rest.' And there, I _did_ give he a proper shine. He's a
gentleman, he is!"

Jack Smith had still a friend. I had sacrificed him, but he had yet
another, more faithful and honest than ever I had been, ready to
champion his cause, and rejoicing to do him service.

I slunk home to Mrs Nash's that evening more disgusted and discontented
with myself than ever. My conscience, no longer to be kept down, was
reproaching me right and left. I had been a false friend, a vain, self-
righteous puppy, a weak, discreditable roysterer, without the courage to
utter one protest on the side of chivalry and right. And at last, at a
hint of danger, behold me a pitiful, abject coward, ready to vow
anything if only I might escape the threatened catastrophe.

Reader, as I curled myself up in bed that night you may imagine I had
little enough cause to be proud of myself!

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

HOW I BEGAN TO DISCOVER THAT I WAS NOT A VERY NICE BOY AFTER ALL.

If I had flattered myself I had ceased to care about my friend Smith,
the events of the evening just described served to cure me of any
delusion. I had thrown myself recklessly into dissipation and riot, so
as to forget him; but now, as I lay on my bed and thought over what had
befallen me, my misery at losing him returned tenfold, aggravated by the
consciousness that now I deserved his friendship even less than ever.

"He's a gentleman, he is!" The words of the little shoeblack rang in my
ears all night long, echoed by another voice from within, "What are
_you_?" After all, had I not been doing my very best the last few days
to prove Jack's own description of me as a liar and a coward to be true?

The fellows at the office next morning were in a high state of glee over
the adventures of the previous evening.

"Wasn't it just about a spree?" said Wallop. "I never saw such a fellow
as young Batch for leading one into mischief. I used to think _I_ was a
pretty wild hand, but I'm a perfect sheep to him, ain't I, Dubbs?"

"You are so," replied Doubleday. "Batch, my boy, if you go on at the
rate you did last night, you'll overdo it. Take my word for that."

I had come to the office that morning determined to let every one see I
was ashamed of my conduct; but these insinuations, and the half flattery
implied in them, tempted me to join the conversation.

"It was you, not I, proposed ringing the bells," I said.

They all laughed, as if this were a joke.

"Well, t