The letter finished with some good advice and a blessing.
To be left thus without resources, just when the golden gates of knowledge were opening, and a few dazzling gleams of the glory had pierced his soul, was a crushing blow to the poor student. If he had been a true philosopher, he would have sought counsel on his knees, but his philosophy was limited; he only took counsel with himself and the immediate results were disastrous.
“Yes,” said he, with an impulsive gush, “I’ll go to sea.”
“Don’t,” said his quiet friend.
But, regardless of this advice, Edwin Jack smote the table with his clenched fist so violently that his pen leapt out of its ink-bottle and wrote its own signature on one of his books. He rose in haste and rang the bell.
“Mrs Niven,” he said to his landlady, “let me know how much I owe you. I’m about to leave town—and—and won’t return.”
“Ech! Maister Jack; what for?” exclaimed the astonished landlady.
“Because I’m a beggar,” replied the youth, with a bitter smile, “and I mean to go to sea.”
“Hoots! Maister Jack, ye’re jokin’.”
“Indeed I am very far from joking, Mrs Niven; I have no money, and no source of income. As I don’t suppose you would give me board and lodging for nothing, I mean to leave.”