esperate
fellow.
After roaming up and down for hours, looking at some scores of lodgings,
they began to find it rather fatiguing, especially as they saw none
which were at all adapted to their purpose. At length, however, in a
singular little old-fashioned house, up a blind street, they discovered
two small bedrooms and a triangular parlour, which promised to suit
them well enough. Their desiring to take possession immediately was a
suspicious circumstance, but even this was surmounted by the payment
of their first week's rent, and a reference to John Westlock, Esquire,
Furnival's Inn, High Holborn.
Ah! It was a goodly sight, when this important point was settled,
to behold Tom and his sister trotting round to the baker's, and the
butcher's, and the grocer's, with a kind of dreadful delight in the
unaccustomed cares of housekeeping; taking secret counsel together as
they gave their small orders, and distracted by the least suggestion
on the part of the shopkeeper! When they got back to the triangular
parlour, and Tom's sister, bustling to and fro, busy about a thousand
pleasant nothings, stopped every now and then to give old Tom a kiss or
smile upon him, Tom rubbed his hands as if all Islington were his.
It was late in the afternoon now, though, and high time for Tom to
keep his appointment. So, after agreeing with his sister that
in consideration of not having dined, they would venture on the
extravagance of chops for supper at nine, he walked out again to narrate
these marvellous occurrences to John.
'I am quite a family man all at once,' thought Tom. 'If I can only get
something to do, how comfortable Ruth and I may be! Ah, that if!
But it's of no use to despond. I can but do that, when I have tried
everything and failed; and even then it won't serve me much. Upon my
word,' thought Tom, quickening his pace, 'I don't know what John will
think has become of me. He'll begin to be afraid I have strayed into one
of those streets where the countrymen are murdered; and that I have been
made meat pies of, or some such horrible thing.'
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
TOM PINCH, GOING ASTRAY, FINDS THAT HE IS NOT THE ONLY PERSON IN THAT
PREDICAMENT. HE RETALIATES UPON A FALLEN FOE
Tom's evil genius did not lead him into the dens of any of those
preparers of cannibalic pastry, who are represented in many standard
country legends as doing a lively retail business in the Metropolis;
nor did it mark him out as the prey
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