It was in this boy's society that during those wretched weeks I found a painful consolation. He was constantly reminding me of what I was not; but for all that I felt he was a better companion than the heroes with whom I used to associate, and with whom I still occasionally consorted. He knew nothing of my trouble, and thought I was the crossest-grained, slowest growler in existence. But since I chose his company, and seemed glad to have him beside me, he was delighted.
"I say," said he suddenly one evening, as we were engaged in experimenting with a small steam-engine he had lately become the proud possessor of, "I saw your old friend Smith to-day!"
"Why, down Drury Lane. I heard of a new Russian stamp that was to be had cheap in a shop there, and while I was in buying it he came in."
"No; he lives in a room over the shop. Not a nice hole, I should fancy. Didn't you know he was there?"
"Oh, you should go and see the place. He'd much better come back here, tell him. But I thought you saw one another every day?" he added, in his simple way.
"Did he say anything to you?" I asked, avoiding the question.
"Yes. I asked him how he was getting on, and he said very well; and I asked him what he thought of the Russian stamp; and he said if I liked he could get me a better specimen at his office. Isn't he a brick? and he's promised me a jolly Turkish one, too, that I haven't got."
"Was that all?" I asked. "I mean all he said?"
"Yes--oh, and I asked if he'd got any message for you, and he said no. Look, there--it's going! I say, isn't it a stunning little engine? I mean to make it work a little pump I've got in the greenhouse at home. It's just big enough."
Any message for me? No! Was it worth trying for any longer? I thought, as once more I crept solitary and disappointed to bed.
But the answer was nearer than I thought for.
HOW I TOOK PART IN A NOT VERY SUCCESSFUL HOLIDAY PARTY.
Several weeks elapsed, and I was beginning to doubt whether Hawkesbury's advice, after all, was good, when a general holiday occurred to break the monotony of my life both at Hawk Street and Beadle Square.
I had for some time meditated, if I had the funds, taking advantage of my next holiday to run down to my uncle's. Not that I expected any particular welcome from him, but I longed to see the old familiar haunts of my childhood after my long imprisonment in London; and, even if there were no more congenial friend than Cad Prog to hail me, it would at least be a change from this dreary city, with its noise and bustle, and disappointed hopes and lost friendships.