"Oh, all right; I know what I'm about, and so does this chap, though he has just come up from the country. You come with me, and if Bob likes to go back, why I can show you the way just as well as he can—you come to Fleet Street with me."
So Tom left his first companion.
And as soon as they were left to themselves, he confided to Tom that he was very anxious to go and find out what horse had won in a race that was to take place that day at Newmarket.
"Don't let it out to Bob, for he is such a muff about his Sunday-school, but I hope to win six shillings over this race," said the other as they hurried up Fleet Street.
They had not gone very far when they were stopped by a crowd that was gathered round a shop window. And as they reached it, his companion said, "Here we are. The news will be out in a minute, I expect," and then he tried to elbow his way to the front, closely followed by Tom, who was afraid of missing his new friend in the midst of this crowded street here in London.
Still he could not understand, if the race was to be run at Newmarket, why they should all stand staring up at this shop as though their lives depended upon what was to be seen.
At last with a muttered grumble, his companion said, "We must go now, and look sharp about it too, or Phillips will be in a wax and fine us for being late. Come on," he added, pushing his way through the crowd which now nearly blocked the footpath.
As soon as he was clear of it, the boy took to his heels and ran and dodged between the people in such a fashion that Tom could scarcely keep him in sight, and nearly got run over trying to dash across the road after him.
As it was they were both beyond the time when they ought to have got back to their work, and were spoken to very sharply for it.
"This is a bad beginning, my man," said one of the older clerks as Tom went panting to his desk. "I thought you told me you had brought your dinner with you."