The month dragged through at last, and, nearly prancing with impatience, he went to draw his money. Then he hastened to Torpenhow’s address and smelt the smell of cooking meats all along the corridors of the chambers. Torpenhow was on the top floor, and Dick burst into his room, to be received with a hug which nearly cracked his ribs, as Torpenhow dragged him to the light and spoke of twenty different things in the same breath.
“But you’re looking tucked up,” he concluded.
“Got anything to eat?” said Dick, his eye roaming round the room.
“I shall be having breakfast in a minute. What do you say to sausages?”
“No, anything but sausages! Torp, I’ve been starving on that accursed horse-flesh for thirty days and thirty nights.”
“Now, what lunacy has been your latest?”
Dick spoke of the last few weeks with unbridled speech. Then he opened his coat; there was no waistcoat below. “I ran it fine, awfully fine, but I’ve just scraped through.”
“You haven’t much sense, but you’ve got a backbone, anyhow. Eat, and talk afterwards.” Dick fell upon eggs and bacon and gorged till he could gorge no more. Torpenhow handed him a filled pipe, and he smoked as men smoke who for three weeks have been deprived of good tobacco.
“Ouf!” said he. “That’s heavenly! Well?”
“Why in the world didn’t you come to me?”