A policeman passed and re-passed me. “Don’t be tempted, young man,” said he, looking hard at me: “take my advice, and go home.”
“What is that house, then?” said I, with a sort of shudder at this ominous warning.
“Oh! you know.”
“Not I. I am new to London.”
“It is a hell,” said the policeman, satisfied, by my frank manner, that I spoke the truth.
“God bless me,—a what? I could not have heard you rightly!”
“A hell,—a gambling-house!”
“Oh!” and I moved on. Could Captain Roland, the rigid, the thrifty, the penurious, be a gambler? The light broke on me at once: the unhappy father sought his son! I leaned against the post, and tried hard not to sob.
By and by, I heard the door open; the Captain came out and took the way homeward. I ran on before, and got in first, to the inexpressible relief both of father and mother, who had not seen me since breakfast, and who were in equal consternation at my absence. I submitted to be scolded with a good grace. “I had been sight-seeing, and lost my way;” begged for some supper, and slunk to bed; and five minutes afterwards the Captain’s jaded step came wearily up the stairs.