“Oh! young Gilby! was he? He’s a rollicking blade. He offered to introduce you into London society, did he? Why, he knows nothing about it. Do not trust him. He would only take you to a few low haunts, where you would see enough certainly of what he calls life. He invited you to dine with him a week hence, did he? Well, then, come with me to-night, and before that time I will enable you to show him that you know far more of London life than he does. But, mum, here comes your respected guardian, Mr Roger Kyffin. Will this pen suit you, Mr Tryon?” he said, in a loud voice. “A good handwriting is an important matter in the qualifications of a young clerk.”
Harry scarcely knew what to think of Silas Sleech. His manner offended him, but he seemed good-natured and obliging; so he thought to himself, “I will take him as I find him, and he is more likely to initiate me into real London life than that young fop Gilby.” Harry agreed, therefore, to dine with Mr Sleech that evening at a coffee-house, and to accompany him afterwards to some place of amusement.
Harry Tryon was not a hero of romance. He had never got into any serious scrape, but then he had not been much tempted. He was now to be left very much to his own resources. His kind guardian had formed a higher opinion of him than he perhaps deserved. He also held Mr Sleech in considerable esteem. It is surprising that he did so, but the fact was, that that individual was a most consummate hypocrite—he otherwise would not certainly have deceived such acute observers as Mr Coppinger and his managing clerk. Harry could not have met with a worse person as a companion in London. Young Gilby might have led him into scrapes, while the other, by imbuing him with his own principles, and introducing him to profligates and designing knaves, might injure his future prospects, and destroy him body and soul, as many another young man has been destroyed. Harry, when he accepted Mr Sleech’s proffered civilities, had no conception of the dangerous course into which he was about to lead him. He remembered old Sleech at Lynderton, a smooth-spoken, oily-tongued, civil gentleman, profuse in his bows to gentlemen on horseback or ladies in their carriages, but very apt to button up his breeches pockets at the approach of a supplicant. As to his character he knew nothing, except that he was looked upon as a lawyer of sharp practice. Once upon a time Harry would not have wished to be seen walking down Lynderton Street in company with Silas Sleech, but now things were altered. In London people needed not to be so particular as to their associates.
As soon as the counting-house was closed, Harry set off with Silas Sleech to the West End. That first evening was spent in a way that even Roger Kyffin, had he made enquiries, would probably have approved. They had been to the play, and afterwards supped at a respectable chop-house, frequented by several actors, authors, and wits. Silas Sleech even suggested that Harry should mention it to his guardian.
“I don’t often go to such places myself, you see,” he observed afterwards to Mr Kyffin, “but I thought that Harry would require something to divert his mind, and I rather put myself out of the way to amuse him.”
Mr Kyffin begged that Mr Sleech would in future take no trouble on that score; and at the same time he did not wish to shut Harry up altogether, and was much obliged to him for what he had done.
“You were always kind and wise, sir,” said Mr Sleech, in his softest tone; “it is really a pleasure to me to enter into such scenes for the sake of our young friend, otherwise I confess that more sober amusements suit me best.”
It was strange, however, that Mr Sleech should press Harry the following evening to spend it precisely in the same way as the former, though the house to which he took him after the play was of a somewhat different character from that of the previous evening. He observed the guests occasionally slipping out of the public room and going up-stairs.
“I should like to know what they are about,” said Mr Sleech to Harry; “what do you say, shall we try and get up?”
Harry, of course, had no objection.