"Yes, sir, I did, but I went out for a walk afterwards, and, and—" somehow he did not like to say anything about Newmarket Races for fear his new friend should not like it, so he added, "we looked in a shop window too long."
"So I should think," said the man with a smile. "You must be careful not to be late when you go out for a walk at dinner time or you will get into trouble over it."
No more was said and Tom went on with his work, but he made up his mind when he went to Fleet Street again, not to stay so long.
At the close of the day when he was leaving the warehouse, his new friend met him on the steps.
"Have you heard the news?" he said, in an excited tone, but speaking very cautiously.
"What news?" asked Tom, thinking he ought to be as eager as his friend.
"Why Drizzle's won, and I had a lot of money on him."
Tom stared. He had not heard enough of horse-racing to understand all at once what his friend meant, but he did not leave him long in ignorance as to his meaning.
"Jenkins went out in the afternoon, and he told me if he got a chance, he should run and find out who was the winner, for he had put every penny he could scrape up on Featherhead. I told him it was a roarer, for I got my tip from a man I heard talking in the train. He was one of the knowing ones he was, bound to know the correct card, don't you see, so when I heard him say he should back Drizzle for all he could put on her, I made up my mind to do the same. Jenkins says she came in first, so I stand to win six shillings, I reckon—and that only cost me sixpence, my boy."
Tom opened his eyes, and looked at his companion. "Six shillings! What, a whole week's wages to do as you like with?" uttered Tom.