I did not join in the laughter that followed, and spent the rest of the day rather uncomfortably. In the evening I left Jack at his desk.
“I hope you don’t mind my going,” I said. He looked up, half vexed, half astonished. “What do you mean?” he replied. “Surely it’s nothing to do with me?”
“Oh, I know. But I wouldn’t care to do it if you didn’t like it. Besides, I feel rather low going when you’re not asked too.”
“I shouldn’t go if I was asked,” replied Jack.
“Why not?” I inquired.
“I’ve something better to do with my time and my money than that sort of thing,” he replied, quietly.
I went up to Doubleday’s that evening more uneasy in my mind than I had been for a long time. I was angry with him for asking me; I was angry with myself for going; and I was angry with Smith because I felt his rebuke was a just one.
“Hullo, young un!” cried my host as I entered his now familiar lodgings; “all waiting for you. Why, how glum you look! Has the Lantern been lecturing you? or have you been having a dose of cold eel-pie on the road? or what? Come on. You know all these fellows. By the way, my boy, glorious news for you! Don’t know what we’ve all done to deserve it, upon my honour, but Abel here has knocked out one of his front teeth, so there’ll be no more trouble about spotting him now.”
Abel grinned and exhibited the gap in his jaw which had called forth this song of thankfulness from our host.
“How ever did you do it?” I asked, glad to turn the conversation from myself.