“No, I couldn’t, because he isn’t here, and won’t likely be back for two hours.”
This reply took all the humour out of Robin’s tone and manner. He resolved, however, to wait for half an hour, and went out to saunter in front of the hotel.
Half an hour passed, then another, then another, and the boy was fain to leave the spot in despair.
Poor Slidder’s temperament was sanguine. Slight encouragement raised his hopes very high. Failure depressed him proportionally and woefully low, but, to do him justice, he never sorrowed long. In the present instance, he left the Black Bull grinding his teeth. Then he took to clanking his heels as he walked along in a way that drew forth the comments of several street-boys, to whom, in a spirit of liberality, he returned considerably more than he received. Then he began to mutter between his teeth his private opinion as to faithless persons in general, and faithless Villum, alias the Slogger, in particular, whose character he painted to himself in extremely sombre colours. After that, a heavy thunder-shower having fallen and drenched him, he walked recklessly and violently through every puddle in his path. This seemed to relieve his spirit, for when he reached Hoboy Crescent he had recovered much of his wonted equanimity.
The Slogger was not however, so faithless as his old friend imagined. He had been at the Black Bull before two o’clock, but had been sent off by his employer with a note to a house at a considerable distance in such urgent haste that he had not time even to think of leaving a message for his friend.
In these circumstances, he resolved to clear his character by paying a visit on the following Sunday to Number 6 Grovelly Street, Shadwell Square.