It is one thing to reverence a fellow-
being, and another to kneel and lick his boots.

Altogether Charlie had what is called "fallen on his feet" at
Randlebury.  By the end of two months he was as much at home there as if
he had strutted its halls for two years.  His whistle was as shrill as
any in the lobbies, and Mrs Packer stuck her fingers in her ears when
he burst into her parlour to demand a clean collar.  He had already
signalised himself too on the cricket field, having scored one run (by a
leg-bye) in the never-to-be-forgotten match of First Form, First Eleven,
against Second-Form, Second Eleven; and he had annihilated the
redoubtable Alfred Redhead in the hundred yards hopping match,
accomplishing that distance in the wonderfully short time of forty-five
seconds!

But the dearest of all his friends was Jim Halliday, his lord and
master's young brother.  To Jim, Charlie opened his own soul, and me,
and the knife; with Jim he laid his schemes for the future, and
arranged, when he was Governor-General of India and Jim was Prime
Minister, he would swop a couple of elephants for one of Ash and
Tackle's best twenty-foot fishing-rods, with a book of flies complete.
With Jim, Charlie talked about home and his father, and the coming
holidays, till his face shone with the brightness of the prospect.  Nor
was the faithful Jim less communicative.  He told Charlie all about his
sisters down at Dullfield, where his father had once been clergyman, and
gave it as his opinion that Jenny was the one Charlie had better marry;
and to Charlie he imparted, as an awful secret not to be so much as
whispered to any one, that he (Jim) was going to array his imposing
figure for the first time in a tail-coat at Christmas.

With two friends on such a footing of confidence, is it a wonder they
clave one to the other in mute admiration and affection?  Many a
sumptuous supper, provided at the imminent peril of embargo by the
authorities on the one hand, and capture by hungry pirates on the other,
did they smuggle into port and enjoy in company; on many a half-holiday
did they fish for hours in the same pool, or climb the same tree for the
same nest; what book of Jim's was there (schoolbooks excepted) that
Charlie had not dog's-eared; and was not Charlie's little library
annotated in every page by Jim's elegant thumbs?  In short, these two
were as one.  David and Jonathan were nothing to them.

But in the midst of all his comfort and happiness one continually
recurring thought troubled Charlie, that was about Tom Drift.  He had
promised the mother to be a friend to her son, and although he owned to
himself he neither liked nor admired Tom, he could not be easy with this
broken promise on his mind.

One day, about a month after the quarrel outside the head master's
study, my master, after a hard inward struggle, conceived the desperate
resolve of going himself to the lion in his den and seeking a
reconciliation.

He walked quickly to Tom's study, for fear his resolution might fail
him, and knocked as boldly as he could at the door.

"Come in!" cried Tom inside.

Charlie entered, and found his late antagonist sprawling on two chairs,
reading a yellow-backed novel.

At the sight of Charlie he scowled, and looked anything but
conciliatory.

"What do you want?" he said angrily.

"Oh, Tom Drift!" cried Charlie, plunging at once into his subject, "I do
wish you'd be friends; I am so sorry I hurt you."

This last was an ill-judged reference; Tom was vicious enough about that
bruise on his forehead not to need any reminder of the injuries he had
sustained in that memorable scuffle.

"Get off with you, you little beast!" he cried.  "What do you mean by
coming here?"

"I know I've no business, Tom Drift; but I do so want to be friends,
because--because I promised your mother, you know."

"What do I care what you promised my mother?  I don't want you.  Come,
off you go, or I'll show you the way."

Charlie turned to go, yet still lingered.  A desperate struggle was
taking place, I could feel, within him, and then he stammered out, "I
say, Tom Drift, if you'll only be friends I'll _give_ you my watch."

Poor boy!  Who knows what that offer cost him? it was indeed the dearest
bribe he had to give.

Tom laughed sneeringly.  "Who wants your watch, young ass?--a miserable,
second-hand, tin ticker; I'd be ashamed to be seen with it.  Come, once
more, get out of here or I'll kick you out!"

Charlie obeyed, miserable and disappointed.

He could stand being spoken roughly to, he could bear his
disappointment, but to hear his father's precious gift spoken of as a
"miserable, second-hand tin ticker," was more than he could endure, and
he made his way back to his room conscious of having lost more than he
had gained by this thankless effort at reconciliation.

"What are you in the sulks about?" inquired Halliday that evening, as
Charlie was putting away his lord and master's jam in the cupboard.

"I don't want to be sulky," Charlie said, "but I wish I could make it up
with Tom Drift."

"With who?" exclaimed Joe, who, as we have before observed, was subject
to occasional lapses of grammar.

"Tom Drift, you know; we had a row the first day."

"I know," replied Joe; "about that everlasting watch of yours, wasn't
it?"

"Yes," said Charlie, "I didn't like to lend it him, because--"

"I know all about that," said Halliday.  "You were squeamish about
something or other he wanted it for.  Well, the watch belonged to you, I
suppose, and you aren't obliged to lend it to anybody.  What on earth do
you want to go worrying about the thing any more for?"

"I'm not; only I wanted to be friends with Tom Drift."

"What for?" demanded Joe.

"Oh, because--because I promised his mother I would be," pleaded
Charlie.

"All I can say is, you had no business to promise any one to be friends
with a fellow you never saw."

"But she said he was a nice fellow; and besides he made my watch go when
it had stopped," added Charlie, as a great argument.

"Why, Charlie, you are a greater little noodle than I took you for.
Every one who calls that precious watch a good name is your master, and
you're his slave."

"Not so bad as that, Joe," said Charlie; "but I say, isn't Tom Drift a
nice boy, then?"

"Isn't he? that's all," replied the other.  "I'm not going to abuse him
behind his back, but take my advice, young un.  You are better off as
Tom's enemy than his friend, and don't you try to make up to him any
more."

"Why not?" asked Charlie in bewilderment.

"Never you mind," was all Joe's reply; "and now hand me down my Liddell
and Scott and make yourself scarce."

Charlie, sorely puzzled, did as he was bid.

He certainly was not in love with Tom Drift; but it was not easy for him
to give up, without an effort, his promise to be his friend.

Tom, however, was by no means in need of friends.  Not many weeks after
the day when Charlie had left his study, disappointed and miserable, he
might have been seen entertaining company of quite a different sort.

[My readers, let me here observe, must not be too curious to understand
how it is I am able to speak of so many things which must have taken
place beyond the range of my observation.  They will find the reason all
in good time.]

The supper party over which Tom presided consisted of four boys,
including himself.  One was Shadbolt, on whose account, it will be
remembered, Tom had desired to borrow Charlie's watch.  Shadbolt was an
unwholesome-looking fellow of fifteen, with coarse features and eyes
that could not look you straight in the face if they had tried.  He was
accompanied by his chum Margetson, who certainly had the advantage of
his friend in looks, as well as in intellect.  The quartet was completed
by Gus Burke, one of the smallest and most vicious boys at Randlebury.
He was the son of a country squire, who had the unenviable reputation of
being one of the hardest drinkers and fastest riders in his county; and
the boy had already shown himself only too apt a pupil in the lessons in
the midst of which his childhood had been passed.  He had at his
tongue's tip all the slang of the stables and all the blackguardisms of
the betting-ring; and boy--almost child--as he was, he affected the
swagger and habits of a "fast man," like a true son of his father.

At Randlebury he had wrought incredible mischief.  Tom Drift was not the
only soft-minded vain boy whom he had infected by his pernicious
example.  Like all reckless swaggerers, he had his band of admirers, who
marked every action and drank in every word that fell from their hero's
lips.

It was just with such boys as Drift that his influence was most telling;
for Tom was a boy not without aptitude to note and emulate a powerful
example, whether it were good or bad, while his vanity rendered him as
pliant as wax to the hand of the flatterer.

Such was the party which assembled surreptitiously in Tom's study that
evening and partook of the smuggled supper.

Tom had had hard work to provide for his guests, and had succeeded only
at the risk of grave penalties if detected.

"I say, Tom, old horse, this is a prime spread!" said Gus; "where did
you get it?"

"Oh!" said Tom, "I had a new hat coming from Tiler's, so I got old
Tripes (the butcher) to make a neat brown-paper parcel of the kidneys,
and got them up in my gossamer.  The old donkey might have done the
thing better though, for the juice squeezed through, and the inside of
my hat looks as if I had lately been scalped."

"Hard lines!  But never mind, perhaps they'll put it down to the crack
you got on your forehead."

Tom flushed scarlet; any reference to his inglorious scuffle with
Charlie Newcome was odious to him, as Gus and the others knew well
enough.  He said nothing, however, only scowled angrily.

"What!" said Gus, "does it hurt you still then?  Never mind, it was a
good shot, and I wouldn't be ashamed of having floored you myself."

"He didn't floor me; I fell!" cried Tom indignantly.

"Did you?  Rather a way fellows have when they get knocked down!"

"I was not knocked down, Gus, I tell you; and you'd better shut up!"

"All right, old horse! you mustn't mind a bit of chaff.  I'm sure you've
taken it all very well."

"Yes," said Margetson, "everybody thinks you must take after your
mother; you're such a sweet-tempered chap."

"What do you know about my mother?" snarled Tom.

"Only what your young friend tells everybody about her."

"What business has he to go talking all over the school about my
affairs?" exclaimed Tom furiously.  "What's my mother to do with him?"

"A great deal, it seems," replied Margetson, "for he promised her, on
the strength of her assertion that you were a nice boy, to be your
friend, and now he's awfully hurt you won't let him."

"I thought it was Tom who was awfully hurt," put in Gus, by way of
parenthesis.

"I tell you what it is, you fellows," said Tom, "it may be all very
funny for you, but I've had quite enough of it.  Ever since that young
canting humbug came here I've led the life of a dog.  If, instead of
making a fool of me, you'd tell me how I can pay him out, I should be
better pleased."

"All very fine," said Margetson; "why don't you pay your own bills?"

"If you want some one to punch his head," said Shadbolt the ugly, "I
don't mind trying; my life is insured."

"Suppose we make him stupid," suggested Gus, "with milk punch, and shove
him inside the doctor's study."

"Couldn't you get hold of his watch and boil it?" said Margetson, who
had heard of the experiments practised on me in Mrs Packer's parlour.

"If I got hold of it I'd smash it into fifty pieces!" growled Tom
between his teeth.

"Look here, you fellows, I've got a glorious plan!" exclaimed Gus
suddenly.

"What is it?" they all cried.

But Gus's plan requires a new chapter.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

HOW A PLEASANT TREAT IN STORE WAS PREPARED FOR MY MASTER.

Gus proceeded then to divulge his plan for giving Tom Drift his revenge
on my master.

"Let's take him to Gurley races on Saturday," said he.  "You know it's a
holiday, and if we can only get him with us, well astonish his
sanctimonious young soul.  What do you say?"

"You'll never get him to come," said Margetson.

"Won't we?  Well see about that," replied Gus, "he needn't know where
he's going."

"But even so," said Drift, "you won't get him; he's not in love with me,
and I don't fancy any of you are much in his line."

"Oh, you'll have to manage that part, Tom.  You know how the young
idiot's pining to make it up with you, for your dear old mother's sake!"

"Now you needn't start that nonsense again," put in Tom sulkily.

"All right; but don't you see, if you were to take a forgiving fit and
make up to him, and talk about the old lady and his watch, and all that,
he'd be out of his wits with joy? and then if you asked him to come for
a day's fishing on Saturday, we could meet you somewhere on the road,
and then he'd have to come whether he liked or not; and won't we
astonish him!"

Tom mused a little.

"It's not a bad idea," said he presently, "if it would only work.  But I
can't make up to the young puppy as you think.  Ten to one I should stop
short in the middle and kick him."

"That would spoil all the fun.  Try it on, any way, it'll be a nice
little excitement to have young Innocent with us.  And now, Tom, where
are blacks and reds; I'm just in the humour for a rubber, aren't you?"

The host produced from a locked desk a dirty and much-worn pack of
cards, and the party sat down to play.

They played for penny points, and as Gus and Margetson were partners, it
is hardly necessary to say that Drift and his ill-looking friend lost
every game.

Before this amiable and congenial quartet separated, Gus had referred
again to the scheme of getting Charlie to Gurley races, and got Drift to
promise he would secure his victim next day.

Next day, accordingly, as Charlie was in the midst of a desperate game
of fives with his friend Jim, a small boy came to him and said that Tom
Drift wanted him.

