“Ah!” sighed “Cobbler” Horn. “Of the past!” With the word, his thoughts darted back to that period of his own past towards which they so often sadly turned.
“I somehow can’t help it,” continued Tommy, gathering courage. “There seems to be something that keeps bringing it up.”
“Cobbler” Horn fixed his keen eyes on the agitated face of his visitor. He knew what it was in the past to which Tommy referred, and appreciated his delicacy of expression.
“Yes, Tommy,” he said, “and I, too, often think of the past. But is there anything special that brings it to your mind just now?”
Upon this, all Tommy Dudgeon’s clever plans vanished into air. His scheme for leading the conversation up to the desired point utterly broke down. He cast himself on the mercy of his friend.
“Oh,” he cried, in thrilling tones, “can’t you see it? Can’t you feel it—every day? The sec’tary! The sec’tary! If it is so plain to me, how can you be so blind?”
Then he darted from the room, and betook himself home with all speed.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.