ll time to recover the bag with a taxicab, but in that case it was not
much use his going too. So they said goodbye at the Swiss Cottage, and
the adventures of Pocket Upton began in earnest.

Old Miss Harbottle, his mother's great friend, would have none of him
either! He stopped on the way to Baker Street to make sure. The garden
gate was one that only opened by a catch and a cable manipulated indoors.
The downstairs lights were out. The gate opened at last, a light shone
through the front door, and the door opened a few inches on the chain.
Pocket confronted a crevice of quilted dressing-gown and grey curls; but
his mother's friend's mastiff was making night so hideous within, and
trying so hard to get at his mother's son, that it was some time before he
could exchange an intelligible word with the brute's mistress. It was not
a satisfactory interchange then, for Miss Harbottle at first flatly
refused to believe that this was Tony Upton, whom she had not seen since
his preparatory schooldays, and she seemed inclined to doubt it to the
end. Upton or no Upton, she could not take him in. She had no sheets
aired, no fire to air them at, and the cook had just left. Miss
Harbottle's cook had always just left, except when she was just leaving.
The rejected visitor got an instant's fun out of the reflection as he
returned to his palpitating taxicab.

His position was now quite serious. He had not many shillings in his
purse. The only thing to do was to put up at Shaw's Hotel, Trafalgar
Square; that was where his people always stayed, where every servant was
supposed to know them all. He pushed on at once through the cool June
night, and paid away three of his last shillings for the drive. Alas! not
a bed to be had at Shaw's; it was the worst time of the year, they told
him, and he supposed they meant the best. He also supposed there had been
changes in the staff, for nobody seemed to know his name as well as he had
been led to expect at home.

They were quite nice about it. They pointed out the big hotels opposite,
and recommended more than one of the little ones in Craven Street. But
the big hotels were all full to overflowing; and at the only little one he
tried the boy lost his temper like a man on being requested to deposit six
shillings before proceeding to his room. Pocket had not got it to
deposit, and the galling reflection caused him to construe the demand as a
deliberate reflection upon his outward