"What for?" demanded Charlie, who, since his talk with the elder
Halliday, had felt somewhat "shy" about Tom.

"I don't know," said the boy.

"Your turn, Charlie," called out Jim from the end of the court.

Charlie took his turn while he was revolving on his answer to this
mysterious summons.

"What does that child want?" inquired Jim, with all the loftiness of a
second-form boy speaking of a first.

"He says Tom Drift wants me."

"Whew!" whistled Jim, who of course knew the whole mystery of the affair
between his chum and Tom; "tell him to go to Jericho!  Look out for
yourself!"

And so saying, he took his turn with the ball.

"That wouldn't do," said Charlie; "I don't want to rile him."

"_I'd_ like to have a chance," retorted the implacable Jim.  "Well,
then, tell him you can't come.  Here, young un, tell Tom Drift Charlie
can't come.  Do you hear?  Cut your sticks!"

But Charlie called the messenger back.  "I _could_, go if I wanted, Jim.
Better tell him I'd rather not come.  Say that, youngster--I'd rather
not."

So off the youngster ran, and Charlie and Jim finished their game.  Of
coarse, the youthful messenger gave Tom a full, true, and particular
account of this conversation in all its details, which rendered that
young gentleman rather less eager than ever for his enterprise.
However, he had the fear of Gus before his eyes, and strolled out into
the playground on the chance of coming across Charlie.

And he did come across him, arm-in-arm with the faithful Jim.  Tom
worked his face into the ghastly similitude of a friendly smile as he
approached, and said, in as genial a voice as he could pretend, "I'm
glad I met you, Newcome, because I want to speak to you, if you don't
mind taking a turn round the playground."

Charlie, of course, was astonished; he had expected at the very least to
be kicked over the wall when he saw Tom approach, and he was utterly at
a loss to understand this not unfriendly greeting.  Innocent boy! it
never occurred to him the demonstration could be anything but real.  Jim
would have been a tougher subject to deal with.  Indeed, as he let go
Charlie's arm, and saw him walk off with Tom, he muttered to himself,
not caring particularly whether the latter heard him or not.

"Gammon! that's what it is."

Charlie had not long to wait before his companion began the
conversation.

"I suppose you wonder why I want you, Newcome?" said he.  "The fact is,
I've been thinking I wasn't altogether right in being down on you the
other day about lending me that watch, especially as you were a new boy;
and I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Charlie sprung towards him and caught his arm.

"Oh, Tom Drift, don't say that, please!  It was my fault--all my fault,
and I have been so sorry ever since.  And you will be friends now, won't
you?  I do so want to be, because I promised your mother--"

Tom gave a quick gesture of impatience, which, if Charlie had
understood, he would have known how near receiving a kick he was at that
moment.

Tom, however, restrained himself, and said,--

"Oh, yes, for her sake I'd like to be friends, of course, and I hope
you'll forget all about that wretched quarrel."

"Indeed I will," cried Charlie; "and don't let us say any more about it.
I am ever so much happier now, and it was so good of you to come to me
and make it up."

"Well," said Tom loftily, "you know it's no use for two fellows to be at
loggerheads when it can be helped, and I dare say we shall get on all
the better now.  How are you going on in the second?"

Whereupon Charlie launched into a lengthy and animated account of his
experiences, to which Tom pretended to listen, but scarcely heard a
word.

"So you are fond of fishing?" he said, casually, after the boy had
mentioned something on that subject.

"Ain't I, though?" cried Charlie, now quite happy, and his old self
again.  "I say, Tom Drift, would you like to see the new lance-wood top
I've got to my rod?  It's a stunner, I can tell you.  I'll lend it you,
you know, any time you like."

"Have you caught much since you were here!" asked Tom, anxious to get
this hateful business over.

"No.  You know the brook here isn't a good one for fish, and I don't
know anywhere else near."

"Well, I'll tell you what," said Tom, as if the idea had then for the
first time occurred to him.  "Suppose we go off for a regular good day
on Saturday?  It's a holiday, you know, and we could go and try up the
Sharle, near Gurley.  There's lots of trout there, and we are certain to
have a good day."

"How jolly!" exclaimed Charlie.  "It would be grand.  But I say, Tom
Drift, are you sure you wouldn't mind coming?  It wouldn't be a bother
to you, would it?"

"Not a bit.  I like a good day's fishing.  But, I say, young un, you'd
better not say anything about it to any one, or we shall have a swarm of
fellows come too, and that will spoil all the sport."

"All right," said Charlie.  "I say what a day we shall have!  I'll bring
my watch and knife, you know, and some grub, and we can picnic there,
eh?"

"That'll be splendid.  Well, I must go in now, so good-bye, Newcome, and
shake hands."

What a grip was that! on one side all trust and fervour, and on the
other all fraud and malice!

Tom Drift was not yet utterly bad.  Would that he had allowed his
conscience to speak and his better self prevail!  Half a dozen times in
the course of his walk from the playground to the school he repented of
the wicked part he was playing in the scheme to injure Charlie.  But
half a dozen times the thought of Gus and his taunts, and the
recollection of his own bruised forehead came to drive out all passing
sentiments of pity or remorse.

Charlie rejoined his chum with a beaming face.

"Well," asked Jim, "what has he been saying to humbug you this time?"

"Nothing very particular; and I won't let you call him a humbug.  I say,
Jim, old boy, he's made it up at last, and we're friends, Tom Drift and
I!  Hurrah!  I was never so glad, isn't it jolly?"

Jim by no means shared his friend's enthusiasm.  Like his elder brother,
he instinctively disliked Tom Drift, without exactly being able to give
a reason.

His reserve, however, had no effect on Charlie's high spirits.  At last
the wish of his heart had been gained!  No longer did he walk with the
burden of a broken promise weighting his neck; no longer did the
consciousness of having an enemy oppress him.

"Simpleton!" many of my readers will exclaim.  Perhaps he was; but even
if you laugh at him, I think you will hardly despise him for his simple-
mindedness, for who would not rather be such a one than the tempter, Tom
Drift?

All that week he was jubilant.  Boys looked round in astonishment at the
shrillness of his whistle and the ring of his laughter.  His corner of
the class room was a simple Babel, and the number of apples he bestowed
in charity was prodigious.

Something, every one could see, had happened to make him happier than
ever.  Few knew what that something was, and fewer still knew what it
meant.

"What are you up to to-morrow?" asked the elder Halliday of his fag on
the Friday evening.

"Fishing," briskly replied the boy.

"You're for ever fishing," said Joe.  "I suppose that young brother of
mine is going with you?"

"No; Jim's going to play in the match against the Badgers."

The "Badgers," let me explain, was the name of a scratch cricket eleven
made up of boys in the first, second and third forms.

"Are you going alone, then?"

Charlie felt uncomfortable as he answered,--

"No."

"Whom are you going with?" pursued the inquiring Joe.

"A fellow in the fifth who asked me to come."

"What's his name?"

Charlie had no help for it now.

"Tom Drift," he faltered.

"Tom Drift!  I thought you and he were at loggerheads."

"Oh, don't you know we've made it up?  He was awfully kind about it, and
said he was sorry, when it was really my fault, and we shook hands, and
to-morrow we are going to fish in a place he knows where there's no end
of trout."

"Where's that?"

"He didn't want me to tell, for fear everybody should come and spoil the
sport; but I suppose I can tell you, though; it's up the Sharle, near
Gurley."

"Humph!  I've fished there before now.  Not such a wonderful lot of
fish, either."

"I suppose you won't be there to-morrow?" asked Charlie nervously,
afraid of losing the confidence of Tom Drift by attracting strangers to
his waters.

"Not if I know it," replied Joe.  "I say, youngster, I thought you had
given up the notion of making up to that fellow?"

"I didn't make up to him, only I can't be sorry to be friends with
him--"

"Well, I hope you won't be sorry now you've done it.  Take care what
you're about, that's all."

Charlie was again perplexed to understand why Halliday seemed to have
such a dislike to poor Tom.

Just as he was going off to bed Joe stopped him and asked,--

"By the way, shall you be using your watch to-morrow?"

"Well, I promised I'd take it, to see how the time went; but I dare say
we could do without it, and I would like to lend it to you, Halliday."

"Not a bit of it," replied the other.  "I can do without it as well as
you.  I am going to walk over to Whitstone Woods and back."

"Hullo, that's a long trot," said Charlie.  "It must be nearly thirty
miles."

"Something like that," said Joe.  "Walcot and I are going to make a day
of it."

"Which way do you go?"

"Through Gurley, and then over Rushton Common and past Slingcomb."

"Never!  I wish I could do thirty miles at a stretch."

"So you will some day.  Good-night."

And Charlie went to bed, to dream of the lance-wood top of his rod and
the trout in the Sharle.

In the meanwhile the conspirators had had another meeting in Drift's
den.

"Well, have you hooked him?" asked Gus.

"Yes; it's all right.  He took it all in like a lamb."

"And all the school," said Margetson, "is talking of the great
reconciliation, and the gratification which that event will undoubtedly
afford to your venerable mother."

"Shut up, will you, Margetson?  I've had quite enough of that chaff."

"But I do assure you, Tom--"

"That'll do," said Tom, snappishly; and Margetson did not go the length
of saying what it was he was so ready to assure him of.

"Well," said Gus, "we'll meet you and the young cub at the cross roads
by Sharle Bridge.  The races don't begin till twelve, so we shall have
lots of time.  I mean to see if we can't get a trap at Gurley, and do
the thing in style.  What do you say?  We could get one for about ten
bob."

"All serene," said Margetson.  "I'll fork out my share."

"You'll pay for me, Tom," said Shadbolt, "won't you?"

"I'll see," said Tom.

"All right, that's settled; and you are seeing about grub, Tom, aren't
you?  Don't forget the etceteras.  What time have you told young mooney-
face?"

"Nine.  He's sure to be in time."

"Well, we'll start a little before, you know, and meet you quite by
accident, and the young beggar won't smell a rat till we are safe in
Gurley."

"And if he turns cantankerous?"

"Then we can put Shaddy to look after him."

"Who's going to win the Gulley Plate, Gus?"

And then the party fell to canvassing the entries for the morrow's
races, and making their bets, in which, of course, Tom stood almost
bound to lose, whichever horse won.

Long ere they had parted company Charlie was sound asleep and dreaming,
with me under his pillow.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

HOW MY MASTER DID NOT CATCH THE FISH HE EXPECTED.

About ten years before the time of my story it had happened that in a
famous battle fought between her Majesty's troops and those of a hostile
and savage king, the colours of the 300th Regiment were noticed to be in
imminent peril of capture.  The ensign who carried them was wounded, and
already a score of the enemy were rushing forward to seize the prize and
carry it off in triumph to their king.  Suddenly, however, there dashed
up to the spot a young cornet of dragoons, who, seeing the peril of his
fellow-officer and the colours he carried, dragged him, flag and all, up
nearly into his own saddle, and started off with his precious burden
towards a place of shelter from the fire and spears of the savages.
Before, however, he had gone twenty yards the poor ensign tumbled to the
ground, shot through the heart, yielding with his dying hands his
colours to the dragoon.  That plucky young soldier, wrapping the torn
and stained flag round his body, set his teeth, stooped forward in his
saddle, and, digging his spurs into his horse, galloped for his life.
He had a terrific gauntlet to run, and grandly he ran it.  The friendly
trench was in sight, the cheers of his comrades fell like music on his
ears, a vision of glory and honour flashed through his mind, and then
suddenly he reeled forward in his seat--a malignant shot had found him
out at last, and, with the colours round him, he dropped from his horse
into his comrades' arms a dead man.

This hero was an old Randlebury boy; and ever since that day, on every
anniversary of his glorious death, Randlebury kept, and still keeps,
holiday.

All this Charlie was informed of by his faithful chum, Jim Halliday, as
the former was dressing himself on the morning of the eventful holiday
in question.

What possessed him to get up at six, when he was not to start till nine,
I cannot say.  He even routed me from under his pillow at five, so
fidgety was he, and as soon as ever I pointed to six he bounced out of
bed as if he was shot.

"What are you up to, getting up at this time?" growled Jim, who, much to
the mutual delight of the boys, slept in the same room with Charlie.

"Oh, you know; I don't want to be behindhand," replied Charlie.

