The Vast Abyss / The Story of Tom Blount, his Uncles and his Cousin Sam

by George Manville Fenn

No; he could not do that. It might be brave and daring, but at the same time he had a kind of feeling that it would be degrading, and he would somehow do better than either of those things, and try and show his uncles, both of them, and Sam too, that if he was a fool, he was a fool with some good qualities.

But it was quite an hour since it had struck twelve, and it was time to act. The first thing was to test Sam’s sleep—whether he was sound enough to enable him to make his preparations unheard.

What would be the best thing to do? came again. How could he get work without a character? What answer could he give people who asked him who he was, and whence he came?

No answer came, think hard as he would. All was one black, impenetrable cloud before him, into which he had made up his mind to plunge, and what his future was to be he could not tell. But let it be what it would, he mentally vowed that it should be something honest, and he would not let the blackness of that cloud stay him. No; his mind was fully made up now. This was his last night at his uncle’s house, and he would take his chance as to where he would next lay his head.

“I shall be free,” he muttered half aloud; “now I am like a slave.”

It was time to act. Not that he meant to leave the house that night. No; his mind was made up. He would pack a few things in the little black bag in which he took his law-books to and fro, place it ready in the hall as usual, and go in to his breakfast; and when he started for the office, just call in and say good-bye to Pringle, who would not hinder him. On the contrary, he would be sure to give him advice, and perhaps help him as to his future.

“Poor old Pringle won’t say stay,” he muttered; and reaching out of bed, he felt in his trousers pocket on the chair for a halfpenny. He could not spare it, but it was the only missile he could think of then, and he held it poised ready to throw as he listened to his cousin’s heavy breathing.

He threw the coin forcibly, so that it struck the wall just above Sam’s head, and fell upon his face.

There was no movement, and the heavy, guttural breathing went on.

Tom waited a few minutes, and then slipped out of bed, crossed to his cousin’s side, and gave the iron bedstead a slight shake, then a hard one. Next he touched his shoulder, and finished by laying a cold hand upon his hot brow.