letters had always represented himself as engrossed in study. Even the
few hurried scrawls of the past few weeks he had excused on the same
ground. It never once occurred to the simple-minded schoolboy that a
chum of his could possibly be struggling in the agonies of shame and
temptation and he know nothing of it; he who knew so little of evil
himself, was not the one to think or imagine evil where any other
explanation was possible.

And yet Tom's manner was so strange and altered, that he determined, as
soon as they should find themselves alone, to make an effort to
ascertain its cause.

The opportunity came when the two youths, having bid farewell to Mr and
Mrs Newcome, found themselves at last in Tom's lodgings in Grime
Street.

"Well," said Charlie, with all the show of cheerfulness he could muster,
for his spirits had been strangely damped by the irresponsive gloom of
his old schoolfellow--"well! here's the den at last. Upon my word, old
man, I've seen livelier holes! Why don't you explore and find some
place a trifle less dead-alive? But I dare say it's convenient to be
near the Hospital, and when a fellow's working, it doesn't much matter
what sort of a place he's in, as long as there's not a row going on
under his window--and I don't suppose there's much chance of that here,"
said Charlie, looking out into the black street with a kind of shudder.

Tom said nothing; he wished his friend would not everlastingly be
talking of hard work and study in the way he did. However Charlie
intended it, it was neither more nor less than a talking at him, and
that he could not stand.

Charlie took no notice of his silence, but continued his inspection of
the dismal apartment, lighting up with pleasure at the sight of the old
Randlebury relics.

"My old rod!" exclaimed he, taking down the very rod with the lance-wood
top which had figured so conspicuously in a certain adventure three
years ago; "how jolly to see it again! I'm afraid you don't get much
use for it here. And our fencing-sticks, too; see, Tom, here's the very
place where you got under my guard and snipped a bit out of the basket.
Ha, ha! what a crack that was! And here's the picture of old
Randlebury, with you at your window, and me lying on the grass (and
looking uncommonly like a recently felled tree). Look here, Tom, this
window here is where Jim and I hang out now. It used to be Callaghan's.
By the way, do you ever see Call? He's in London,