k. I repented; started to my feet, and
seized the book I was reading with the intention of tossing it into the
fire. In doing so, I accidentally turned over a leaf. There was an
illustration on the page. I looked at it. An African savage firing the
whole contents of a six-barrelled revolver down the throat of a Bengal
tiger, without, apparently, doing it any harm! I thought not of the
incongruous combination. My soul was fired anew. Once again I thought
of running away from home and going to sea--not by any means with the
intention of remaining at sea, but for the purpose of reaching foreign--
if possible--unknown lands.

Having conceived the thought, I rose calmly, shut the book carefully,
but with decision, thrust my hands firmly into my pockets, knitted my
brows, and went out in search of my bosom friend John Brown--also a
commonplace name, I believe--at least, so it is said.

Jack, as I used to call him, had a mother, but no father--his father
died when Jack was an infant. I've often fancied that there was a
delicate bond of union between us here. He had a mother, but no father.
I had a father, but no mother. Strange coincidence! I think the fact
helped to draw us together. I may be wrong, but I think so. Jack was
on a visit to us at the time, so I had only to cross the passage to
reach his room.

"Come in," he cried, as I knocked.

"Jack, come to my room. It's more comfortable than yours. I want your
advice."

He rose, in some surprise, and followed me.

If John Brown's name was commonplace, his person was certainly not so.
He looked like a young lord. He was a noble fellow, by nature if not by
birth. A clear, sunny face, masculine chin and nose, sweet, firm mouth,
the eye of an eagle, and the soft, curly, golden hair of a child. Tall,
broad-shouldered, elegant, bold as a lion, gentle and kind as a lamb--
such was my best, my dearest friend, Jack.

"Jack," said I, "I'm going to run away!"

My friend fell into a chair, put both legs straight out, and looked at
me in speechless amazement for a second; then he burst into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter.

"Jack," I repeated, "I'm going to run away."

"You'll do nothing of the sort," said he.

"And," I continued, regardless of his remark, "I mean that you shall run
away with me."

"I'll do nothing of the sort," he replied. "But come, Bob, my boy,
you're joking. Surely this is not the object for which you called me
out of my room."