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 a.s.s; 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 ingrat.i.tude, 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 b.u.t.ton-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 billyc.o.c.k, which in its palmy days might have adorned n.o.ble 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, appeared to have been borrowed from a smaller pair of legs even than those owned by my present possessor, for they--at least one leg--barely reached half way below the knee, while the other stopped short very little lower. Altogether, the boy was as nondescript and "scarecrowy" an object as one could well expect to meet with.

As he left the hall he gave a quick look round to a.s.sure himself no one was following him; then he darted across the road and proceeded to shuffle forward in so extremely leisurely and casual a way, that very few of the people who met him would have imagined he carried a stolen watch in his pocket.

Such a hole as it was! As soon as I had sufficiently recovered from my astonishment to look about me, I became aware that I was by no means the sole occupant of the receptacle he was pleased to designate by the t.i.tle of a pocket, but which other people would have called a slit in the lining of his one sound coat-tail.

There was a stump of a clay pipe, with tobacco still hot in it. There was a greasy piece of string, a crust of bread, a halfpenny, a few bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, and a very greasy and very crumpled and very filthy copy of a "penny awful" paper. I need hardly say that this scrutiny did not afford me absolute pleasure. In the first place, my temporary lodging was most unsavoury and unclean; and in the second place, there was not one among my many fellow-lodgers who could be said to be in my position in life, or to whom I felt in any way tempted to address any inquiry.

This difficulty, however, was settled for me. A voice close beside me said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "What cheer, Turnip? how do you like it?"

I looked round, and perceived that the speaker was the clay pipe, who happened to be close beside me as I lay.

I held my nose--so to speak (for watches are not supposed to be gifted with that organ)--the tobacco which was smouldering in him must have been a month old, while the pipe itself looked remarkably grimy and dirty. However, thought I, there would be no use in being uncivil to my new comrades, unpleasant though they were, and I might as well make use of this pipe to a.s.sist me to certain information I was curious to get.

So I answered, "I don't like it at all. Can you tell me where I am?"

"Where are you, Turnip? Why, you're in young Cadger's pocket, to be sure; but you won't stay there long, no error."

I secretly wished this objectionable pipe would not insist on addressing me as "Turnip," but on the whole the present did not seem exactly the time to stand on my dignity, so I replied,--

"Why, what's going to become of me?"

"What's going to become of you, Turnip! Why, you'll go to Cadger's uncle. Won't he, mate?"

The mate addressed was the piece of string, who, I should say, was by no means the latest addition to the Cadger's collection of valuables. He now grinned and wriggled in reply to the pipe's appeal, and snuffled,--

"That's right, mate; that's where he'll go. Do you hear, Turnip? that's where you'll go--to Cadger's uncle."

It occurred to me that Cadger's uncle would have to be vastly more respectable and fragrant than his nephew to make the change at all advantageous to me.

"Is young Cadger a thief?" I next inquired.

The pipe laughed.