t no longer,
and fell back into Flanagan's arms amidst a perfect roar of laughter and
applause.

At that moment the shame was almost more bitter to me than the pain.
This then was the result of my high living! This was what I had got by
turning up my nose at my lot in Beadle Square, and aspiring to associate
with my betters! This was the manner in which I was to make an
impression on my old schoolfellow, and improve my footing with my new
friends! No wonder I felt ashamed.

"You'd better invest in a little raw beefsteak," said Flanagan; "that's
what will do you most good."

This was all the comfort I got. The fight being over, everybody lost
his interest in me and my opponent, and, as if nothing had happened,
proceeded to re-discuss the question of playing cards or taking a walk.

I was left to put on my poor shabby coat without help, and no one
noticed me as I slunk from the room. Even Flanagan, from whom I had at
least expected some sympathy, was too much taken up with the others to
heed me; and as I walked slowly and unsteadily that night along the
London streets, I felt for the first time since I came to the great city
utterly friendless and miserable.

When I returned to Beadle Square every one had gone to bed except one
boy, who was sitting up, whistling merrily over a postage-stamp album,
into which he was delightedly sticking some recent acquisition. I could
not help thinking bitterly how his frame of mind contrasted at that
moment with mine. He was a nice boy, lately come. He kept a diary of
everything he did, and wrote and heard from home every week. The
fellows all despised him, and called him a pious young prig, because he
said his prayers at night, and went to a chapel on Sundays. But, prig
or not, he was as happy as a king over his stamps, and the sight made me
(I knew not why), tenfold more miserable.

"Hullo!" said he, stopping whistling as I came in, "there's a letter for
you. I say, if you get any foreign stamps at your office I wish you'd
save them for me, will you? Look, here's a jolly Brazil one; I got it--
what's the matter?"

I heard not a word of his chatter, for the letter was from Packworth.

"Sir,--We're afraid poor Master Johnny is very bad--he's been taken to
the hospital. He said, when he took ill, that it must have been a boy
he took out of the streets and let sleep in his bed. Oh, sir, we are so
sad! The young lady is better; but if Johnny dies--"

I could read n