is mind
and then it would be Commercial Road again--if I had the courage to go
back there."

Forrest had known evil times himself, and he could honestly appreciate
the possibility.

"Stick by the old horse while he sticks by you," was his candid advice.
"I expect he's under a pretty stiff obligation to some of your people
who are gone, and this is how he's paying it. You take all the corn you
can get and put it in your nose-bag. Anna herself tells me that the old
man is only happy while you are in the house. Play up to it, old chap,
and grease your wheels while the can's going round."

This very worldy advice fell upon ears strikingly deficient in
understanding subtleties. Alban could not dislike Forrest, though he
tried his best to do so. There was something sympathetic about the
fellow, rogue that he was, and even shrewd men admitted his
fascination. When the Captain proposed that they should go down to the
West End of London and see a little of life together, Alban consented
gladly. New experiences set him hungering after those supposed delights
which were made so much of in the newspapers. He reflected how very
little he really knew of the world and its people.

It was a day of early June when they set off in that very single
brougham which had carried Silas Geary to Whitechapel. The Captain,
having first ascertained the amount of money in his friend's possession,
proposed a light lunch in the restaurant of the Savoy, and there, to do
him justice, he was amusing enough.

"People are all giving up houses and living in restaurants nowadays," he
said as they sat at table. "I don't blame 'em either. Just think of the
number of nags in those big stables, all eating their heads off and
smoking your best cigars--eh, what? Why, I kept myself in weeds a few
years ago--got 'em for twopence halfpenny from a butler in Curzon Street
and never smoked better. You don't want to do that, for you can bottle
old Bluebeard's and try 'em on the dog--eh, what? When you marry, don't
you take a house. A man who lives in a hotel doesn't seem as though he
were married and that's good for the filly. Look at these angels here.
Why, half of them sold the family oak tree a generation ago, and
Attenborough down the street will tell you what their Tiffanies are
worth. They live in hotels because it's cheaper, and they wear French
paste because the other is at uncle's. That's the truth, my boy, and all
the world knows it."

Alban listened w