That was life!  That was what he longed after!  He cared little for the gay resorts of town, save as an interlude.  The life of the streets soon palled upon him.  But there was no attraction in the thought of home and the peaceful existence there.  He must see more of the world, he must enjoy more of life, before he could ever dream of going back to Gablehurst to live.

But what could he do?  He fell asleep pondering upon this problem, and when he awoke it was the first thought in his head.

But, as is so often the case when one has gone to sleep pondering upon a problem, the solution had come to him during the hours of unconsciousness, and he awoke with a new inspiration.

“Why not offer for the secret service?”

Tom pondered this question all the while that he was dressing.  There were difficulties in the way, of course.  The Duke of Marlborough—­the only man to whom he could apply with any hope of success—­was out of the country; Tom knew not where he would be found just now, though that could easily be ascertained.  He himself was ignorant of foreign tongues, although he had picked up a little understanding of French, and could speak a few simple phrases.  But he had plenty of confidence in his strength and courage.  He felt that his energies demanded now a wider field of exercise; and if he could but get his chance, he had full assurance that he would make a brilliant name for himself in some way or another.

This idea brought back all his high spirits.  He saw that it would be necessary once more to consult Lord Claud, who would probably be able to give him excellent advice.  But after that, Tom told himself, he would have no more dealings with that mysterious personage, but would throw himself into the service of the great Duke with such zealous goodwill as should lead him to fame and fortune at last.

He had a feeling, also, that he should be happier out of London and out of the country just at this juncture.  Lord Claud’s careless indifference to consequences had had its effect upon him; but he was not quite comfortable yet, and the feeling of being watched and hunted for was an exceedingly unpleasant one.

He felt a distinct qualm of uneasiness that very morning as he and his host sat at breakfast together.

“I am going to fetch Rosamund,” said the perruquier, as the meal drew to its close; “but if you will take my advice, good Tom, you will not sally forth into the streets today.”

“And wherefore not?” asked Tom.

“I misdoubt me that you are watched for here, Tom.  It may be my fancy, but several times during these past days I have seen ill-looking fellows prowling nigh at hand—­one or another of those four bullies, of whose discomfiture Rosy has told me, and young Harry also.  Once the fellow they call Slippery Seal came boldly to the shop asking news of you from the apprentice; but the lad had the wit to reply that he thought you had ceased to lodge here.  Nevertheless I have seen one or another of them skulking about since then, and it may be they will suspect that you may choose today for a visit to us.”