“Yes, quite; and good luck to him,” said his uncle, gruffly.
Syd stopped to hear no more, but hurried to the front, waited till all was silent in the pantry, and then slipped up to his bedroom, where a few minutes sufficed for him to make up a change of clothes in a handkerchief.
That was all he wanted, he told himself. No: a brush and comb.
“Comb will do,” he muttered; “people going to seek their fortunes don’t want brushes.”
He ran his hand in the darkness along the dressing-table, and touched not a comb, but a tiny pile of money.
Five shillings! And on his dressing-table! How did they come there?
He knew the next moment they were not shillings but guineas, the five he passionately threw down in a corner of the room, and when the maid came up to straighten the place she must have found them and placed them on the table. It was tempting.
Syd was going away out into the wide world with only a few shillings in his pocket, and these guineas, which were honestly his, would be invaluable, and help him perhaps out of many a scrape. Should he take them or no?
Syd pushed them away from him. They were given to him because his uncle believed that he was going patiently with him to see his friend in London. If he took them it would seem despicable, and he could not bear that; so hurrying out of the room, he ran down-stairs lightly and as quickly as possible, so as to get away and beyond the power of the house, which seemed to be all at once growing dear to him, and acting like a magnet to draw him back.
As he cleared the door and made for the shrubs, he heard his uncle’s voice as he laughed at something the captain said. Then Captain Belton spoke again, and Syd clapped his hand and his bundle to his ears to stop the sound.