"Behindhand!  Why, do you know it's only just six?"

"I know that, and I mean to make the most of my holiday.  I say, Jim,
what do they want to give us a holiday for, do you know?"

"They don't want to at all; they've got to."

"Got to?  What do you mean?" inquired Charlie, dragging on his boots.

And then Jim, with many yawns and growls, told him the story; and,
without waiting for his comments thereon, rolled over and went off to
sleep again.

Charlie spent his early hour in polishing up things generally.  When he
had polished up his rod with the lance-wood top, he polished up his
green can and his hooks.  Then he warmed me up with a piece of wash-
leather, and then his many-fanged knife.

By the time these little jobs were accomplished, and Joe's study put in
order, the breakfast bell sounded, and he went down with a mouth sore
with whistling.

He caught sight of Tom Drift at another table, and nodded and waved his
green can to him; he informed every boy within hearing distance that it
was certain to be a fine day, whatever it looked like now; and he made
the wildest and most indiscriminate promises to entertain his whole
acquaintance at no end of a trout supper on the spoils of that day's
sport.  Twenty times during breakfast did he pull me out and look
impatiently at my minute-hand slowly making its way from eight to nine;
and as soon as ever the meal was over he rushed upstairs like mad for
his rod and bag, and then tore down again four steps at a time, nearly
knocking the head master over at the bottom.

"Gently, my man," said that gentleman, recognising in this cannon-ball
of a young fellow his little travelling companion.  "Why, what's the
matter?"

"I beg your pardon, doctor," said Charlie; "did I hurt you?"

"Not a bit.  So you are going to fish to-day?"

"Yes, sir," said the beaming Charlie.  "I say, sir, do you think it'll
be a fine day?"

"I hope so--good-bye.  I suppose this can will be full when you come
back?"

"Good-bye, sir," said Charlie, secretly resolving that if fortune
favoured him he would present the two finest of his trout to the doctor.

He found Drift ready for him when he reached that young gentleman's
study.

Besides his rod, Tom had a somewhat cumbersome bag, which, as it carried
most of the provisions for the whole party, he was not a little surly
about being burdened with.

Charlie, of course, thought it was his and Tom's dinner.

"Is that the grub?" he cried.  "Why, Tom Drift, you have been laying in
a spread!  What a brick you are!  Look here, I'd carry it--isn't it a
weight, though!  If we get all this inside us two we shan't starve!"

And so they started, Charlie lugging along the bag and whistling like a
lark.

"Looks cloudy," said Tom, who felt he must say something or other.

"Never mind, all the better for the trout, you know.  I say, I wish I
had my fly on the water this minute."

As Tom was silent, Charlie kept up the conversation by himself.

"I say, Tom Drift," said he, "if your mother could only see us two chaps
going off for a day's fishing she--"

"Look here, draw it mild about my mother, young un.  She can take care
of herself well enough."

Charlie blushed to the roots of his hair at this rebuke, and for some
time the flow of his conversation was arrested.

It was a good four miles from Randlebury to Sharle Bridge; and long ere
they reached it Charlie's arm ached with the ponderous bag he was
carrying.  He did not, however, like to say anything, still less to ask
Tom to take a turn at carrying it; so he plodded on, changing hands
every few minutes, and buoying himself up with the prospect of the river
and the trout.

Presently they came within sight of the signpost which marks the
junction of the Gurley and Sharle Bridge roads.

"Here we are at last!" cried Charlie, panting and puffing.  "I say, Tom
Drift, I don't believe I could have carried this bag any farther if I'd
tried."

"It'll be lighter when we go home.  Hullo! who are these three?" for at
this moment Gus, Margetson, and Shadbolt made their appearance.

"They look like Randlebury fellows by their caps.  Oh, I know who one of
them is," added Charlie-- "Margetson, in the fourth; don't you know
him?"

"Rather!" replied Tom; "and the other two are Shaddy and Gus.  Who'd
have thought of meeting _them_!" and he gave a whistle, which succeeded
in attracting the attention of the worthy trio.

Of course their surprise at meeting Tom and his companion was no less
great--in fact, they had to inquire who the youngster was.

"Where are you off to?" demanded Gus.

"We're going to try our luck up the Sharle," said Tom.

"You'll be sold if you do," said Gus.  "We were down looking at it, and
a pretty state it's in.  Old Skinner at the Tannery took it into his
head to leave his gates up last night, and his muck has got into the
river and poisoned every fish in it--hasn't it, Shad?"

"Rather!" replied Shad.  "I was glad enough to get my nose away from the
place."

"Here's a go, Charlie!" said Tom, turning to his young companion.

During this short conversation Charlie had passed through all the
anguish of a bitter disappointment.  It is no light thing to have the
hope of days snuffed out all in a moment, and he was ready to cry with
vexation.  However it couldn't be helped, and he had learned before now
how to take a disappointment like a man.  So when Tom appealed to him he
put a good face on it, and said,--

"Awful hard lines.  Never mind, let's go back and see the match with the
Badgers, Tom."

"Why don't you come with us?" asked Gus.  "We are going to Gurley; have
you ever been to Gurley, young un?"

"No," said Charlie.

"Come along, then, we'll show it you.  It's a prime town, isn't it,
Margetson?"

"Don't ask me," said Margetson; "I'd sooner see about Gurley than catch
a seven-pounder, any day."

"And besides," said Tom, "isn't there some good fishing above the lock!
Come along, Charlie; we shall not be baulked of our day's sport after
all."

Charlie joined the party, although he did not conceive any great
admiration for Tom's three friends.  His anxiety not to offend his now
reconciled enemy, and the possibility of fishing after all, overruled
him; and still dragging the bag, he trudged along with the others
towards Gurley.

As they approached the town he could not help noticing the number of
holiday-makers and vehicles that passed them.  There were drags full of
gaily-dressed ladies; and gentlemen who wore veils; and there were light
jaunty dog-carts with spruce young white-hatted gentlemen perched in
them; there were vans in which corks were popping like musketry fires
and parties on foot like themselves, hurrying forward with loud laughter
and coarse music.

"Surely," thought he, "there's something on at Gurley."

Presently a waggonette, driven by a very loud youth in a check suit, and
with an enormous cigar in his mouth, pulled up in passing, and its
driver addressed Gus.

"So you've found _your_ way here, have you, my young bantam?  Catch
_you_ being out of a good thing.  Are you going on the grand stand?"

"Don't know," said Gus grandly.  "We may pick up a trap in the town."

"Ho, ho! going to do it flash, are you?  Well, there's one of you could
do with a little spice," added he, glancing at Charlie.  "I suppose my
trap's not grand enough for you."

"Can you give us a lift, then, Bill?" asked Gus, charmed at the idea.

"Yes, to be sure; I've no company to-day.  There's just room.  Hop in.
I may as well turn an honest penny as not.  Here, you young sinner, jump
up beside me on the box."  And before Charlie knew where he was or
whither he was going he found himself on the box of the waggonette
beside the flash youth, and his four friends behind him inside.

"Who's your friend, Gus?" he heard Margetson ask.

"Son of Belsham, who keeps the `Green Tiger' at Randlebury.  We're in
luck, I can tell you, you fellows."

As Charlie gradually recovered from his bewilderment he felt himself
extremely uncomfortable and ill at ease.  From what had been said he had
gathered that the object of the boys in going to Gurley was something
more than to see the town; and he by no means liked Gus's new friend, or
approved of his easy familiarity with a low publican's son.  It was not
long before his dawning suspicions were fully confirmed.

"So you're going to see the races?" asked Mr Belsham.

"No, I'm not," replied Charlie, as curtly as he could, for he had no
desire to encourage the conversation of this objectionable person.

"Ain't you?  And what are you going to do, then, my young lamb?"  And in
the course of this brief sentence Mr Belsham succeeded in interjecting
at least three oaths.

"I shan't speak to you if you swear," said Charlie; "it's wrong to
swear."

"No! is it?  Who says that?"

"My father says so," blurted out Charlie, fully satisfied that no better
reason could be demanded.

Belsham laughed, and turning to the four inside, said,--

"I say, young gentlemen, this young pippin tells me he's got a father
who says it's wrong to swear.  What do you think of that?"

"His father must be an amusing man," replied Gus.

"Wait till we get on to the course," said Margetson; "he'll hear
something to astonish him there, young prig!"

"I'm not going to the races!" cried my master, starting from his seat,
and now fully alive to the fraud of which he had been made the victim.
"How could you do this, Tom Drift!  Let me down, will you!" and he
struggled so desperately with Belsham that that gentleman was obliged to
let go the reins in order to hold him.

Of course it was no use his resisting.  Amid the shouts and jeers of his
schoolfellows he was held on to the box.  In vain he pleaded, besought,
struggled, threatened; there he was compelled to stay, all through
Gurley and out to the racecourse.  Here he found himself in the midst of
a yelling, blaspheming, drunken multitude, from the sight of whose faces
and the sound of whose words his soul revolted so vehemently that it
lent new vigour to his exhausted frame, and urged him to one last
desperate struggle to free himself and escape from his tormentors.

"Look here," said Belsham to Gus; "if you suppose I'm going to have all
my fun spoiled by looking after this cub of yours while you're enjoying
yourselves there inside, you're mistaken; here, look after him
yourselves."

So saying, he dragged Charlie from his seat and swung him down into the
waggonette with such force that he lay there half stunned and incapable
of further resistance, and so for the time being saved his persecutors a
good deal of trouble.

And indeed had it been otherwise it is hardly likely they would have
just then been able to pay him much attention, for at that moment the
horses were all drawn up at the starting-post, waiting for the signal to
go.

That was a feverish moment for Tom Drift.  He had bet all his money on
one horse, and if that horse did not win, he would lose every penny of
it.

As usual, he had repented a hundred times of that day's business, and
the last brutal outrage on poor Charlie had called up even in his seared
breast a fleeting feeling of indescribable shame.  It was, alas! only
fleeting.

Next moment he forgot all but the horses.  There they stood in a long
restless line.  A shout! and they were off.  In the first wild scramble
he could catch a sight of the colours on which his hopes depended near
the front.  On they came like the wind.  A man near shouted the name of
Tom's horse--"It's winning," and Tom's head swam at the sound.  On still
nearer, and now they have passed.  In the retreating, straggling crowd
he can see his horse still, but it seems to be going back instead of
forward.  Like a torrent the others overhaul and pass it.  Then a louder
shout than usual proclaims the race over, and the favourite beaten, and
Tom staggers down to his seat sick and half stupid.

"Never mind, old man," he heard Gus say, "luck's against you this time;
you'll have your turn some day.  Take some of this, man, and never say
die."

And Tom, reckless in his misery, took the proffered bottle, and drank
deeply.

It was late in the afternoon before Belsham thought of turning his
horse's head homeward, and by that time Charlie, on the floor of the
waggonette, was slowly beginning to recover consciousness.



CHAPTER NINE.

HOW MY MASTER AND I HAD QUITE AS MUCH EXCITEMENT IN ONE AFTERNOON AS WAS
GOOD FOR US.

Just as they were turning to go, a sudden shout and rush of people
arrested them.  The crowd on the course had been immense, and of the
roughest and lowest description: sharpers, thieves, and roughs were
there by the hundred, attracted from the neighbouring villages by the
opportunity of plunder and riot which Gurley races always afforded.  As
soon as the serious business of the racing was over, this low mob
naturally sought excitement of their own making, and increasing in
disorder and intemperance as the day wore on, had become beyond control
just about the time when Mr Belsham, junior, took it into his muddled
head to make a start in the direction of home.  The shout which kept him
where he was, was occasioned by that spectacle dear to the eyes of all
blackguards, a fight.  Round the two blood and dust-stained combatants,
the mob surged and yelled.  Every moment it grew denser and wilder; and
every moment it swayed nearer and nearer to the spot where the
Randlebury boys stood in their waggonette; and before they could move or
get clear, they found themselves in the very centre of the mob.  Shouts,
shrieks, and wild laughter rose on every side of them; some of the crowd
scrambled up onto their wheels to get a glimpse of the pugilists; some
abused and swore at them for getting in the way; some tried to invade
their waggonette, and struck at them when they resisted.

In the midst of all, Belsham's horse took fright.  There was a wild
plunge, a shriek from the crowd in front, and next moment the five boys
were thrown down among the crowd, while the horse, with the shattered
and overturned vehicle behind him, forced for himself a ghastly lane
through the mob.

