“But how are we to live for the next month?”
“I ought to earn money enough for that.”
“If there were any chance of finding work.”
“Well, I will go out again to-morrow.”
Herbert spoke with a confidence which he did not feel. Wrayburn was not a large village, and, in general, boys were to be found in families where a boy's work was required. In fact, the only one who seemed likely to have work for a boy was Mr. Banks, the squire's farm superintendent. His son, Tom, might indeed have worked, had he been inclined; but he was naturally indolent, and his father was too indulgent to compel him to work. He was an only child, and bade fair to be spoiled. Though only fifteen, he had already learned to smoke and drink, and the only limit to either was his scanty pocket money.
As Herbert was walking up the street in perplexity, he fell in with Tom, who was smoking a cheap cigar with the air of an old smoker.
“Where are you bound, Herbert?” he asked.
“Nowhere in particular. I wish I knew where to go.”
“Come fishing with me.”
“I haven't time.”