London's Heart: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

"Felix, old fellow!"

"Charley, old boy!"

"I thought I wasn't mistaken, Felix; but I was surprised to see you up there."

Felix smiled. "Funds low, old boy. Been long in London?"

"A month; can't tear myself away. Isn't it glorious? Come and have some supper."

Nothing loth, for they really had been friends, Felix took Charley's arm, and they made a capital supper, laughing and joking and quizzing as they had done in the olden times.

"But I say, old fellow," said Charley, "tell us about it. What's up?"

"I was," cried Felix merrily--he was in the gayest of humours, for the circumstance of Charley looking for him after the play to shake hands with him had gladdened his heart--"high up, eh? And only sixpence! You and I have been in queerer places, haven't we, old boy?"

And they fell-to again fishing up pleasant memories from the past. They were supping together in Charley's room at the very hotel which Felix had patronised when he first came to London.

"The waiter seems to know you, Felix," said Charley.