“Has my fr–– has Smith been here this evening?” I asked.
“He are so; and I give ’im a shine to-rights, I did. But, bless you, he was glum about the mazard, he was.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Ga on! As if you didn’t know. ‘Wot’s up, governor?’ says I. ‘Things is a-going wrong with me, Billy,’ says he—so he does. ‘T’other bloke been givin’ you any jaw?’ says I, meaning you, says I. ‘Never mind, Billy,’ says he—‘you give me a good shine,’ says he, ‘and I won’t mind the rest.’ And there, I did give he a proper shine. He’s a gentleman, he is!”
Jack Smith had still a friend. I had sacrificed him, but he had yet another, more faithful and honest than ever I had been, ready to champion his cause, and rejoicing to do him service.
I slunk home to Mrs Nash’s that evening more disgusted and discontented with myself than ever. My conscience, no longer to be kept down, was reproaching me right and left. I had been a false friend, a vain, self-righteous puppy, a weak, discreditable roysterer, without the courage to utter one protest on the side of chivalry and right. And at last, at a hint of danger, behold me a pitiful, abject coward, ready to vow anything if only I might escape the threatened catastrophe.
Reader, as I curled myself up in bed that night you may imagine I had little enough cause to be proud of myself!