“Call at—eh—ah—yes, my boy, call here, and let my friend Mr Barret know you want to see me. He will let me know, and you shall hear from me. Just at present—well, never mind, go and deliver your note now. Your brother is a noble fellow. Good-night. And you’re a fine little fellow yourself,” he added, after Willie closed the door.
The fine little fellow gave vent to such a gush of “Rule Britannia” at the moment, that the two friends turned with a smile to each other.
Just then a man’s voice was heard at the foot of the stair, grumbling angrily. At the same moment young Auberly rose to leave.
“Good-night, Barret. I’ll write to you soon as to my whereabout and what about. Perhaps see you ere long.”
“Good-night. God prosper you, Fred. Good-night.”
As he spoke, the grumbler came stumbling along the passage.
“Good-night again, Fred,” said Barret, almost pushing his friend out. “I have a particular reason for not wishing you to see the fr–, the man who is coming in.”
“All right, old fellow,” said Fred as he passed out, and drew up against the wall to allow a drunken man to stumble heavily into the room.
Next moment he was in the street hastening he knew not whither; but following the old and well-known route to Beverly Square.