“No; and I don’t know whom else you could ask,” said Horace.
“They might let me put in a pound a week out of my salary,” said Reginald. “That would still leave me two pounds a week, and of that I could send home at least twenty-five shillings.”
Horace mused.
“It seems to me rather queer to expect you to put the money in,” said he.
“It may be queer, but it’s their rule, Mr Medlock says.”
“And whatever does the Corporation do? It’s precious hazy to my mind.”
“I can’t tell you anything about it now,” said Reginald; “the concern is only just started, and I have promised to treat all Mr Medlock told me as confidential. But I’m quite satisfied in my mind, and you may be too, Horace.”
Horace did not feel encouraged to pursue the discussion after this, and went off alone to work in low spirits, and feeling unusually dismal.
“By the way,” said Reginald, as he started, “bring young Gedge home with you. I meant to see him last night, but forgot.”
Reginald spent the day uneasily for himself and his mother in trying to feel absolutely satisfied with the decision he had come to, and in speculating on his future work. Towards afternoon, weary of being all day in the house, he went out for a stroll. It was a beautiful day, and the prospect of a walk in the park by daylight was a tempting one.