there was more wretched by far than it had
been in the Hap House kitchen. That his father had fled was no more
than he expected. Each had known that the other would now play some
separate secret game. But not the less did he complain loudly when he
heard that "his guvnor" had not paid the bill, and had left neither
money nor message for him. How Fanny had scorned and upbraided him,
and ordered Tom to turn him out of the house "neck and crop;" how he
had squared at Tom, and ultimately had been turned out of the house
"neck and crop,"--whatever that may mean--by Fanny's father, needs
not here to be particularly narrated. With much suffering and many
privations--such as foxes in their solitary wanderings so often
know--he did find his way to London; and did, moreover, by means of
such wiles as foxes have, find out something as to his "guvnor's"
whereabouts, and some secrets also as to his "guvnor" which his
"guvnor" would fain have kept to himself had it been possible. And
then, also, he again found for himself a sort of home--or hole
rather--in his old original gorse covert of London; somewhere among
the Jews we may surmise, from the name of the row from which he
dated; and here, setting to work once more with his usual cunning
industry,--for your fox is very industrious,--he once more attempted
to build up a slender fortune by means of the "Fitsjerral" family.
The grand days in which he could look for the hand of the fair
Emmeline were all gone by; but still the property had been too good
not to leave something for which he might grasp. Properly worked, by
himself alone, as he said to himself, it might still yield him some
comfortable returns, especially as he should be able to throw over
that "confouned old guvnor of his."

He remained at home the whole of the day after his letter was
written, indeed for the next three days, thinking that Mr.
Prendergast would come to him, or send for him; but Mr. Prendergast
did neither the one nor the other. Mr. Prendergast took his advice
instead, and putting himself into a Hansom cab, had himself driven to
"Centbotollfs intheheast."

Spinny Lane, St. Botolph's in the East, when at last it was found,
was not exactly the sort of place that Mr. Prendergast had expected.
It must be known that he did not allow the cabman to drive him up to
the very door indicated, nor even to the lane itself; but contented
himself with leaving the cab at St. Botolph's church. The huntsman in
looking a