Of Gus and his three friends, Charlie, whom the shock roused to sudden
consciousness, could see nothing.  He tried to rise, but the crowd
pressed too wildly to give him the chance.  For some moments he lay
among a host of crowding, struggling feet, expecting every moment to be
stunned, if not killed.  But by a wonderful providence he escaped the
peril.  The crowd gave a sudden swing in a new direction, and he was
left unhurt, though stupefied and almost unable to stir.

Presently he was conscious of a man standing in front of him.

"Oh, help me!" gasped my poor master.

The man seized him roughly by the arm and raised him to his feet.

"That's worth a tip," he growled; "come, hand over."

Charlie put his hand in his pocket and drew out a shilling.

The man scowled.

"Do you suppose I'll take a dirty shilling?  Come, young swell, empty
out them pockets.  Look sharp, I've no time to waste on the like of
you."

Tremblingly Charlie obeyed, and gave the man all the little stock of
money he possessed.

But he was not yet to escape.  From under his jacket the greedy eye of
the thief had caught a glimpse of a chain.  With a rough hand he tore
open the coat.  "What, a ticker?  Here's luck; out with it, come."

"Oh," cried Charlie, "take anything but that!  Take my chain and my
knife, but not my watch?"

Hardly and brutally laughed the man as he snatched me out of the poor
boy's hand, and administering a parting cuff on the head of his victim,
turned to walk off with me in the recesses of one of his filthy pockets.

Scarcely, however, had he turned, when three men appeared in front of
him, coming in the direction of Charlie.  The boy saw them, and imagine
his joy when in one of the party he recognised his old acquaintance, the
cabman Jim!  With a sudden bound and cry of delight he rushed towards
him, shouting and pointing to the robber.  "Oh, Jim, he's taken my
watch; get my watch back, Jim."

Jim took in the state of affairs in an instant, and calling on his two
companions to follow him, rushed upon and secured the thief before the
latter was even aware of their intention.  It was vain for one man to
resist three.  He was forced to disgorge first me, then the knife, and
then the money.  Charlie indeed pleaded that they should leave him the
money, or some of it, but this proposal Jim scouted, and in his zeal
relieved the robber of a good deal more than he had stolen from Charlie.
Then with kicks and blows they drove the wretch away as fast as his
legs could carry him.

This done, Jim the cabman had an opportunity of renewing his
acquaintance with my master.

"Well," said he, "who'd have thought of seeing _you_ here?  And what a
nice mess you're in.  You look as if--"

"Oh, don't," cried Charlie, holding him by the arm; "it's bad enough as
it is, without you thinking ill of me."

And then he told him as well as he could how he had been decoyed to
these vile races; how he had been kept there by main force; how he had
been made senseless by their rough treatment, and how, but for Jim's
timely help, he would now have been robbed and helpless.

Jim listened in astonishment, not unmingled with many an ejaculation of
indignation at the poor boy's persecutors.

"And where are they now?" he asked, when Charlie had done.

"I don't know.  We were all thrown out, you know, among the crowd.  I
only hope they've not been killed."

"Well, if I was you," said the downright cabman, "I wouldn't break my
heart over them.  I know _I'd_ like to have a chance of a quiet talk
with the young swells; _I'd_ give them something to take home with them,
I would."

Charlie said nothing, but gratefully put himself under the protection of
his deliverer, who, making a considerable round to avoid the crush, led
him safely to Gurley.

"There's no trap to be got for love or money, so you'll just have to
walk if you want to get back to Randlebury to-night."

Anything to get away from that odious crowd.  If the distance had been
twice as far, Charlie would have undertaken it.

It was long enough, however, before they got away from the crowd.  The
road from Gurley to Sharle Bridge was alive for a mile and more with
vehicles, drunken men and women, beggars and pickpockets.  On either
side of the road were jugglers, and thimble-riggers, and card-sharpers,
who each attracted their crowd of simpletons.  Many were the fights and
riots that attended these eager assemblages.  As they passed one booth,
the headquarters of a blustering card-sharper, a sudden disturbance
arose which threatened to block the entire road.  The man had offered a
sovereign to any one of his audience who could tell which of three cards
he held uppermost in his hand.  One voice called out a number.  The man
shuffled his cards, and by some slip on his part the guess of the
speculator turned out correct.  Instantly that youth demanded his
sovereign, which the man refused, vowing and calling others to witness
that another number had been guessed.

"I'll bring the police," cried the voice, and instantly there was a
movement in the group as of some one endeavouring to force his way out.

"Knock him over!" some one cried; "he's only one of them donkey
schoolboys.  What business have they here at all?"  And at the signal
two or three of the juggler's accomplices made a dash at the retreating
youth and seized him.

"Souse him in the river!" cried somebody else.

"Sit on him!" shouted a third.

In the midst of these contradictory advices the roughs lifted their
struggling victim from his feet, and proceeded to carry him in the
direction of the bridge.

In the momentary glimpse which Charlie got of the wretched object of
this persecution, he recognised, to his horror and astonishment, Tom
Drift, livid with terror, frantic with rage, and yelling with pain.

"Jim," cried Charlie, "that's Tom Drift!  Oh! can't we help him?  Will
you try, Jim!  Poor Tom!"

"Is he one of them four as brought you here?" asked Jim, not offering to
move.

"Yes; but never mind that; they will drown him; see how furious they
are!  Will you help him, Jim?"

"Not a bit of me," replied the stubborn Jim, who was well content to see
the tables turned on one who had so brutally ill-treated his young
companion.

"Then I must try myself;" and so saying, the boy of thirteen rushed in
among the crowd, and wildly tried to make his way to where his
schoolfellow was being dragged by his persecutors.

Of course Jim had nothing for it but to back him up, and in a moment he
was beside my young master.

"Let the boy be!" he shouted to those who carried Drift, in a voice so
loud that for a moment the rabble stood quiet to hear.

In the midst of this silence Charlie shouted,--

"Hold on, Tom Drift, we'll help you if we can."

Instantly the crowd took up the name.

"Tom Drift!  Yah!  Souse Tom Drift!  Roll Tom Drift in the mud!  Yah!
Tom Drift!"

And sure enough Tom Drift would have suffered the penalty prepared for
him, despite Charlie's attempt at rescue, had not help come at that
moment from a most unexpected quarter.

It will be remembered that Joe Halliday and his friend Walcot had
planned a long walk on this holiday to Whitstone Woods, some ten miles
beyond Gurley.

This plan they had duly carried out, and were now making the best of
their way back to Randlebury along the crowded highway, when the sudden
cry of a schoolfellow's name startled them.

"Tom Drift!  Yah!  Beggarly schoolboy!"

"I say, Joe, that's one of our fellows!  What's happening?"

Joe accosted a passer-by.

"What's going on?" he inquired.

"They're only going to souse a young chap in the river."

"What for?"

"I don't know; 'cause he don't think the same as old Shuffle, the three-
card chap."

"We must do something, Joe," said Walcot.

"I wish it were any other chap; but come on, we're in for it now," said
Joe.

And with that these two broad-shouldered, tall fellows dashed into the
thick of the fray.

Tom's bearers were now at the bridge, which was a low one, and were
turning down towards the water's edge, when a new cry arrested them.

"Now, Randlebury!  Put it on, Randlebury!  Who backs up Randlebury?"

It was the old familiar cry of the football field, and at the sound of
the well-known voices, Charlie's heart leapt for joy.

"I do!" he shouted, with all his might.  "Here you are, Randlebury!"

And Jim's gruff voice took up the cry too.

A panic set in among the blackguards.  To them it seemed that the school
was come in force to rescue their comrade, for on either side the cry
rose, and fighting towards them they could, see at any rate two stalwart
figures, who, they concluded, were but the leaders of following force.
One of the men was hardy enough to turn at bay at the moment Walcot had
cleared his way at last up to the front.  Big bully though he was, he
was no match for the well-conditioned, active athlete who faced him, and
Walcot punished him in a manner that made him glad enough to take to his
heels as fast as he could.

This exploit turned the day.  Dropping Tom--how and where they did not
stay to consider--they followed their retreating companion with all the
speed they were capable of, and left the enemy without another blow
masters of the situation.

But if, as a victory, this charge of the Randlebury boys had been
successful, as a rescue it had failed; for Tom Drift, being literally
dropped from the shoulders of his executioners, had fallen first on to
the parapet of the bridge, and then with a heavy shock into the stony
stream beneath.  When Walcot, Joe, Charlie, and Jim among them, went to
pull him out, he was senseless.  At first they thought him merely
stunned by the fall (the stream was only a few inches deep), but
presently when they began to lift him, they found that his right arm, on
which he had fallen, was broken.

Bandaging the limb as well as they could, and bathing his forehead with
water, they succeeded in restoring Tom to consciousness, and then,
between them, carried him as gently as possible to the nearest house,
when they managed, with some difficulty, to get a vehicle to convey them
the rest of their journey.  It was a sad, silent journey.  To Tom, the
pain caused by every jolt was excruciating.  They did their best to ease
him, holding him lying across their knees, while Jim drove along the
level footpath; but by the time the school was reached the sufferer was
again insensible, and so he remained till the surgeon had set his arm.

Thus ended the eventful holiday.

Before Charlie went to bed, the doctor sent for him to his study, and
there required to know the true history of that day's doings.  And
Charlie told him all.  I need hardly say that, according to his version,
the case against the four culprits was far lighter than had their
impeachment been in other hands.  He took to himself whatever blame he
could, and dwelt as little as possible on the plot that had been laid to
get him to Gurley, and on the means which had been used to keep him when
once there.  He finished up with a very warm and pathetic appeal for Tom
Drift.

"Don't, please, expel Tom Drift," he said, in all the boldness of
generosity; "he was led on by the others, sir, and he's punished badly
enough as it is.  Oh! sir, if you'd seen his mother cry, when she only
spoke of him, you couldn't do it."

"You must leave that to me," said the doctor sternly, "I hope I shall do
nothing that is unjust or unkind.  And now go to bed, and thank God for
the care He has taken of you to-day."

And Charlie went.

Tom Drift was not expelled.  For weeks he lay ill, and during that time
no nurse was more devoted, and no companion more constant, than Charlie
Newcome.  A friendship sprang up between the two, strangely in contrast
with the old footing on which they had stood.  No longer was Tom the
vain, hectoring patron, but the docile penitent, over whose spirit
Charlie's character began from that time to exercise an influence which,
if in the time to come it could always have worked as it did now, would
have gone far to save Tom Drift from many a bitter fall and experience.

When Tom, a week before the Christmas holidays, left the sick-room and
took his place once more in his class, Gus, Margetson, and Shadbolt were
no longer inmates of Randlebury School.



CHAPTER TEN.

HOW I CHANGED HANDS AND QUITTED RANDLEBURY.

And now, dear reader, we must take a leap together of three years.  For
remember, I am not setting myself to record the life of any one person,
or the events which happened at any one place.  I am writing my own
life--or those parts of it which are most memorable--and therefore it
behoves me not to dwell unduly on times and scenes in which I was not
personally interested.

I had a very close connection with the events that rendered Charlie's
first term at school so exciting, but after that, for three years, I
pursued the even tenor of my way, performing some twenty-six thousand
two hundred and eighty revolutions, unmarked by any incident, either in
my own life or that of my master worthy of notice.

By the end of those three years, however, things were greatly changed at
Randlebury.  Charlie, not far from his sixteenth birthday, was now a
tall, broad-shouldered fellow, lording it in the Upper Fifth, and the
hero of the cricket field of which he himself had once been a cadet.  In
face he was not greatly altered.  Still the old curly head and bright
eyes.  He _was_ noticed occasionally to stroke his chin abstractedly;
and some envious detractors went so far as to rumour that, in the lowest
recesses of his trunk he had a razor, wherewith on divers occasions, in
dread secret, he operated with slashing effect.  Be this as it might,
Charlie was growing up.  He had a fag of his own, who alternately quaked
and rejoiced beneath his eye; he wore a fearful and wonderful stick-up
collar on Sundays, and, above all, he treated me with a careless
indifference which contrasted wonderfully with his former enthusiasm,
and betokened only too significantly the advance of years on his young
head.

True, he wound me up regularly; but he often left me half the day under
his pillow; and though once in a fit of artistic zeal he set himself to
hew out a C.N. in startling characters on my back, with the point of a
bodkin, he never polished me now as he was once wont to do.

