“Young Gedge and I see plenty of one another: he’s joined our shorthand class, and is going in for a little steady work all round. He owes you a lot for befriending him at the time you did, and he’s not forgotten it. I promised to send you his love next time I wrote. Harker will be in town next week, which will be jolly. I’ve never seen Bland since I called to pay the 6 shillings 6 pence. I fancy he’s got into rather a fast lot, and is making a fool of himself, which is a pity.
“You tell us very little about your Corporation; I hope it is going on all right. I wish to goodness you were back in town. I never was in love with the concern, as you know, and at the risk of putting you in a rage, I can’t help saying it’s a pity we couldn’t all have stayed together just now. Forgive this growl, old man.
“Your affectionate brother,—
“Horace.
“Wednesday, ‘d.w.t.’ day. To our surprise and trepidation, neither the ‘Day in a Sub-Sub-editor’s Life’ nor ‘Early Rising’ were among the papers given out to-day to be ‘declined with thanks.’ Granville may have put them into the fire as not even worth returning, or he may actually—O mirabile dictu—be going to put us into print?”
Chapter Sixteen.
Visitors at Number 13, Shy Street.
The concluding sentences of Horace’s long letter, particularly those which referred to his mother’s poor health and the straitened circumstances of the little household, were sufficiently unwelcome to eclipse in Reginald’s mind the other exciting news the letter had contained. They brought on a fit of the blues which lasted more than one day.