tances his uncle was to help himself. And
then Mr. Toogood had only written one short scrap of a letter,--just
three words, and they were written in triumph. "Crawley is all right,
and I think I've got the real Simon Pure by the heels." "It's all
very well, John," Mrs. Toogood said; "and of course it would be a
terrible thing to the family if anybody connected with it were made
out to be a thief." "It would be quite dreadful," said Johnny. "Not
that I ever looked upon the Crawleys as connexions of ours. But,
however, let that pass. I'm sure I'm very glad that your uncle should
have been able to be of service to them. But there's reason in the
roasting of eggs, and I can tell you that money is not so plenty in
this house that your uncle can afford to throw it into the Barchester
gutters. Think what twelve children are, John. It might be all very
well if Toogood were a bachelor, and if some lord had left him a
fortune." John Eames did not stay very long in Tavistock Square. His
cousins Polly and Lucy were gone to the play with Mr. Summerkin, and
his aunt was not in one of her best humours. He took his uncle's part
as well as he could, and then left Mrs. Toogood. The little allusion
to Lord De Guest's generosity had not been pleasant to him. It seemed
to rob him of all his own merit. He had been rather proud of his
journey to Italy, having contrived to spend nearly forty pounds in
ten days. He had done everything in the most expensive way, feeling
that every napoleon wasted had been laid out on behalf of Mr. Crawley.
But, as Mrs. Toogood had just told him, all this was nothing to what
Toogood was doing. Toogood with twelve children was living at his
own charges at Barchester, and was neglecting his business besides.
"There's Mr. Crump," said Mrs. Toogood. "Of course he doesn't like it,
and what can I say to him when he comes to me?" This was not quite
fair on the part of Mrs. Toogood, as Mr. Crump had not troubled her
even once as yet since her husband's departure.

What was Johnny to do, when he left Tavistock Square? His club was
open to him. Should he go to his club, play a game of billiards, and
have some supper? When he asked himself the question he knew that he
would not go to his club, and yet he pretended to doubt about it, as
he made his way to a cabstand in Tottenham Court Road. It would be
slow, he told himself, to go to his club. He would have gone to see
Lily Dale, only that his intimacy with Mrs. Thorne was n