With these strange remarks, the boy shot off, sliding down the banisters; leaving Philip feeling sick at heart.
The Hermandad mine had evidently failed, and its company come to grief. A suspicion stole over Philip that Captain Lennox might be more hardly hit than the world suspected, and was keeping out of the way.
What to do, he knew not. Was there anything that he could do next, except go back home and reveal everything to his mother? He had tasted nothing all day, save his morsel of breakfast; and, although he had no appetite, he felt so faint that he knew he must take refreshment of some kind if he did not wish his strength to break down. Turning into the nearest restaurant, he called for a glass of wine, and tried to study the carte; but the names of the different dishes conveyed no definite ideas to his mind.
"Bring me anything you have ready." he said wearily to the waiter; "a basin of soup will do." And then he lay back in his chair and shut his eyes.
The waiter had just put some soup before him, and was about to take off the cover, when Philip started to his feet with an exclamation. "By heavens! I never thought of that!" Staring around, he sat down in a little confusion: for the moment he had forgotten where he was. The waiter looked askance at him, to discover whether he was mad.
But the fact was that Philip had had what seemed to him nothing less than a flash of inspiration. He had suddenly remembered that there was such a person as Freddy Bootle in existence. Why not go to him in his trouble? Freddy was rich, and as kindhearted as he was rich; he was not the sort of man to allow a friend to sink for want of a helping hand: in any case Philip felt sure of his sympathy and advice. Eating his soup with some degree of relish, he paid, and drove off in a hansom to Mr. Bootle's rooms in Bond Street.
Philip felt desperate. Especially at the thought of having to reveal his folly to his mother, and her consequent distress. That seemed worse than the loss of the money itself. Never had his conduct, his almost criminal weakness, presented itself to him in so odious a light as now. Had the money been absolutely his own, had it been bequeathed to him by will or come to him by any mode other than that by which it had come, he could have borne to lose it with comparative equanimity. But when he called to mind the fact that the sum which it had taken him so short a time to dissipate was the accumulation of long years of patient pinching and hoarding on the part of his mother, that it represented many a self-denied luxury, many a harmless pleasure ruthlessly sacrificed, and that all this had been done to ensure the advancement in life of his worthless self, he was almost ready to think that the sooner the world were rid of him the better for everyone concerned. How could he ever bear to face again that mother and her thoughtful love?--how witness her pained face when he should declare his folly? Must she be told? If only Freddy Bootle would give him a help in this strait, what a different man he would be in time to come!
It was a break in the bitterness of his thoughts when the cab drew up at Mr. Bootle's lodgings. Philip was not kept long in suspense. An elderly man answered his knock and ring. The elderly man was sorry to say that Mr. Bootle was in Rome at present, and was not expected back till after Christmas.
"Was there ever so unlucky a wretch as I?" murmured Philip to himself, as he turned, more sick at heart than ever, from the door. His one and only hope had failed him.
The short winter day was drawing to a close, and the lamps were being lighted as he turned into Piccadilly. He wandered about aimlessly for some time, into this street and that, stopping now and again to stare into a shop-window, or at the unending procession of vehicles in the busier streets, and then wandering on again without seeming to see anything.