Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Four.
Old Acquaintances.
One day, while riding inside a “bus” along the Strand, and gazing out through the slides, I amused myself by looking at the “fares” seated upon the “knife-board,” or rather their images, reflected in the plate-glass windows of the shops in front of which we were passing.
While thus engaged, my attention became more especially fixed upon one of my fellow passengers so reflected; and, on continuing my second-hand scrutiny, I became convinced that an old acquaintance was directly over my head. I requested the conductor to stop the “bus,” and, upon his doing so, I got out, and climbed to the top of it. On raising my eyes to a level with the roof, I saw that I had not been mistaken. Cannon, whom I had last seen in Melbourne, was one of the row of individuals that occupied the knife-board.
We got off the “bus” at Charing Cross, stepped into Morley’s Hotel, and ordered “dinner for two.”
“Cannon,” said I, “how came you to be here? I left you in Melbourne, without any money. How did you get a passage home?”
“Well,” replied Cannon, with a peculiar grin, “it’s easily explained. My well-wishing friends here sent me a little money, which came to hand, shortly after I saw you. I knew why they did it. They were afraid, that I might get hard up out there, and, someway or other find my way home. They weren’t so cunning as they thought themselves. On receiving their cheque, I did with it, just what they didn’t intend I should do. I paid my passage home with the money, for fear I mightn’t have the chance again; and I’ll take precious good care, they don’t send me out of England a second time—not if I can help it.”
“What has become of Vane?” I asked.
“Vane! the damned insidious viper! I don’t like to say anything about him. He had some money left him here; and got back to England, before I did. He’s here now.”
“And how are our friends up the Yarra Yarra. Have you heard anything of them, since we were there together?”