“Nothing would please him better,” said Blandford. “But you’d better leave your own nose behind, my boy, before you start, or there won’t be much of it left. I know Cruden of old.”
“You won’t see much more of him now,” sneered Pillans, “now he owes you for his dinner.”
“It strikes me, Bland was never safer of a six-and-six in his life than he is of the one he lent to-night,” said Mr Shanklin. “Unless I’m mistaken, the fellow would walk across England on his bare feet to pay it back.”
Mr Shanklin, it was evident, could appreciate honesty in any one else. He was highly delighted with what he had seen of the new secretary. If anything could float the Select Agency Corporation, the lad’s unsuspicious honesty would do it. In fact, things were looking up all round for the precious confederates. With Reginald to supply them with honesty, with easy-going spendthrifts, like Blandford and Pillans, to supply them with money, and with a cad like Durfy to do their dirty work for them, they were in as comfortable and hopeful a way as the promoters of such an enterprise could reasonably hope to be.
The trio at the Shades soon forgot Reginald in the delights of one another’s sweet society. They played billiards, at which Mr Shanklin won. They also played cards, at which, by a singular coincidence, Mr Shanklin won too. They then went to call on a friend who knew the “straight tip” for the Saint Leger, and under his advice they laid out a good deal of money, which (such are the freaks of fortune) also found its way somehow into Mr Shanklin’s pocket-book. Finally, they supped together, and then went home to bed, each one under the delusion that he had spent a very pleasant evening.
Reginald was far from sharing the same opinion as he paced home that evening. How glad he should be to be out of this hateful London, where everything went wrong, and reminded him that he was a pauper, dependent on others for his living, for his clothes, for his—faugh! for his dinner! Happily he had not to endure it much longer. At Liverpool, he would be independent. He would hold a position not degrading to a gentleman; he would associate with men of intellect and breeding; he would even have the joy of helping his mother to many a little luxury which, as long as he remained in London, he could never have given her. He quickened his pace, and reached home. Gedge had been there, spiritless and forlorn, and had left as soon as he could excuse himself.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” he had said, with a forced laugh, to Horace when the latter expressed his regret at Reginald’s absence.
Mrs Cruden and Horace both tried to look cheerful; but the cloud on the horizon was too large now to be covered with a hand.
When Reginald announced that he had written and accepted the invitation to Liverpool, there was no jubilation, no eager congratulation.
“What shall we do without you?” said Mrs Cruden.