Then, from the black shadows of the Arcade, a woman's form detached
itself, and a hand was laid on Purdy's arm.

"Shout us a drink, old pal!"

Mahony made a quick, repellent movement of the shoulder. But Purdy,
some vagrom fancy quickened in him, either by the voice, which was not
unrefined, or by the stealthiness of the approach, Purdy turned to look.

"Come, come, my boy. We've no time to lose."

Without raising her pleasant voice, the woman levelled a volley of
abuse at Mahony, then muttered a word in Purdy's ear.

"Just half a jiff, Dick," said Purdy. "Or go ahead.--I'll make up on
you."

For a quarter of an hour Mahony aired his heels in front of a
public-house. Then he gave it up, and went on his way. But his pleasure
was damped: the inconsiderateness with which Purdy could shake him off,
always had a disconcerting effect on him. To face the matter squarely:
the friendship between them did not mean as much to Purdy as to him;
the sudden impulse that had made the boy relinquish a promising
clerkship to emigrate in his wake--into this he had read more than it
would hold.-- And, as he picked his muddy steps, Mahony agreed with
himself that the net result, for him, of Purdy's coming to the colony,
had been to saddle him with a new responsibility. It was his lot for
ever to be helping the lad out of tight places. Sometimes it made him
feel unnecessarily bearish. For Purdy had the knack, common to sunny,
improvident natures, of taking everything that was done for him for
granted. His want of delicacy in this respect was distressing. Yet, in
spite of it all, it was hard to bear him a grudge for long together. A
well-meaning young beggar if ever there was one! That very day how
faithfully he had stuck at his side, assisting at dull discussions and
duller purchasings, without once obtruding his own concerns.--And here
Mahony remembered their talk on the ride to town. Purdy had expressed
the wish to settle down and take a wife. A poor friend that would be
who did not back him up in this intention.

As he sidled into one of the front benches of a half-empty hall--the
mesmerist, a corpse-like man in black, already surveyed its thinness
from the platform with an air of pained surprise--Mahony decided that
Purdy should have his chance. The heavy rains of the day, and the
consequent probable flooding of the Ponds and the Marsh, would serve as
an excuse for a change of route. He would go and have a look at Purdy's
sweethe