All this was painful to me, especially the operation with the bodkin,
but I still rejoiced to call him master, and to know that though years
had changed his looks, and sobered his childish exuberance, the same
true heart still beat close to mine, and remained still as warm and
guileless as when little Charlie Newcome, with me in his pocket, first
put his foot forth into the world.

There were two besides myself who could bear witness at the end of these
three years that time had not changed the boy's heart.  These two, I
need hardly say, were Tom Drift and Jim Halliday.

To Tom, Charlie had become increasingly a friend of the true kind.  Ever
since the day at Gurley races, the influence of the younger boy had
grown and overshadowed the elder, confirming his unstable resolutions,
animating his sluggish mind with worthy ambitions, and giving to his
pliant character a tone coloured by his own honesty and uprightness.
Just as a pilot will safely steer the ship amid shoals and rocks out
into the deeper waters, so Charlie, by his quiet influence, had given
Tom's life a new direction towards honour and usefulness.

Once, and once only, during those three years had he shown a disposition
to hark back on his old discreditable ways, and that was the result of a
casual meeting with Gus one summer during the holidays, with whom, he
afterwards confessed to Charlie, he was induced to forget for a time his
better resolutions in the snares of a billiard-room.  But the
backsliding was repented of almost as soon as committed, and, to
Charlie's anxious eyes, appeared to leave behind no bad result.

Jim was the same downright outspoken boy as ever.  He had yielded,
surlily at first, to the admission of Tom Drift into the confidence and
friendship of himself and his chum, but by degrees, moved by Charlie's
example, he had become more hearty, and now these three boys were the
firmest friends in Randlebury.

One day, as Charlie was sitting in his study attempting, with many
groans, to make sense out of a very obscure passage in Cicero, his fag
entered and said,--

"Newcome, there's a parcel for you down at Trotter's."

"Why didn't you bring it up, you young muff?" inquired his lord.

"Because it's got to be signed for, and he wouldn't let me do that for
you."

"Like your cheek to think of such a thing.  What's it like?"

"Oh, it's in a little box.  I say, Newcome, shall we go and get it?"

"I can't go at present; it'll wait, I suppose," said Charlie, with the
air of a man who was daily in the habit of receiving little boxes by the
carrier.

But for all that he could not wholly conceal his curiosity.

"What size box?" he asked presently.

"About the size of a good big pill-box."

"All that?  I dare say I can fetch that up by myself," said Charlie.

Size of a large pill-box!  It could not be anything so very important
after all.  So he turned again to his Cicero, and sent the fag about his
business.

Presently, however, that youth returned with a letter for Charlie.  It
ran thus:

  "Dear Young Scamp,

  "People always say bachelor uncles are fools, and I think they are
  right.  I've sent you a proof of my folly in a little box, which ought
  to reach you about the same time as this letter.  You've done nothing
  to deserve a present from me, and a box on the ears would be much
  better bestowed.  Never mind.  Take care of this little gift for me,
  in memory of the jolly Christmas you and I last spent together, and
  when you are not kicking up a row with your cronies at Randlebury or
  have nothing better to do, think of your affectionate

  "Uncle Ralph."

Much to the fag's astonishment, Charlie, having perused this letter,
slammed up Cicero, and seizing the cap from off his (the fag's) head, as
being most ready to hand, dashed out of school in the direction of the
village.

"Trot!" he exclaimed, as he reached the establishment of that familiar
merchant, "hand up that little box, you old villain!  Do you hear?"

The long-suffering Trotter, to whom this address was comparatively
polite in its phraseology, was not long in producing the parcel, in
acknowledgment of which Charlie gave his sign manual in lordly
characters upon the receipt; and then, burning with impatience, yet
trying hard to appear unconcerned, walked swiftly back to the school.

The fag was hanging about his study, scarcely less curious than himself.

"Hook it!" cried his master, putting the parcel down on the table and
taking out his penknife to cut the string.

Still the inquisitive fag lingered.  Whereupon Charlie, taking him
kindly yet firmly by the collar of his coat, conveyed him to the open
window, whence he gently dropped him a distance of six feet to the
earth.

Privacy being thus secured, he turned again to his parcel and opened it.
Imagine his delight and my agony when there came to light a splendid
gold watch and chain!  I turned faint with jealousy, and when a second
glance showed me that the interloper was no other than the identical
gold repeater whom I had known and dreaded in my infancy, I was ready to
break my mainspring with vexation.  To me the surprise had brought
nothing but foreboding and despair, and already I felt myself discarded
for my rival; but to Charlie it brought a rapture of delight which
expressed itself in a whoop which could be heard half over the school.

"What on earth's the row?" said a head looking in at the door; "caught
cold, or what?"

"Come here, Jim, this moment; look at this!"

And Jim came and looked, and as he looked his eyes sparkled with
admiration.

"My eye, Charlie, what a beauty!" said he, taking up the treasure in his
hand.  His thumb happened to touch the spring on the handle, and
instantly there came a low melodious note from inside the repeater--One,
two, three, and then a double tinkle twice repeated.

"That's striking," observed Jim, who was occasionally guilty of a pun.
"Why, it's a repeater!"

"So it is!  Did you ever know such a brick as that uncle of mine?"

"It's a pity your people can't think of anything else but watches for
presents.  Why, what a donkey you made of yourself about that silver
turnip when you first had it!  Don't you remember?  What's to become of
it, by the by?"

"How do I know?  I say, Jim, this one wasn't got for nothing."  And then
the boys together investigated the wonders of the new watch, peeping at
its works and making it strike, till I was quite sick of hearing it.
But then I was jealous.  There was no more Cicero for Charlie that day.
He was almost as ridiculous, though not so rough, with his new treasure
as he had been with me.  He turned me out of my pocket to make room for
it; and then half a dozen times a minute pulled it out and gloated over
it.  At night he put us both under his pillow, little dreaming of the
sorrow and disappointment that filled my breast.

Where were all the old days now?  Who would admire or value _me_, a
poor, commonplace silver drudge, now that this grand, showy rival had
come and taken my place?  In my anger and excitement my heart beat fast
and loud, so loud that presently I heard a voice beside me saying,--

"Gently, there, if you please; no one can hear himself speak with that
noise."

"I've more right to be here than you," I growled.

"That is as our mutual master decides; but surely I have heard your
voice before!  Let me look at you."

And he edged himself up, so as to get a peep at my shabby face.

"To be sure--my young friend the three-guinea silver watch?  How do you
do, my little man?"

This patronage was intolerable, and I had no words to reply.

"Ah! you find it difficult to converse.  You must indeed be almost worn
out after the work you have had.  I am indeed astonished to see you
alive at all.  I am sure, in my master's name, I may be allowed to thank
you for your praiseworthy exertions in his service.  We are both much
obliged to you, and hope we shall show ourselves not unmindful of
your--"

"Brute!" was all I could shriek, so mad was I, Whether my rival would
have pursued his discourse I cannot say, but at that instant a hand came
fumbling under the pillow.  It passed me by, and sought the repeater,
and next moment the tinkling chimes sounded half-past eleven.

It was as much as I could endure to be thus slighted and triumphed over.

"Contemptible creature!"  I exclaimed; "you may think you've a fine
voice, but, like a simpering schoolgirl, you can't sing till you're
pressed!"  I had him there, surely!

"Better that than having no voice at all, like some people, or using it
when no one wants to hear it, like others."  I suppose he thought he had
me there, the puppy!

He went on chiming at intervals during the night, and of course my
master had very little rest in consequence.

The next day Charlie and Jim had a solemn confabulation as to the
disposal of me.

"It's no use wasting it, you know," said Jim.  "Pity you haven't got a
young brother to pass it on to."

"Suppose you take it," said the generous Charlie.

"No, old man, I don't want it.  I'm not so mad about tickers as you.
But, I tell you what, Charlie, you might like Tom to have it.  He's
leaving, you know, and it would be a nice reminder of Randlebury."

"Just what I thought directly the new one came," exclaimed Charlie,
"only then I remembered we had a row about this very watch three years
ago, and I'm afraid he wouldn't like it."

"Try.  Old Tom would be quite set up with a watch."

Charlie proceeded that same day in quest of Tom, whom he found packing
up his books and chemicals in a large trunk.

To him my master exhibited his new treasure, greatly to Drift's delight.

"Why, Charlie," he said, "I don't know much about watches, but I'm
certain that's worth twenty pounds."

"No!" exclaimed Charlie; "you don't mean that."

"Yes, I do; but, for all that, I'll back your old turnip to keep as good
time as it."

"It's always gone well, the old one.  I'm glad you like it, Tom."

"I always liked it, you know."

"Why?"

"Well, I've known it as long as I've known you, and if it hadn't been
for it things might have been different."

"Yes," said Charlie, "it was the cause of all the row three years ago."

"And if it hadn't been for that row I should have gone to the bad long
ago.  That was a lucky row for me, Charlie, thanks to you."

"Don't say that, old man, because it's a cram."

"I say, Tom," added Charlie nervously, coming to his point, "will you do
me a favour?"

"Anything in the world.  What is it?"

"Take my old watch, Tom.  It's not worth much, you know, but it may be
useful, and it will help to remind you of old days.  Will you, Tom?"

Tom's lips quivered as he took me from Charlie's outstretched hand.

"Old boy," said he, "I'd sooner have this than anything else in the
world.  Somehow I feel I can't go wrong as long as I have it."

Charlie was beyond measure delighted to find his present accepted with
so little difficulty.

"Oh, Tom," he said, "I am glad to think you'll have it, and I know
you'll think of me when you use it."

"Won't I?" said Tom.  "I say, Charlie, I wish you were coming to London
with me."

"So do I.  Never mind, we'll often write, and you'll promise to let me
know how you are getting on, won't you?"

"Yes."

"And you'll call and see my father pretty often, won't you?"

"Yes."

"And you'll keep yourself free for a week's jaunt at Easter?"

"Yes."

They had much more talk that evening, which lasted till late.  What they
talked about it is not for me to repeat, and if it were it would
probably not interest my reader.  He would perhaps be disappointed to
find that a considerable part of it related to a new suit of Tom's, just
arrived from the tailor's, and that another part had reference to Tom's
intention to prevail on his landlady in London to allow him to support a
bull-dog puppy on her premises.  These subjects, deeply interesting to
the two friends, would not improve with repetition; and neither would
the rest of their talk, which was chiefly a going over of old times, and
a laying of many a wondrous scheme for the future.  Suffice it to say,
on this last evening the two boys unbosomed themselves to one another,
and if Tom Drift went off to bed in a sober and serious frame of mind,
it was because he and Charlie both had thought and felt a great deal
more than they had spoken during the interview.  The packing went on at
the same time as the talk, and then the two friends separated, only to
meet once more on the morrow for a hurried farewell.

"Let's have a last look at him," said Charlie, as Tom was getting into
the cab to go.

Tom took me out and handed me to him.  Long and tenderly my dear young
master looked at me, then, patting me gently with his hand as if I were
a child, he said,--

"Good-bye, and be good to Tom Drift; do you hear?"

If a tick could express anything, my reply at that moment must have
satisfied him his parting wish would not be forgotten.  Then returning
me to my new master, he said,--

"Good-bye, old boy; joy go with you.  We'll hear of you at the head of
your profession before Jim and I have left school."

"Not quite so soon," replied Tom, laughing.

Then came a last good-bye, and the cab drove off.  As it turned the
corner of the drive Tom leaned out of the window and held me out in his
hand.

Long shall I remember that parting glimpse.  He was standing on the
steps with Jim waving his hands.  The sun shone full on him, lighting up
his bright face and curly head.  I thought as I looked, "Where could one
find his equal?"--_Sans peur et sans reproche_--"matchless for
gentleness, honesty, and courage," and felt, as the vision faded from
me, that I should never see another like him.  And I never did.

Little, however, did I dream in what strange way I was next to meet
Charlie Newcome.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

HOW TOM DRIFT MADE ONE START IN LONDON, AND PREPARED TO MAKE ANOTHER.

The two months that followed my departure from Randlebury were
melancholy and tedious.

It was hard for me, after the boisterous surroundings of a public
school, to settle down to the heavy monotony of a dull lodging in a back
street of London; and it was harder still, after being the pride and
favourite of a boy like Charlie Newcome, to find myself the property of
Tom Drift.

