One thing this apprenticeship to life had taught him—­that he was not made for subordination.  “I don’t care how poor I am,” thus he wrote to his mother, “but I will be my own master.  To be at other people’s orders brings out all the bad in me; it makes me sullen and bearish, and all sorts of ugly things, which I certainly am not when my true self has play.  So, you see, I must find some independent way of life.  If I had to live by carrying round a Punch and Judy show, I should vastly prefer it to making a large income as somebody’s servant.”

Meanwhile, unfortunately for a young man of this temperament, his prospects had become less assured.  There was perturbation in the sugar world; income from St. Kitts and from Whitechapel had sensibly diminished, and it seemed but too likely, would continue to do so.  For some half-year Will lived in London, “looking about him,” then he announced that Godfrey Sherwood, at present sole representative of Sherwood Brothers, had offered him an active partnership in Little Ailie Street, and that he had accepted it.  He entered upon this position without zeal, but six months’ investigation had taught him that to earn money without surrendering his independence was no very easy thing; he probably might wait a long time before an opening would present itself more attractive than this at the sugar-refinery.

Godfrey Sherwood was a schoolfellow of his, but some two or three years older; much good feeling existed between them, their tastes and tempers having just that difference in similarity which is the surest bond of friendship.  Judged by his talk, Sherwood was all vigour, energy, fire; his personal habits, on the other hand, inclined to tranquillity and ease—­a great reader, he loved the literature of romance and adventure, knew by heart authors such as Malory and Froissart, had on his shelves all the books of travel and adventure he could procure.  As a boy he seemed destined to any life save that of humdrum commerce, of which he spoke with contempt and abhorrence; and there was no reason why he should not have gratified his desire of seeing the world, of leading what he called “the life of a man.”  Yet here he was, sitting each day in a counting-house in Whitechapel, with nothing behind him but a few rambles on the continent, and certainly with no immediate intention of going far afield.  His father’s death left him in sole command of the business, and his reasonable course would have been to retire from it as soon as possible, for foreign competition was making itself felt in the English trade, and many firms more solidly established than that in Little Ailie Street had either come to grief or withdrawn from the struggle.  But Godfrey’s inertia kept him in the familiar routine, with day-to-day postponement of practical decision.  When Warburton came back from St. Kitts, and their friendship was renewed, Godfrey’s talk gave full play to his imaginative energies.  Yes, yes, the refining business was at a bad pass