The Adventures of a Three-Guinea Watch Part 20

As I have said, he did not fall without an effort. I have known him one day buy a bad, trashy book, and the same evening, in a fit of repentance--for G.o.d's Spirit wonderfully strives with men--take and burn it to ashes in his grate. But I have also known him to buy the same book again the next day. I have known him to walk a mile out of his way to avoid a place of temptation; and yet, before his walk was done, find himself, after all, under the glare of its lamps. The moth hovers in wide circles round the candle before it ventures its wings in the flame.

And so it was with Tom; but the catastrophe came at last.

One evening about three weeks before the time fixed for the Easter trip with Charlie, Tom felt in tolerably dull. He had been neglecting his work during several days for novels of the lowest and most sensational type. Over these he had dawdled till his brain had become muddled with their unreal incidents and impure suggestions, and now that they were done he felt fit for nothing. He could not settle down to work, he had no friends to turn to, and so he put his hat on his head and sallied out into the streets to seek there the variety he could not find indoors.

As usual, his steps led him to the low theatre about which he was so curious, and of which he heard so much from his fellow-students. It was half-past seven, and people were beginning to crowd round the door, waiting for it to open. Tom, standing on the other side of the pavement, watched them with a painful fascination.

"Shall I go for once?" he asked himself. Then he strolled up to the playbill and read it.

As he was doing so some one slapped him on the shoulder, and, turning quickly round, he found himself face to face with his old acquaintance Gus Burke and another youth.

Gus, who was still small of stature, though fully nineteen years of age, was arrayed in the height of the fashion. As Tom regarded him he felt his own coat become more shabby and his hat older, and he wished he had brought his dogskin gloves and cane. Gus was smoking, too, a cigarette, and very distinguished and gentlemanly Tom thought it looked. He felt, as he regarded his brilliant and unexpected acquaintance, that he was rather glad those people who were standing at the theatre door should see him accosted in so familiar a way by such a hero. And Gus's friend was no less imposing--more so, indeed, for he wore an eyegla.s.s.

Tom was so astonished at this unexpected meeting that he had noticed all this long before he found words to return his old schoolfellow's salutation.

Gus, however, relieved him of his embarra.s.sment.

"Tom Drift, upon my honour! How are you, old horse, and how's your mother? Who'd have thought of running up against you like this?"

Tom tried to look as much at his ease as he could as he replied,--

"Why, Gus, old man, where _did_ you spring from? I didn't know you were in London."

"Ain't I, though!" replied Gus, tapping the end of his cigarette on his cane. "But what are you up to, Tom?--you're not going in here, are you?" pointing over his shoulder to the theatre.

"Well, no," said Tom; "that is," added he, with as much of a swagger as he could a.s.sume on the spur of the moment, "I had been half thinking of just seeing what it was like. Some of our fellows, you know, fancy the place."

How suddenly and easily he was, under the eyes of these two "swells,"

casting off the few slender cords that still held him moored to the sh.o.r.e.

"Oh, don't go in there," said Gus, with a look of disgust; "it's the slowest place in London--nothing on but that old fool Shakespeare's plays, or somebody's equally stupid. You come along with us, Tom, we'll take you to a place where you'll get your money's worth and no mistake.

Won't we, Jack?"

The youth appealed to as Jack answered with a most affected drawl, and with an effort which appeared to cause him no little fatigue, "Wathah."

"Come along," said Gus, lighting a fresh cigarette.

Tom was uncomfortable. He would not for worlds seem unwilling to go, and yet he wished he could get out of it somehow.

"Very kind of you," he said, "I'd like it awfully; but I must get back to do some work, you know, I've an exam coming on. It's an awful nuisance!"

"Why, I thought you were going in here, in any case!" said Gus.

"Ah--well--yes, so I was, just for a little, to see what sort of affair it was; but I meant to be home by nine."

"Well, just have a squint in at our place; and if you must go, you must.

Come along, old man; cut work for one evening, can't you? You've become an awfully reformed character all of a sudden; you usen't to be so hot on your books."

Tom had no ambition before these two to figure in the light of a reformed character, and he therefore abandoned further protest, and proceeded to accompany Gus and his friend down the street.

"Have a weed?" asked Gus.

"Thanks, I hardly ever smoke," said Tom.

"They're very mild," said Gus, with a sneer.

Tom took the proffered cigar without another word, and did his best first to light and then to smoke it as if he were an experienced smoker.

"Who's your fwend?" inquired Gus's languid acquaintance.

"By the way," said that young man, "I've never introduced you two.

Mortimer, allow me to introduce you to my friend Tom Drift."

Mr Mortimer gave a nod which Tom felt he would like greatly to have at his command, there was something so very knowing and familiar about it.

"It was Tom got up that little race party I was telling you of, Jack, you know. He's a regular sporting card. By the way, what's become of that little mooney-face prig we took with us that day; eh, Tom?"

Tom was out in midstream now, floating fast out to sea.

"Who--oh, young Newcome?" said he; "he's still at Randlebury."

"Young puppy! You never knew such a spree as that was, Jack," said Gus; and then he launched forth into a highly-spiced account of the eventful expedition to Gurley races, contriving to represent Tom as the hero of the day, greatly to that youth's discomfort and confusion, and no less to the amus.e.m.e.nt of Mr Mortimer.

"Here we are at last," said Gus, as the trio arrived at a gorgeously illuminated and decorated restaurant.

Tom's heart sunk within him. More than ever did he wish himself back in his dull lodgings, never again to set foot abroad, if only he could have got out of this fix. But there was no drawing back.

"Shall we go in yet, or knock the b.a.l.l.s about for a bit?" said Gus.

"This fellow Tom's a regular swell at billiards. Do you remember thrashing me last time we met, Tom--the summer after I'd left Randlebury?"

Tom could not deny he had beaten Gus on the occasion referred to, and felt it was useless for him to protest--what was the case--that he was only a very indifferent player. He agreed to the idea of a game, however, as he hoped he might at its close be able to make his escape without accompanying his two companions to the music-hall attached to the restaurant, and which he already knew by reputation as one of the lowest entertainments in London. "You two play," said Gus, "and I'll mark. You'll have to give Jack points, Tom, you know, you're such a dab."

It was vain for Tom to disclaim the distinction, and the game began.

"Hold hard!" said Gus, after the first stroke; "what are you playing for?"

"Weally, I don't know; thillingth, I thuppothe," lisped Mr Mortimer.

"All serene! Go on."

And they went on, and Mr Mortimer made no end of misses, so that, in spite of the points he had received, Tom beat him easily. In the two games which followed the same success attended him, and he won all the stakes.

"Didn't I tell you he was a swell?" said Gus. "Upon my word, Tom, I don't know how you do it!"

"It's just the sort of table I like to play on," said Tom, elated with his success, and unwilling to own that half his lucky shots had been "flukes."

"I tell you what," said Gus; "you owe me my revenge, you know, from last time. I'll play you to-morrow for half-crowns, if you'll give me the same points as you did to Jack."

Tom was fast nearing the breakers now. He had nothing for it but to accept the challenge, and the table was consequently engaged for the next evening.