Not that Tom used me badly at first.  He wound me up regularly, and for
the sake of his absent friend honoured me with a considerable share of
his affection.

Indeed, for the first week or so he was quite gushing, scarcely letting
me out of his sight, and sometimes even dropping a tear over me.  And I,
remembering Charlie's last words, "Be good to Tom Drift," felt glad to
be able to remind my new master of old times, and keep fresh the hopes
and resolutions with which Charlie had done so much to inspire him.  But
Tom Drift, I could not help feeling, was not a safe man.

There was something lacking in him, and that something was ballast.  No
one, perhaps, ever had a greater theoretical desire to be all that was
right and good, but that was not in itself enough.

In quiet, easy times, and with a guiding friend to help him, Tom Drift
did well enough; but left to himself amid currents and storms he could
hardly fail to come to grief, as we shall presently see.

For the first two months he stuck hard to his work he was regular at
lectures, and attentive when there; he spent his spare time well in
study bearing upon the profession for which he was preparing; he wrote
and heard once a week from Charlie; he kept clear of the more rackety of
his fellow-students; he spent his Sundays at Mr Newcome's house, and he
took plenty of healthy exercise both for body and mind.

With many examples about him of industry and success he determined to
make the most of his time as a student, and spoke of the life and sphere
of a country doctor, for which he was training, with the enthusiasm of
one whose heart is in his work.

"The more I think of it," he once wrote to his mother, who was residing
abroad for her health, "the more I take to it.  A good doctor is the
best-liked man in his parish.  Everybody comes to him in their trouble.
He gets into the best society, and yet makes himself loved by the
poorest.  In four or five years at least I ought to get through my
course here, and then there is nothing to prevent my settling down at
once.  By that time I hope you'll be well enough to come and keep house
for me, for all country doctors, you know, are bachelors," and so on.

All this was very well, and, as one of Tom's friends, I rejoiced to see
him thus setting himself in earnest to the duties of his calling.  But I
rejoiced with trembling.  Although he kept clear, for the most part, of
his fellow-students, choosing his friends charily and shyly, I could yet
see that he had no objection to contemplate from a distance the humours
and festivities of his more high-spirited companions.  He was not one of
those impulsive fellows who shut their eyes and take a header into the
midst of a new good-fellowship, only to discover too late their error,
and repent their rashness at leisure.

No, Tom had his eyes open.  He saw the evil as well as the good, and,
alas for him, having seen it, he looked still!

The students of Saint Elizabeth's Hospital were not on the whole a bad
set.  On Tom's arrival in London, however, he had the firm impression in
his mind that all medical students were bad characters, and this foolish
notion did him much harm.  If two or three of them were to go off for a
spree, his imagination would at once picture them in scenes and places
such as no respectable man would like to frequent, whereas, if the truth
were known, these misjudged young men had committed no greater crime
than that of taking a boat up the river, or a drive in a dog-cart.  If a
group of them should be seen by him laughing and talking, he
instinctively concluded their topic must be ribaldry, whereas they would
perhaps be only joking at the expense of some eccentric professor, or
else chaffing one of their own number.  And so it happened that Tom
failed in time to distinguish between the really bad and such as he only
imagined to be bad; and from his habit of looking on at them and their
doings from a studied distance, their presence began gradually and
insensibly to exercise a very considerable influence over his mind.

"After all," he would sometimes say to himself, "these fellows get on.
They pass their exams, they pay their bills, they gain the confidence of
their professors, and at the same time they manage to enjoy themselves.
Perhaps I am a fool to take so much pains about the first three of these
things, and to deny myself the fourth.  Perhaps, after all, these
fellows are not so bad as I have fancied, or perhaps I am prudish."

And then the silly fellow, having once inclined to admit there was
something to be said for medical students, and having before considered
all bad alike, became tolerant all round, more particularly of the
really bad set, who appeared to him to enjoy themselves the most.

As his companions became more attractive to him, his work became less
interesting.

"Why should I grind and plod here," he said, "while every one else is
enjoying himself?  If young Charlie were here, I'm pretty sure _he'd_ be
in for some of their sprees, and laugh at me for wearing my eyes out as
I'm doing."

And then he leaned back in his chair and took to wondering what the six
fellows who started that afternoon for Richmond were doing.  Smashing
the windows of the "Star and Garter," perhaps, or fighting the bargees
on the river, or capturing a four-in-hand drag, or disporting themselves
in some such genial and truly English manner.  And as Tom conjured up
the picture he half envied them their sport.

So he gradually became restless and discontented.  The days were weary
and the evenings intolerably dull.  The visits to Mr Newcome were of
course pleasant enough, but it was slow being cooped up an entire Sunday
with two old people.  On the whole, life in London was becoming stupid.

One of the first symptoms of his altered frame of mind was the
occasional neglect of his regular letter to Charlie.  That ever-faithful
young man wrote as punctually as clockwork.  Every Thursday morning a
letter lay on Tom's plate at breakfast-time, addressed in the well-known
hand, and bearing the Randlebury post-mark.  And jolly lively letters
they were.

I remembered one of them well.  It came after two weeks' omission on
Tom's part, and ran thus:--

  "Dear Tom,

  "A pretty fellow you are to correspond with!  Here am I, piping to you
  with all my might, but I can't get you to dance.  I know what you'll
  tell me, you old humbug--`awfully hard grind'--`exam coming
  on'--`lectures day and night,' and rubbish like that.  All very well,
  but look here, Thomas, don't fancy that your diligence in cutting off
  legs and arms can be an excuse for cutting yours truly in this
  heartless manner.  Not having a letter of yours to answer, I don't
  know how I shall scrape up material enough for a yarn.  There was a
  big football-match on Saturday, and Jim and I were in it.  You should
  have seen me turning somersaults, and butting my head into the
  fellows' stomachs.  Jim and I got shoulder to shoulder once in the
  game.  You know old Howe?  Well, he was running with the ball to wards
  our goal, and Jim and I were in front of him.

  I was nearest, and charged, and over I went like a ninepin; then Jim
  was on him, and over _he_ went too.  However, I was up again in time
  to jump on Howe's back; but he shook me off on to the ground on my
  nose.  Then Jim, having recovered, took _his_ fling, and a rare fling
  it was, for Howe dodged him just as he was at the top of a kangaroo
  leap, and left him looking very foolish in a sitting posture on the
  ground.  However, in dodging, Howe had allowed me time to extricate my
  nose from the earth and make my third attempt.  This time was more
  successful, for I got my hands round the ball; but I shouldn't have
  kept them there if Jim hadn't taken the opportunity of executing
  another astounding buck-jump, which landed him safe on his man's
  shoulders, where he stuck like a scared cat on the back of a
  somnambulist.  So between us we brought our quarry to earth and gained
  no end of applause.  Wasn't it prime?

  That's about all the news here, except that Willoughby is going to
  Trinity at Midsummer, and that Salter is laid up from the effects of
  an explosion of crackers in his trousers pockets.

  "I've taken a turn at reading hard, which may astonish you.  The
  doctor told me, if I really thought of some day arraying my manly form
  in a scarlet jacket and wearing a sword, I ought to put it on with my
  mathematics, which are not my _forte_, you know.  So now I'm drawing
  circles and triangles at every available moment, and my logarithm
  tables are thumbed almost to death.  Don't imagine _you're_ the only
  burner of midnight oil.

  "I had a letter from home to-day.  They were saying they hadn't seen
  you lately.  I hope you'll go up when you can; it would be a charity
  to the dear old folk; besides, they are very fond of you--queer taste!
  How's the ticker?  Give it a cuff from me for not reminding you to
  write the last two weeks.

  The repeater goes on all serene.  It has already gained some
  notoriety, as I was publicly requested, before the whole Fifth, the
  other day, to abstain from evoking its musical talents in the course
  of the Latin prose lesson.  Now I must shut up.  Seriously, old man,
  don't overwork yourself, and don't bother to write unless you've time;
  but you know how welcome your letters are to

  "Your affectionate chum,

  "C.N."

Of course Tom sat down and answered this letter at once, much
reproaching himself for his past neglect.

With the vision of Charlie before his eyes, and with the sound of his
voice again in his ears, all his old resolutions and impulses returned
that morning.  He worked hard, and flung the trashy novel, over which he
had been wasting his time the day before, into the fire; he went off to
lectures with something like his old eagerness, and discharged his
duties in the wards with interest and thoroughness; he refused to allow
his mind to be distracted by the proceedings of his fellow-students, and
he resolved to spend that very evening at Mr Newcome's.

Tom Drift would probably have laughed at the idea that this sudden
change was due entirely to Charlie's letter.  To him it seemed like a
spontaneous reassertion of its natural self by his mind, and a matter
for such self-congratulation and satisfaction, that it at once covered
the multitude of past omissions.

Indeed, Tom felt very virtuous as he returned that afternoon to his
lodgings; and so felt no need to look away from self to Him who alone
can keep us from falling.

He read Charlie's letter over again, and smiled at the idea of _his_
getting up mathematics in his spare time.

"He's not the sort of fellow to stick to work of that sort," said Tom to
himself, secretly comparing his own remarkable powers of application
with those of his Randlebury friend.

Then he sat down, and more than ever admiring and wondering at his own
greediness for hard work, read till it was time to start for Mr
Newcome's.

It was a good long way, but being a fine evening, Tom determined to
walk.  He felt that after his work the fresh air would do him good, and
besides, as he was in plenty of time, he could indulge himself in that
very cheap and harmless luxury, an inspection of the shop windows as he
went along.  He therefore selected a longer and more crowded route than
perhaps he need have done, and certainly, as far as the shops went, was
rewarded for his pains.

However, Tom seemed to me to have as much interest in watching the
people who passed to and fro as in the shops.  He amused himself by
wondering where this one was going and what that one was doing.  With
his usual tendency, he chose to imagine they were all bent on mischief
or folly, and because they happened to be in a certain street, and
because in that street he had frequently heard some of his fellow-
students speak of a low theatre, he jumped to the conclusion that every
one he saw was bound for this place.  Something impelled him to go
himself and take an exterior survey of this mysterious and much-spoken-
of building.  He found it; and, as he expected, he found people
thronging in, though not in the numbers he had anticipated.  He stood
and watched them for some time, and wondered what they were going to
see.

He went up and read the playbill.  He read the name of the play, the
titles of its acts, and the names of its actors.  He wondered if the man
who just then drove up in a hansom was one of the heroes of the piece,
or whether he was one of the performers in the farce announced to follow
the play.  Still the people streamed in.  There was no one he knew, and
no one knew him.

"Strange," thought he, "there are so many places in London where one
could go and no one ever know it."

He wished he could see what the place was like inside; it must surely be
crowded by this time.

Thus he dawdled for some time; then with a sigh and an effort he tore
himself away and walked quickly on to the Newcomes' house.  Their
welcome was most cordial.

"We were afraid," said Mr Newcome, "you had quite deserted us.  Come
in, it is pleasant to see you.  We had a letter from Charlie only to-
day, telling us to see you did not overwork yourself, and to make you
come up here whether you would or not.  Of course we could hardly follow
such instructions literally."

Tom spent a pleasant evening with the two good people.

He always had found Mr Newcome a clever and very entertaining man--a
man whom one feels all the better for talking to, and who naturally sets
every guest in his house at ease.  They talked much about Charlie and
his prospects.  They even consulted Tom as to the wisdom of yielding to
the boy's desire for a military career, and Tom strongly supported the
idea.

Then Tom's own prospects were canvassed and highly approved of by both
Mr, and Mrs Newcome.

Tom already pictured himself settled down in his country practice,
enjoying himself, doing good to others, and laying by a comfortable
competency for future years.  On the whole, he felt, as he quitted the
hospitable roof of his genial friends, that he had rarely spent a more
pleasant or profitable evening.

People were thronging out of the theatre as he returned, and he could
not resist the desire to stand and watch them; for a little.  He
wondered what they had seen, and whether those he saw had waited for the
"farce," or was that still going on?--and he wondered if any people ever
went into a theatre at so late an hour as eleven.

Ah, Tom! he did not go in that night, or the next, but he was getting
himself ready for the first step.

Reader, do not mistake Tom's weakness and folly.  He was not trying to
persuade himself this place was a good one for him to enter; he was not
thoughtlessly going in to discover too late that he had better have
stayed out.  No, Tom--rightly or wrongly--had made up his own mind that
this theatre was a bad place, and _yet_ he had a desire to enter in!



CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOW TOM DRIFT BEGINS TO GO DOWNHILL.

Time went on, and Tom Drift advanced inch by inch nearer the brink.  He
slipped, not without many an effort to recover himself, many a pang of
self-reproach, many a vague hope of deliverance.

"Be good to Tom Drift!" was ever ringing in my ears.  But what could I
do?  He often neglected me for days.  All I could do was to watch and
tremble for what was coming.

You who are so ready to call Tom a fool, and hug yourselves that you
have more strength of character and resolution than he had, try to
realise what were his perils and what were his temptations at that time,
before you pass judgment.

The dulness of those lodgings in Grime Street was often almost
unbearable.  When his work was done, and Tom looked out of the window
and saw nothing but carts and cabs and tradesmen, and the dismal houses
opposite, what wonder if he sometimes felt miserable?  When he heard
nothing but pattering footsteps down the pavement, the rumble of wheels
and the street cries under his window, what wonder if he felt lonely and
friendless?  No footsteps stopped at _his_ door, no friendly face
lightened _his_ dull study, no cheery laughter brought music to _his_
life.  What wonder, I say, if he moped and felt discontented?

What wonder if his thoughts wandered to scenes and places that
contrasted forcibly with his dead-alive occupation?  What wonder if he
hankered after a "little excitement," to break the monotony of lectures,
hard reading, and stupid evenings?

"Ah," I hear you say, "there are plenty of things he might have done.
It was his own fault if he was dull in London.  I would have gone to the
museums, the libraries, the concerts, the parks, the river, the picture
galleries, and other harmless and delightful places of amusement.  Why,
I could not be dull in London if I tried.  Tom Drift was an idiot."

My dear friend, what a pity Tom Drift had not the advantage of your
acquaintance when he was in London!  But he had not.  He had no friends,
as I have said, except the Newcomes, whom he only visited occasionally,
and as a matter chiefly of duty, and his anxiety to keep right at first
had led him to reject and fight shy of friendships with his fellow-
students.  Doubtless it was his own fault to a large extent that he
allowed himself to get into this dull, dissatisfied condition.  If he
had had a healthy mind like you, friend, it would not have happened.
But instead of utterly scouting him as an idiot, rather thank God you
have been spared all his weaknesses and all his temptations.

Was Tom never to learn that there was a way--"The Way, the Truth, and
the Life"--better than any he had yet tried, which would lead him
straight through the tangled mazes of his London life?  Was he never to
discover that Friend, truer than all earthly friends, at Whose side he
might brave each trial and overcome each temptation?

Poor Tom! he walked in a way of his own? and trusted in no one better
than himself; and that was why he fell.

As I have said, he did not fall without an effort.  I have known him one
day buy a bad, trashy book, and the same evening, in a fit of
repentance--for God's Spirit wonderfully strives with men--take and burn
it to ashes in his grate.  But I have also known him to buy the same
book again the next day.  I have known him to walk a mile out of his way
to avoid a place of temptation; and yet, before his walk was done, find
himself, after all, under the glare of its lamps.  The moth hovers in
wide circles round the candle before it ventures its wings in the flame.
And so it was with Tom; but the catastrophe came at last.

One evening about three weeks before the time fixed for the Easter trip
with Charlie, Tom felt in tolerably dull.  He had been neglecting his
work during several days for novels of the lowest and most sensational
type.  Over these he had dawdled till his brain had become muddled with
their unreal incidents and impure suggestions, and now that they were
done he felt fit for nothing.  He could not settle down to work, he had
no friends to turn to, and so he put his hat on his head and sallied out
into the streets to seek there the variety he could not find indoors.

As usual, his steps led him to the low theatre about which he was so
curious, and of which he heard so much from his fellow-students.  It was
half-past seven, and people were beginning to crowd round the door,
waiting for it to open.  Tom, standing on the other side of the
pavement, watched them with a painful fascination.

"Shall I go for once?" he asked himself.  Then he strolled up to the
playbill and read it.

As he was doing so some one slapped him on the shoulder, and, turning
quickly round, he found himself face to face with his old acquaintance
Gus Burke and another youth.

Gus, who was still small of stature, though fully nineteen years of age,
was arrayed in the height of the fashion.  As Tom regarded him he felt
his own coat become more shabby and his hat older, and he wished he had
brought his dogskin gloves and cane.  Gus was smoking, too, a cigarette,
and very distinguished and gentlemanly Tom thought it looked.  He felt,
as he regarded his brilliant and unexpected acquaintance, that he was
rather glad those people who were standing at the theatre door should
see him accosted in so familiar a way by such a hero.  And Gus's friend
was no less imposing--more so, indeed, for he wore an eyeglass.

Tom was so astonished at this unexpected meeting that he had noticed all
this long before he found words to return his old schoolfellow's
salutation.

Gus, however, relieved him of his embarrassment.

"Tom Drift, upon my honour!  How are you, old horse, and how's your
mother?  Who'd have thought of running up against you like this?"

Tom tried to look as much at his ease as he could as he replied,--

"Why, Gus, old man, where _did_ you spring from?  I didn't know you were
in London."

"Ain't I, though!" replied Gus, tapping the end of his cigarette on his
cane.  "But what are you up to, Tom?--you're not going in here, are
you?" pointing over his shoulder to the theatre.

"Well, no," said Tom; "that is," added he, with as much of a swagger as
he could assume on the spur of the moment, "I had been half thinking of
just seeing what it was like.  Some of our fellows, you know, fancy the
place."

How suddenly and easily he was, under the eyes of these two "swells,"
casting off the few slender cords that still held him moored to the
shore.

"Oh, don't go in there," said Gus, with a look of disgust; "it's the
slowest place in London--nothing on but that old fool Shakespeare's
plays, or somebody's equally stupid.  You come along with us, Tom, we'll
take you to a place where you'll get your money's worth and no mistake.
Won't we, Jack?"

The youth appealed to as Jack answered with a most affected drawl, and
with an effort which appeared to cause him no little fatigue, "Wathah."

"Come along," said Gus, lighting a fresh cigarette.

Tom was uncomfortable.  He would not for worlds seem unwilling to go,
and yet he wished he could get out of it somehow.

"Very kind of you," he said, "I'd like it awfully; but I must get back
to do some work, you know, I've an exam coming on.  It's an awful
nuisance!"

"Why, I thought you were going in here, in any case!" said Gus.

"Ah--well--yes, so I was, just for a little, to see what sort of affair
it was; but I meant to be home by nine."

"Well, just have a squint in at our place; and if you must go, you must.
Come along, old man; cut work for one evening, can't you?  You've
become an awfully reformed character all of a sudden; you usen't to be
so hot on your books."

Tom had no ambition before these two to figure in the light of a
reformed character, and he therefore abandoned further protest, and
proceeded to accompany Gus and his friend down the street.

"Have a weed?" asked Gus.

"Thanks, I hardly ever smoke," said Tom.

"They're very mild," said Gus, with a sneer.

Tom took the proffered cigar without another word, and did his best
first to light and then to smoke it as if he were an experienced smoker.

"Who's your fwend?" inquired Gus's languid acquaintance.

"By the way," said that young man, "I've never introduced you two.
Mortimer, allow me to introduce you to my friend Tom Drift."

Mr Mortimer gave a nod which Tom felt he would like greatly to have at
his command, there was something so very knowing and familiar about it.

"It was Tom got up that little race party I was telling you of, Jack,
you know.  He's a regular sporting card.  By the way, what's become of
that little mooney-face prig we took with us that day; eh, Tom?"

Tom was out in midstream now, floating fast out to sea.

"Who--oh, young Newcome?" said he; "he's still at Randlebury."

"Young puppy!  You never knew such a spree as that was, Jack," said Gus;
and then he launched forth into a highly-spiced account of the eventful
expedition to Gurley races, contriving to represent Tom as the hero of
the day, greatly to that youth's discomfort and confusion, and no less
to the amusement of Mr Mortimer.

"Here we are at last," said Gus, as the trio arrived at a gorgeously
illuminated and decorated restaurant.

Tom's heart sunk within him.  More than ever did he wish himself back in
his dull lodgings, never again to set foot abroad, if only he could have
got out of this fix.  But there was no drawing back.

"Shall we go in yet, or knock the balls about for a bit?" said Gus.
"This fellow Tom's a regular swell at billiards.  Do you remember
thrashing me last time we met, Tom--the summer after I'd left
Randlebury?"

Tom could not deny he had beaten Gus on the occasion referred to, and
felt it was useless for him to protest--what was the case--that he was
only a very indifferent player.  He agreed to the idea of a game,
however, as he hoped he might at its close be able to make his escape
without accompanying his two companions to the music-hall attached to
the restaurant, and which he already knew by reputation as one of the
lowest entertainments in London.  "You two play," said Gus, "and I'll
mark.  You'll have to give Jack points, Tom, you know, you're such a
dab."

It was vain for Tom to disclaim the distinction, and the game began.

"Hold hard!" said Gus, after the first stroke; "what are you playing
for?"

"Weally, I don't know; thillingth, I thuppothe," lisped Mr Mortimer.

"All serene!  Go on."

And they went on, and Mr Mortimer made no end of misses, so that, in
spite of the points he had received, Tom beat him easily.  In the two
games which followed the same success attended him, and he won all the
stakes.

"Didn't I tell you he was a swell?" said Gus.  "Upon my word, Tom, I
don't know how you do it!"

"It's just the sort of table I like to play on," said Tom, elated with
his success, and unwilling to own that half his lucky shots had been
"flukes."

"I tell you what," said Gus; "you owe me my revenge, you know, from last
time.  I'll play you to-morrow for half-crowns, if you'll give me the
same points as you did to Jack."

Tom was fast nearing the breakers now.  He had nothing for it but to
accept the challenge, and the table was consequently engaged for the
next evening.

"I must be off now, you fellows!" he said.

"Nonsense!  Why, you haven't yet seen the fun below.  You must stay for
that."

"I wish I could," faltered Tom; "but I really must do some reading to-
night."

"So you can; the thing only lasts an hour, and you're not obliged to go
to bed at eleven, are you?"

Still Tom hesitated.

"You don't mean to say you are squeamish about it?" said Gus, in
astonishment.  "I could fancy that young friend of your mother's turning
up _his_ eyes at it, but a fellow like you wouldn't be so particular, I
reckon; eh, Jack?"

And Mr John Mortimer, thus appealed to, laughed an amused laugh at the
bare notion.

That laugh and the term, "a fellow like you," destroyed the last of
Tom's wavering objections, and he yielded.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

HOW TOM DRIFT, STILL GOING DOWNHILL, MET MY OLD MASTER.

When Tom reached his lodgings that night he found a jubilant letter from
Charlie awaiting him.

"Just fancy," he said, "it's only three weeks more, old man, and then to
Jericho with books, and test-tubes, and anatomy!  I'll drag you out of
your study by the scruff of your neck, see if I don't; I'll clap a
knapsack on your back, and haul you by sheer force down into Kent.
There you shall snuff the ozone, and hold your hat on your head with
both hands on the cliff top.  I'll hound you through old castles, and
worry you up hills.  If I catch so much as a leaflet on chemistry in
your hands, I'll tear it up and send it flying after the sea-gulls.  In
short, I shouldn't like to say what I won't do, I'm so wild at the
prospect of a week with you.  Of course, the dear old people growl at me
for leaving them in the lurch; but they are glad for us to get the blow;
indeed, my pater insists on paying the piper, which is handsome of him.
I expect I shall get a day in London on my way, either going or
returning; and if you can put me up at your diggings for the night,
we'll have a jolly evening, and you can show me all your haunts."

Tom gasped as he got so far; and well he might.

"I'll tell you all the news when I come.  I suppose, by your not
writing, you are saving yours up for me.  Ta, ta, old boy, and _au
revoir_ in twenty-one days!  Hurrah!  Yours ever,--C.N."

Tom, in his misery, crushed the letter up in his fingers and flung it
from him.  If a passing pang shot through his breast, it was followed
almost instantly by other feelings of vexation and shame.  One moment he
was ready to sink to the floor in a passion of penitence and remorse--
the next, he was ready to resent Charlie's influence over him even at a
distance, and to sneer, as Gus and his friend had done, at the boy's
expense.  His brain was too muddled with the excitement and the strange
emotions of that evening to reason with himself; his head ached, and his
mind was poisoned.

