My new friend, who had learnt from what I told him that I was penniless,
now proposed that I should take share of a bottle of ale with him.
Certain recollections of another friend, namely, Mr. Lancaster, made me
hesitate, indeed positively decline, this invitation at first; but on my
new acquaintance pressing his kindness, and the melancholy truth
occurring to me that I had now no pocket-book to lose, I yielded, and
accompanied him to a tavern at the foot of the High Street. I may add
that I was the more easily induced to this, that I was in a dreadful
state of exhaustion, having tasted nothing in the shape of either food
or drink for nearly thirty hours.
Having entered the tavern, a bottle of ale and a plate of biscuit
quickly stood before us. My entertainer filled up the glasses; when,
having presented me with one, he raised his own to his lips, wished me
"better luck," and tossed it off. I quickly followed his example, and
never before or since drank anything with so keen a relish. After we had
drunk a second glass each--
"Well, my lad," said my new acquaintance, "what do you propose doing? Do
you intend returning to the plough-tail, eh? I should hardly think
you'll venture home again after such a cursed mishap."
I at once acknowledged that I did not intend returning home again; but
as to what I should do, I did not know.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166