“Poor old chap!” said he.

Then he went through his pockets and laid the contents on the narrow mantel-piece.  These were a gold watch and chain, a cornelian heart fixed to the free end of the chain, a silver cigarette case, a couple of keys, one sovereign, four shillings, three pennies and two half-pennies.  A trunk already fastened and filled with books and clothes, and the portmanteau on the bed, contained the rest of his possessions.  In current coin his whole fortune amounted to one pound, four shillings and fourpence.  Luckily he had paid his landlady.  One pound four and fourpence to begin again at three-and-twenty the battle of life on which he had entered at thirteen.  He laughed because he was young and strong, and knew that such reverses were foreordained chapters in the lives of those born to a glorious destiny.  They were also preordained chapters in the lives of those born to failure, like poor old Wilmer.  He was conscious of the wide difference between Wilmer and himself.  Good Heavens!  To face the world at forty-three, with wife and children and threepence-halfpenny, and the once attendant hope replaced by black-vestured doom!  Poor Wilmer!  He felt certain that Wilmer had not been able to pay his landlady, and he felt that he had been mean in keeping back the other sovereign.

The sudden loss, however, of three-fourths of his fortune brought him up against practical considerations.  The more he had in his pocket when he arrived in London, the longer could he subsist.  That was important, because theatrical engagements are not picked up in a hurry.  Now; the railway fare would swallow a goodly number of shillings.  Obviously it was advisable to save the railway fare; and the only way to do this was to walk to London.  His young blood thrilled at the notion.  It was romantic.  It was also inspiring of health and joy.  He had been rather run down lately, and, fearful of the catastrophe which had in fact occurred, he had lived this last week very sparingly—–­chiefly on herrings and tea.  A hundred and fifty miles’ tramp along the summer roads, with bread and cheese and an occasional glass of beer to keep him going, would be just the thing to set him up again.  He looked in the glass.  Yes, his face was a bit pinched and his eyes were rather too bright.  A glorious tramp to London, thirty or forty miles a day in the blazing and beautiful sunshine, was exactly what he needed.

Joyously he unpacked his trunk and took from it a Norfolk jacket suit and stockings, changed, and, leaving his luggage with his landlady, who was to obey further instructions as to its disposal, marched buoyantly away through the sun-filled streets of the little town, stick in hand, gripsack on shoulder, and the unquenchable fire of youth and hope in his heart.

CHAPTER VIII