"It seems to me rather queer to expect you to put the money in," said he.

"It may be queer, but it's their rule, Mr Medlock says."

"And whatever does the Corporation do? It's precious hazy to my mind."

"I can't tell you anything about it now," said Reginald; "the concern is only just started, and I have promised to treat all Mr Medlock told me as confidential. But I'm quite satisfied in my mind, and you may be too, Horace."

Horace did not feel encouraged to pursue the discussion after this, and went off alone to work in low spirits, and feeling unusually dismal.

"By the way," said Reginald, as he started, "bring young Gedge home with you. I meant to see him last night, but forgot."

Reginald spent the day uneasily for himself and his mother in trying to feel absolutely satisfied with the decision he had come to, and in speculating on his future work. Towards afternoon, weary of being all day in the house, he went out for a stroll. It was a beautiful day, and the prospect of a walk in the park by daylight was a tempting one.

As he was pa.s.sing down Piccadilly, he became aware of some one approaching him whom he knew, and whom, in another moment, he recognised as Blandford.

There was some excuse certainly for not taking in his old schoolfellow's ident.i.ty all at once, for the boy he had known at Wilderham only a few months ago had suddenly blossomed forth into a man, and had exchanged the airy bearing of a school-boy for the half-languid swagger of a man about town.

"Hullo, Bland, old man!" exclaimed Reginald, lighting up jubilantly at the sight of an old familiar face, "how are you? Who would have thought of seeing you?"

Blandford was surprised too, and for a moment critically surveyed the boy in front of him before he replied.

"Ah, Cruden, that you? I shouldn't have known you."

Reginald's face fell. He became suddenly aware, and for the first time in his life, that his clothes were shabby, and that his boots were in holes.

"I shouldn't have known you," he replied; "you look so much older than when I saw you last."

"So I am; but, I say," added Bland, reddening as an acquaintance pa.s.sed and nodded to him, "I'm rather in a hurry, Cruden, just now. If you're not engaged this evening, come and dine with me at seven at the Shades, and we can have a talk. Good-bye."

And he went on hurriedly, leaving Reginald with an uncomfortable suspicion that if he--Reginald--had been more smartly dressed, and had worn gloves and a tall hat, the interview would have been more cordial and less hasty.

However, the longing he felt for the old happy days that were past decided him to appear at the Shades at the hour appointed, although it meant absence from home on one of his few remaining evenings, and, still more, a further desertion of young Gedge.

He repented of his resolution almost as soon as he had made it. What was to be gained by a.s.suming a false position for an evening, and trying to delude himself into the notion that he was the equal of his old comrade? Did not his clothes, his empty pockets, the smart of Durfy's tongue, and even the letter now on its way to Mr Medlock, all disprove it? And yet, three months ago, he was a better man all round than Blandford, who had been glad to claim his friendship and accept his father's hospitality. Reginald rebelled against the idea that they two could still be anything to one another than the friends they had once been; but all the while the old school saw came back into his mind--that imposition sentence he had in his day written out hundreds of times without once thinking of its meaning: _Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis_.

He reached the Shades a few minutes before seven, and waited outside till his friend arrived. He had not to wait long, for Blandford and a couple of companions drove up punctually in a hansom--all of them, to Reginald's horror, being arrayed in full evening dress.

"Hullo, Cruden, you've turned up then," said Blandford. "What, not in regimentals? You usen't to be backward in that way. Never mind; they say dress after seven o'clock here, but they're not strict. We can smuggle you in."

Oh, how Reginald wished he was safe back in Dull Street!

"By the way," continued Blandford, "these are two friends of mine, Cruden--Mr Shanklin and Mr Pillans. Cruden's an old Wilderham fellow, you know," he added, in an explanatory aside.

The gentleman introduced as Mr Shanklin stared curiously at Reginald for a few seconds, and then shook hands. Had the boy known as much of that gentleman as the reader does, he would probably have displayed considerably more interest in his new acquaintance than he did. As it was, he would have been glad of an excuse to avoid shaking hands with either him or his empty-headed companion, Mr Pillans. He went through the ceremony as stiffly as possible, and then followed the party within.

"Now, then," said Blandford, as they sat down at one of the tables, "what do you say? It'll save trouble to take the table d'hote, eh? are you game, you fellows? Table d'hote for four, waiter. What shall we have to drink? I say hock to start with."

"I wont take any wine," said Reginald, with an effort.

"Why not? You're not a teetotaler, are you?"

"I won't take any wine," repeated Reginald decisively; and, to his satisfaction, he was allowed to do as he pleased.

The dinner pa.s.sed as such entertainments usually do, diminishing in interest as it went on. In his happiest days, Reginald always hated what the boys used to call "feeds," and he found that three months'

altered circ.u.mstances had by no means reconciled him to the infliction.

He shirked the last two or three courses, and grew heartily tired of the sight of a plate.

"You wondered how I came to be in town?" said Blandford. "The fact is, my uncle went off the hooks a few weeks ago, and as I'm his heir, you know, I came up, and haven't gone back yet. I don't think I shall either."

"No; what's the use, with the pot of money you've come in for?" said Mr Shanklin. "You're far more comfortable up in town."

"Yes, and _you're_ a nice boy to show a fellow about town," said Blandford, laughing, "Wilderham's all very well, you know, Cruden,"

continued he, "but it's a grind being cooped up there when you've got your chance of a fling."

"Well, you've not wasted your chances, my boy," said Mr Pillans, who, besides being empty-headed, was unhealthy in complexion, and red about the eyes.

Blandford appeared rather flattered than otherwise by this observation, and told Mr Pillans to shut up and not tell tales out of school.

"I suppose Wilderham hasn't changed much since last term?" asked Reginald wistfully.

"Oh no; plenty of fellows left and new ones come--rather a better lot, take them all round, than we had last term."

"Has the football club been doing well again?" asked the old boy.

"Oh, middling. By the way, the fellows growled rather when you only sent them half-a-sov. instead of a sov."

Reginald coloured up. Little his comrade knew what that half-sovereign had cost him!

He relapsed into silence, and had to derive what compensation he could from the fast talk in which the other three engaged, apparently heedless of his presence.

In due time the meal ended, and Blandford called for the bills.

Until that moment Reginald had never imagined for a moment but that he had been dining as his old schoolfellow's guest. He had understood Blandford's request of his company as an invitation, and as an invitation he had accepted it, and as an invitation he had repented of it. What, then, was his embarra.s.sment to find a bill for six shillings and sixpence laid down before him as his share of the entertainment!

For a moment a flush of relief pa.s.sed across his face. He was glad not to find himself under obligations to Blandford after all. But in another moment relief was changed to horror as he remembered that three shillings was all the money he had about him. Oh, the humiliation, the anguish of this discovery! He would have had anything happen rather than this.

He sat staring at the bill like a being petrified.

"Come along," said Blandford, "let's go to the smoking-room. I suppose you fellows will have coffee there. Coffee for four, waiter. Are you ready?"

But Reginald did not move, nor did the waiter.

"What's the row?" said Blandford to the latter.

The waiter pointed to Reginald's bill.

"Oh, he's waiting for your bill, Cruden. Look sharp, old man!"

The colour came and went in Reginald's face, as though he had been charged with some hideous crime. And it seemed like a deliberate mockery of his trouble that his three companions and the waiter stood silent at the table, eyeing him, and waiting for his answer.