While Tony assuaged, as well as he might, the anger of his wounded pride, they walked on together for some time, till at last the other said, “I'll have to hurry away now, your honor; I 'm to be at Blackwall, to catch the packet for Derry, by twelve o'clock.”
“What packet do you speak of?”
“The 'Foyle,' sir. She's to sail this evening, and I have my passage paid for me, and I mustn't lose it.”
“If I had my luggage, I 'd go in her too. I want to cross over to Ireland.”
“And where is it, sir,—the luggage, I mean?”
“Oh, it's only a portmanteau, and it's at the Tavistock Hotel, Covent Garden.”
“If your honor wouldn't mind taking charge of this,” said he, pointing to his bundle, “I 'd be off in a jiffy, and get the trunk, and be back by the time you reached the steamer.”
“Would you really do me this service? Well, here 's my card; when you show this to the waiter, he 'll hand you the portmanteau; and there is nothing to pay.”
“All right, sir; the 'Foyle,' a big paddle-steamer,—you 'll know her red chimney the moment you see it;” and without another word he gave Tony his bundle and hurried away.
“Is not this trustfulness?” thought Tony, as he walked onward; “I suppose this little bundle contains all this poor fellow's worldly store, and he commits it to a stranger without one moment of doubt or hesitation.” It was for the second time on that same morning that his heart was touched by a trait of kindness; and he began to feel that if such proofs of brotherhood were rife in the world, narrow fortune was not half so bad a thing as he had ever believed it.