“Indeed! And may I ask where you live?”
The ward’s face fell at the question.
“Here, sir,” faltered he.
“Pardon me, I think you are mistaken, John Jeffreys.”
Jeffreys looked hard at his guardian, as if to ascertain whether or not he spoke seriously. His one longing at that moment was for food and rest. Since Saturday morning his eyes had never closed, and yet, strange as it may seem, he could take in no more of the future than what lay before him on this one night. The sudden prospect now of being turned out into the street was overwhelming.
“I think you are mistaken,” repeated Mr Halgrove, tossing the end of his cigar into the fireplace and yawning.
“But, sir,” began Jeffreys, raising himself slowly to his feet, for he was stiff and cramped after his long journey, “I’ve walked—”
“So you said,” interrupted Mr Halgrove, incisively. “You will be used to it.”
At that moment Jeffreys decided the question of his night’s lodging in a most unlooked-for manner by doing what he had never done before, and what he never did again.
He fainted.