"No; I was away on a job, as it might be this here."
"And you are sure you know nothing more of him? My dear, good old Jack, I must find him, no matter how long it takes me. Deasy may be able to tell me something more."
He was turning to go in search of Deasy, when Avery said,—
"Look here, Roger. You've risen in the world, and are well thought of, I make no doubt. You look like a gentleman. You take my advice, and make no inquiry about poor old Jack."
"Mr. Avery, if every workman on the line, on every line in England, told me that Jack Sparling had done anything to be ashamed of, I shouldn't believe it! I do believe you know where he is; tell me at once, and have done with it. Find him I will, with your help or without it."
"Well, you were always obstinate, and it's no affair of mine—I s'pose I must."
"Must what? Tell me where to find him? Why on earth should you keep it back? What is the matter with you? Why, man, you look for all the world as if you were ashamed of yourself!"
"Well, I ain't, then!" said Avery sulkily. "I said then, and I say now, 'Charity begins at home;' you're a great one for proverbs, and that's a good one. It were the only difference Bess and me ever had, but I ain't, ashamed; she's only a woman, and women are some of 'em so soft, they'd take the bit out of their own mouth to give it away. If you must know, then—Jack had to go to the workhouse, and he was drafted off to his own native place, and I don't know where that is."
If Tom Avery really was not ashamed of himself, his countenance sorely belied him.
Roger gazed at him for a few minutes in horror and amazement, and then suddenly sat down on a pile of sleepers and cried like a baby.