‘By Jove,’ said he, ‘this will never do,’ and hastily dressing himself, he rushed off to Hampstead Heath for a mouthful of fresh air.
Fleet Street saw no more of him that day. Goldsmith tells us that, in all his foreign travel, he saw no finer view than that he enjoyed from the top of Hampstead Heath, and the view there is still fine, in spite of the damage done by the smoke of London rising in the distance, and the hostile attacks of that foe to the picturesque, the speculative builder.
On the Heath Wentworth met a fellow-reporter, looking as gay and respectable as a rising barrister or successful physician. He had his wife and children with him. They nodded to each other, and the lady asked:
‘Who is that shabby, seedy-looking fellow?’
‘Oh, it is Wentworth, of the _Daily Journal_.’
‘Of course. He is quite a man about town. I fancy he drinks more than is good for him, and leads too fast a life.’
‘What a pity! Has he no friends to look after him?’
‘I believe not. It is said he was brought up to be a parson of some kind or other, but he gave it up. He has plenty of ability, and would do well if he would settle down quietly. But he will never do that. They tell me he is quite a vagabond.’
‘Ask him to lunch, and let us see what we can do to reform him,’ said the lady, with the instinctive tender-heartedness of her sex.
‘My dear, he would not come if we did,’ and they passed on.
‘Ah, there goes Tomlinson,’ said Wentworth to himself. ‘How happy and respectable he looks! They tell me he has saved quite a lot of money, and has quite a nice little property about here. Such is destiny. He was born under a lucky star, I under an unfortunate one. Ah, if I had turned up trumps in matrimony, how different it would have been!’
Thus talking to himself, our hero found himself in the neighbourhood of a well-known inn, and a smile from the barmaid—a showy specimen of her class—was quite sufficient to induce him to enter. The fair creature, as she said, ‘was a little low, and wanted a fellow to talk to.’ Wentworth soon rose to the occasion, and when he left the hostelry, it was with a flushed cheek and a jaunty air. Indeed, he was quite mirthful till he reached a little cottage where he had spent many a riotous hour. To his consternation, the blinds were down, and there was an unspeakable air of desolation about the place, as if had come there the grim unbidden visitor whose name is Death. He summoned enough courage to enter, and came out, after a very short stay, looking pale and sad. Death had indeed been there, and taken away the breadwinner of the family, leaving wife and children desolate.