on getting round him for some reason or
another, you may take your oath of that. Now my time's up; I
shall go and pick up Blake. I should think I had better not take
Jack to call in Eaton Square, though he'd give you a good
character if he could speak; wouldn't you Jack?"

Jack wagged his tail, and descended from the sofa.

"Does Blake live up here? What is he doing?"

"Burning the candle at both ends, and in the middle, as usual.
Yes, he's living near his club. He writes political articles,
devilish well I hear, too, and is reading for the bar; beside
which he is getting into society, and going out whenever he can,
and fretting his soul out that he isn't prime minister, or
something of the kind. He won't last long at the pace he's
going."

"I'm very sorry to hear it. But you'll come here again, Drysdale;
or let me come and see you? I shall be very anxious to hear what
has happened."

"Here's my pasteboard; I shall be in town for another fortnight.
Drop in when you like."

And so Drysdale and Jack went off, leaving Tom in a chaotic state
of mind. All his old hopes were roused again as he thought over
Drysdale's narrative. He could no longer sit still; so he rushed
out, and walked up and down the river-side walk, in the Temple
gardens, where a fine breeze blowing, at a pace which astonished
the gate-keepers and the nursery-maids and children, who were
taking the air in that favorite spot. Once or twice he returned
to chambers, and at last found East reposing after his excursion
to the Docks.

East's quick eye saw at once that something had happened; and he
had very soon heard the whole story; upon which he deliberated
for some minutes, and rejoiced Tom's heart by saying: "Ah! all up
with New Zealand, I see. I shall be introduced after all before
we start. Come along; I must stand you a dinner on the strength
of the good news, and we'll drink her health."

Tom called twice that evening at Drysdale's lodgings, but he was
out. The next morning he called again. Drysdale had gone to
Hampton Court races, and had left no message. He left a note for
him, but got no answer. It was trying work. Another day passed
without any word from Drysdale, who seemed never to be at home;
and no answer to either of his letters. On the third morning he
heard from his father. It was just the answer which he had
expected--as kind a letter as could be written. Mr. Brown had
suspected how matters stood at one time, but had given up th