“All this is very sad. And your wife?”
“My wife? She took her hook without giving me an hour’s warning.”
“Where is she?”
“Umph! I should like to know, but I never shall now, I suppose. Oh, she’s turned me up. You see, we had a bit of a quarrel, and——”
“You were always having quarrels when I knew you, but whose fault was it—not hers?”
“That’s true enough—it was mine. Well, I bear her no ill will. I hope she’s happier now. But look here, Charlie, we had some words. I’m sorry for what I said. You don’t bear malice, I suppose—there’s my hand.”
“Let bygoes be bygones,” said Peace. “You’ve been your own enemy more than anyone else’s. I’m sorry to see you so down, but——”
“I know what you are going to say—it is my own fault. Well, if it is I am the sufferer; but, I say, do you happen to have a trifle you can spare an old chum? Something to help me on my road. I hope to get a job at Saltwich, and if I do I will return you what you may be able to lend—upon my soul I will, and no gammon.”
“I am a struggling man myself, but still I’ll do something—here’s ten shillings. When you have the means to pay it me back do so.”
“You’re a right down good fellow, Charlie,” exclaimed Bristow, in evident delight, “and I am sorry I said what I did, but you know well enough that I didn’t mean it.”