"What right has the fellow always to be following me up in this way?" he
asked.  "I'm a fool to stand it.  Why can't I do as I choose without his
pulling a long face?"

Thus Tom questioned, and thus he proved that it was Charlie's influence
more than his letter that worried him; for what had the latter said,
either in the way of exhortation or reproof?

Then he threw himself on the bed, and lay with the wild memory of the
evening crowding on his feverish mind.  He rose, and, lighting a candle,
endeavoured to read; but even his novel was flat and stupid, and in the
midst of it he fell asleep, to dream of Gus and his friend all night
long.  Long ere he awoke my senses had left me, for he had neglected to
wind me up.  Next morning he went to lectures as usual.  To his fellow-
students he appeared the same shy, quiet youth he had always seemed; to
Mr

Newcome, whom he met in the street, he appeared still as Charlie's
chosen and dear friend, ready for his holiday and rejoicing in the
prospect of the coming meeting; to his professors he appeared still the
same steady, hard-working student, bent on making his way in his
profession.  But to himself, alas! how altered, how degraded he
appeared!

In the midst of his duties his thoughts ran continually--now back to the
strange experience of last evening, now forward to the doubtful events
of this.

The recollection of the past had lost a good deal of its repulsiveness
after twelve hours' interval, and although he still felt it to be low
and harmful, he yet secretly encouraged his curiosity to revisit the
place of his temptation.

"After all, it did me no harm," said he to himself; "it's not interfered
with my work, or made me feel worse than before.  What harm in going
again to-night?  When Charlie comes, and we get away from town, I shall
easily be able to break it off; and besides, Charlie's sure to help to
put me square; he always does.  Yes; I think I'll just go and see what's
on there to-night; it can't be worse than it was.  Besides," thought he,
glad to seize on any straw of excuse, "I'm bound in honour to play Gus a
return match; it would be ungentlemanly to back out of that."

But why sicken you, dear reader, and myself, with recapitulating the sad
workings of this poor fellow's mind?  The more he tried to convince
himself he was doing only a slight wrong, the more his conscience cried
out he was running to his ruin.  But he stopped his ears and shut his
eyes, and blindly dared his fate.  He went that evening to the music-
hall.  He met Gus and Mortimer, and two other friends.  He had taken
care to get himself up in a nearer approach to his companions' style.
He bought some cigars of his own on the way, and offered them with a
less awkward swagger than he had been able to assume the night before.
He found himself able to nod familiarly to the barmaid, and fancied that
even Mortimer must have approved of the way in which he ordered about
the billiard-marker.

In the match with Gus for half-crowns he lost, though only narrowly--so
narrowly that he was not content, without a further trial of skill, to
own himself beaten, and therefore challenged his adversary to a second
meeting the next evening.  Then he watched the others play, and betted
with Mortimer on the result--and alas! for him, he won.

It was Tom himself who said, at nine o'clock,--

"And now, suppose we see what's going on below."

It was the same stupid, disgusting spectacle, but to Tom it seemed less
repulsive than he had found it the night before.  True, he at times felt
a return of the old feeling of shame; the blush would occasionally
suffuse his face; but such fits were rare, and he was able to carry them
off more easily with joke and laughter.

"Jack," said Gus in a whisper to Mortimer, as Tom, after accepting a
very broad hint to treat the party to spirits, was turning to go, "that
fellow will be a credit to you and me.  Did you see how he smacked his
lips over the play, and yet all the while wanted to make us think he saw
that sort of thing every day of his life, eh?  He's a promising chap,
eh, Jack?"

"Wathah," replied Jack, laughing.

Meanwhile Tom, glad enough to get out into the pure air, though in not
so desperate a case as the night before, shouldered his way among the
loitering company towards the door.  He was just emerging into the
street, when the sound of voices arrested him.

"That's one of our men, isn't it?" said one.

"Why, so it is; I fancied he was anything but a festive blade.  Yes; and
upon my word he's half seas over!"

Tom had no difficulty in discovering that these hurried words had
reference to him, and turning instinctively towards the voices, he found
himself face to face with two, reputedly, of the wildest of his fellow-
students.

Gladly would he have avoided them; gladly would he have shrunk back and
lost himself in the crowd, but it was too late now; he stood discovered.

"How are you?" cried one of the two, as he passed; "isn't your name
Drift?"

Tom stared as if he would have denied his name; but the next moment he
put on his lately acquired swagger, and said, "Yes."

"Ah!  I thought so; one of the Saint Elizabeth men.  Hullo! he's in a
hurry, though," added he, as Tom made a dive forward and strode rapidly
down the street.

It was but a step deeper.  Well he knew that by to-morrow every one of
his fellow-students would know of him as a frequenter of that wretched
place.  Well he knew that, as far as they were concerned, the mask of
shyness and reticence under which he had sheltered in their midst was
for ever pulled away.  "One of us," indeed!  So truly the very worst of
them might now speak and think of him.  Oh, if he had but considered in
time; if he had but stemmed this flood at its source!  But it was too
late now.

And he strode home reckless and hardened.

The next day, as he expected, every one seemed to know of his visits to
the music-hall.  The two who had seen him accosted him with every show
of friendship and intelligence.  He was appealed to in the presence of
nearly a dozen of his fellow-students as to the name of one of the low
songs there given; he was asked if he was going to be there to-night,
and he was invited to join this party and that in similar expeditions to
similar places.  And to all these questions and greetings he was
constrained to reply in keeping with his assumed character of a gay
spark.  How sick, how vile he felt; yet in that one day how hardened and
desperate he became!

It was not in Tom Drift to cry "I have sinned!  I will return!"  No,
once loose from his moorings, he let himself float down the stream,
watching the receding banks in mute despair, raising no shout for
succour, venturing no plunge for safety.

You, who by this time have given him up, disgusted at his weakness, his
vanity, his low instincts, his cowardliness--who say let him wallow in
the mire he has prepared for himself, who know so glibly what you would
have done, what you would have said, what you would have felt, remember
once more that Tom Drift was not such as you; and unfortunately did not
know you.  He was not gifted with your heroic resolution or your all-
penetrating wisdom.  He was an ordinary sinful being of flesh and blood,
relying only on his own poor strength; and therefore, reader, try to
realise all he went through before you fling your stone.

The toils were closing round him fast.  His will had been the first to
suffer, his conscience next.  Then with a rush had gone honour,
temperance, and purity; and now finally the flimsy rag, his good name,
had been torn from him, and he stood revealed a prodigal--and a
hypocrite.

Even yet, however, help might have been forthcoming.

"I say, you fellow," said one of his fellow-students this same day,
"I've never spoken to you before, and perhaps shall never do so again;
but _don't be a fool_!"

"What do you mean?" said Tom sharply.

"Only this, and I can't help it if you are angry, keep clear of these
new friends of yours, and still more, keep clear of the places they
visit.  If you've been led in once, rather cut off your right hand than
be led in again, that's all!"

What spirit of infatuation possessed Tom Drift, that he did not spring
for very life at the proffered help, that he did not besiege this
friend, however blunt and outspoken, and compel his timely aid?  Alas,
for his blindness and folly!

Scowling round at the speaker, he muttered an oath, and said, "What on
earth concern is it of yours who my friends are and where I go?  Mind
your own business."

And so, thrusting rudely away the hand that might, by God's grace, have
saved him, he swept farther and farther out towards the dark waters.

One final and great hope was still reserved for him, and that was
Charlie's visit.  But to Tom that prospect was becoming day by day mere
distasteful.  As the days wore on, and Tom sunk deeper and deeper into
the snare prepared for him, the thought of a week in the society of one
so upright and pure as Charlie became positively odious.  The effort to
conceal his new condition would be almost impossible, and yet to admit
it to him would be, he felt, to shatter for ever the only friendship he
really prized.  He racked his brain for expedients and excuses to avert
the visit, but without avail.  If he pleaded illness Charlie would be
the first to rush to his bedside; if he pleaded hard work Charlie would
insist on sharing it, or improving its few intervals of rest; if he
pleaded disinclination Charlie would devise a hundred other plans to
please him.  In short, Charlie's visit was inevitable, and as he looked
forward to it he writhed in misgiving and anxiety.

His visits to the music-hall were meanwhile continuing, and his circle
of acquaintance at that evil haunt enlarging.  He was duly installed as
one of the "fast set" at Saint Elizabeth's, and under its auspices had
already made his _debut_ at other scenes and places than that of his
first transgression.  He was known by sight to a score of billiard-
markers, potmen, blacklegs, and lower characters still, and was on
nodding terms with fully half of them.  He had lost considerably more
than he had gained at billiards, and was still further emptying his
purse at cards.  Quick work for a few weeks!  So quickly and fatally,
alas!  Will the infection, once admitted, spread, especially in a
patient whose moral constitution has undergone so long a course of slow
preparation as Tom's had.

The day came at last.  Tom had carefully hidden away his worst books and
his spirits; he had bathed his face half a dozen times, to remove the
traces of last night's intemperance he had gathered together from the
corners where they had for so long lain neglected the books and relics
of his Randlebury days, and restored them to their old places; he had
brightened me up, and he had taken pains to purify his room from the
smell of rank tobacco; and then he sauntered down to the station.

How my heart beat as the train came into the platform!  _His_ head was
out of the window, and _his_ hand was waving to us a hundred yards off;
and the next minute he had burst from the carriage, and seized Tom by
the hands.

"How are you, old Tom?  I thought we'd never get here; how glad I am to
set eyes on you!  Isn't this a spree?"  And not waiting for Tom's answer
he hauled his traps out of the carriage in a transport of delight.

Still the same jovial, honest, fine-hearted boy.

"Hi! here! some of you," he shouted to a porter, "look after these
things, will you, and get us a cab.  I tell you what, Tom, you've got to
come up home with me first, and we can have dinner there; then I'll come
on to your den, and we can pack our knapsacks and sleep, and then start
by the five train to-morrow morning."

Thus he bustled, and thus he brought back the old times on poor Tom
Drift.  Without the heart to speak, he helped his friend to collect his
luggage, and when they were fairly started in the cab he even smiled
feebly in reply to the boy's sallies.

"Tom, you rascal, didn't I tell you you weren't to knock yourself up,
eh?  Why can't you do what you're told?  Why, I declare you're as thin
as a hurdle, and as black under the eyes as if you had been fighting
with a collier.  You ought to be ashamed of yourself!  Look at me; do
all I can I can't get up an interesting pallor like you, and I've
fretted enough over those conic sections (comic sections Jim always
calls them).  Never mind!  Wait till I get you down to the sea."

And so he rattled on, while Tom leaned back in his seat and winced at
every word.

When they reached Mr Newcome's of course there was a scene of eager
welcome on one side and boisterous glee on the other.  Tom, as he looked
on, sighed, as well he might, and wished he could have been spared the
torture of this day.

Charlie tore himself away from his mother, to drag his friend into the
house.

"Look at this object!" he cried; "did you ever see such a caution to
students?  If we do nothing else in Kent we shall scare the crows, eh,
Tom?"

"Charlie!" exclaimed his mother; "you have come home quite rude!  I hope
you'll excuse him, Mr Drift."

Mr Drift said nothing, and looked and felt extremely miserable.

"He looks really ill, poor fellow!" said Mrs Newcome to her husband.
"I wonder they allow the students to overwork themselves in that way."

And then they sat down to dinner--a meal as distasteful to Tom as it was
joyful to Charlie and his parents.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HOW TOM DRIFT PARTED WITH HIS BEST FRIEND.

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.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

HOW I FOUND MYSELF IN VERY LOW COMPANY.

My capturer was a boy, and as remarkable a specimen of a boy as it has
ever been my lot to meet during the whole of my career.  His age was,
say, fourteen.  He stood four feet one in his slipshod boots.

The hat which adorned his head was an old white billycock, which in its
palmy days might have adorned noble brows, so fashionable were its
pretensions.  Now, alas! it had one side caved in, and the other was
green with wear and weather.  The coat which arrayed his manly form was
evidently one not made recently or to wearer's measure, for besides
showing cracks and rents in various parts, its tails were so
extravagantly long for its small occupant that they literally almost
touched the ground.  His nether garments, on the other hand, although
they resembled the coat in their conveniences for ventilation, being all
in rags and tatters, appeare

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