“There, there!” said he. “Good-bye, Gustav. I shall go very soon, and will come and see you when I return.” And he went back to the performance.
“You’ve missed it!” said Tom, as he dropped into his seat. “It was the finest ‘break-down’ you ever saw! That one next but one to Bones kept it up best. We couldn’t get an encore out of them. Never mind; perhaps they’ll have another to finish up. There’s lot’s more in the programme.”
Mr Armstrong watched it all with the same critical interest as before, but his mind was far away. It wandered to the foreign city, to the gaunt pauper hospital there, to a little low bed where lay an old dying friendless man, tossing and moaning for the laggard death to give him rest. He saw nothing of what went on before him; he felt none of the merry boy’s nudges at his side; he even forgot Roger and Maxfield.
The performance was over at last.
“Well, that was a jolly spree! I wish it was coming all over again,” chirped the boy. “Oh, thank you awfully, Mr Armstrong, for bringing me. Did you like it too? That last break-down wasn’t up to the other, but I’m glad you’ve seen one of them, at any rate.”
As they crowded out, Mr Armstrong was surprised and a little vexed to see Gustav still hanging about the lobby waiting for him. He dropped behind the boy for a moment and beckoned him.
“Well, Gustav?” said he impatiently.
“Ah, mon ami,” said the Frenchman, putting a little bunch of early violets into the tutor’s hands, “vill you give ’im zese from me? ’Tis all I can send. But he will love zem for the sake of me and ze little Françoise. Adieu, adieu, mon cher ami.”
It took not a minute; but in that time Tom had wandered serenely on, never dreaming that his protector was not close at his heels. Nor did he discover his mistake till he found himself half-way up Piccadilly, enlarging to a stranger at his side on the excellence of the evening’s performance. Then he looked round and missed his companion. The pavement was crowded with wayfarers of all sorts, some pressing one way, some another. Among them all the boy could not discover the stalwart form of Mr Armstrong. He pushed back to the hall, but he was not there. He followed one or two figures that looked like his; but they were strangers all. Then he returned up the street at a run, hoping to overtake him; but in vain.
He knew nothing of London; he did not even know the name of the hotel; he had no money in his pocket.