There was no more difficulty now for Jim Halliday. Tom even gave me up when he heard how I had come into my master’s possession.
Then he asked about Charlie, and Jim told him all he knew. And so the weeks went on, and hope once more lit up Tom Drift’s face. How could I help rejoicing in the share I had had in this blessed work of restoration?
Alas! how fleeting is this world’s satisfaction!
A short time afterwards, only a week or so before the termination of Tom Drift’s imprisonment, my master was returning home from the gaol, tired-out after his day’s work. His way lay over a place half brickfield, half common, across which a narrow footpath went. We had got half way over when suddenly a dreadful sensation seized me. I was slipping through the bottom of my pocket! Though I had a watered ribbon attached to me my master always carried me loose in his waistcoat pocket, with never a suspicion of the hole that was there. But now that hole seemed suddenly to expand in order to let me through.
Lower and lower I slipped. I tried to scream, I endeavoured to attract my master’s attention. But all in vain. He strode unconsciously on, never giving a thought to me or my peril. I held on as long as I could. Then I dropped. If only I could have fallen on his foot, or struck his knee as I descended! But no. I slid quietly down, scarcely grazing his trousers, and just out of the reach of his boot. For a moment I hoped wildly he would see me as I lay at his feet. Alas! he walked heedlessly on, leaving me on my back on the footpath, powerless to cry after him, and not daring to guess what would become of me.
In fact, reader, I was lost.