"Oh, I don't know," answered Tom; trying to look nohow in particular.
"Come along with me, then. I'll show you something of life after dark."
"But where are you going?"
"You'll see that when we get there. You're not afraid, are you?"
"Not I," answered Tom; "only a fellow likes to know where he's going. That's all."
"Well, where would you like to go? A young fellow like you really ought to know something of the world he lives in. You are clever enough, in all conscience, if you only knew a little more."
"Go on, then. I don't care. It's nothing to me where I go. Only," Tom added, "I have no money in my pocket. I spent my last shilling on this copy of Goethe's poems."
"Ah, you never spent your money better! There was a man, now, that never contented himself with hearsay! He would know all the ways of life for himself—else how was he to judge of them all? He would taste of everything, that he might know the taste of it. Why should a man be ignorant of anything that can be known. Come along. I will take care of you. See if I don't!"
"But you can't be going anywhere in London for nothing. And I tell you I haven't got a farthing in my purse."