“It’ll be a tight fit,” said he to me, “out of eight shillings a week.”
“Oh, I can pay part,” said I, too delighted at the prospect of Jack’s company to admit of any obstacle. “My uncle pays my lodging, you know, so I have the eight shillings all to myself.”
Jack, however, scouted the idea. After a little more parleying, to my unspeakable joy he told Mrs Nash he would come next week. I begged hard for him to be allowed to share my quarters in the meanwhile. The landlady was inexorable, so we had to submit.
Jack took me a long stroll through the London streets that evening, entertaining me with a description of his life as a grocer’s shop-boy, now happily at an end. I forbore to ask him any questions on the mysterious subject of his home, and he of course never referred to it. Our walk ended again at Beadle Square, where we parted for the night; he to return to some poor lodging in a distant part of the town, I to take part in the nine o’clock supper at Mrs Nash’s.
I was rather nervous as I approached the parlour where were congregated my fellow-lodgers, and heard the sound of their noisy voices and laughter. I half repented that I had committed myself to sup on the premises; it would have been so much less embarrassing to slip in just at ten o’clock and go straight to bed. However, I was in for it now.
I opened the door and entered the room. The parlour was full of boys—two dozen or more—of all ages, and engaged in all sorts of occupations. Some lounged lazily in front of the fireplace, some were indulging in rough horse-play in the corners, some were reading novels, some were writing, some were talking, some were laughing.
As I entered, however, everybody suddenly ceased his occupation and stared at me—everybody, that is, except the small group who were skirmishing in the corner nearest the door. These, with the most laudable presence of mind, took in my situation at once, and next moment I was one of the skirmishing party and having rather a lively time of it.
By this time the rest of the company had taken in the state of affairs.
“Pass him on there,” some one called, and I was accordingly passed on in rather a lively way to another party of skirmishers, who in turn, after buffeting me up and down a bit among themselves, passed me on to another group, and so on, till, with back and limbs and head all rather the worse for wear, I had performed the tour of the room and found myself finally pitched head-first into the embrace of the lordly youth who that morning had condescended to point out to me the way to Hawk Street.
“Look here,” cried he, kicking out somewhat savagely at my shins; “don’t you be so jolly familiar, do you hear? Look what you have done to my shirt-front!”