Sighing heavily, Raikes opened the letter, in simple obedience to the wishes of his friend; for he would have preferred to stand contemplating his own state of hopeless stagnation.  The sceptical expression he put on when he had read the letter through must not deceive us.  John Raikes had dreamed of a beneficent eccentric old gentleman for many years:  one against whom, haply, he had bumped in a crowded thoroughfare, and had with cordial politeness begged pardon of; had then picked up his walking-stick; restored it, venturing a witty remark; retired, accidentally dropping his card-case; subsequently, to his astonishment and gratification, receiving a pregnant missive from that old gentleman’s lawyer.  Or it so happened that Mr. Raikes met the old gentleman at a tavern, and, by the exercise of a signal dexterity, relieved him from a bone in his throat, and reluctantly imparted his address on issuing from the said tavern.  Or perhaps it was a lonely highway where the old gentleman walked, and John Raikes had his name in the papers for a deed of heroism, nor was man ungrateful.  Since he had eaten up his uncle, this old gentleman of his dreams walked in town and country-only, and alas!  Mr. Raikes could never encounter him in the flesh.  The muscles of his face, therefore, are no index to the real feelings of the youth when he had thoroughly mastered the contents of the letter, and reflected that the dream of his luck—­his angelic old gentleman—­had gone and wantonly bestowed himself upon Evan Harrington, instead of the expectant and far worthier John Raikes.  Worthier inasmuch as he gave him credence for existing long ere he knew of him and beheld him manifest.

Raikes retreated to the vacant parlour of the Green Dragon, and there Evan found him staring at the unfolded letter, his head between his cramped fists, with a contraction of his mouth.  Evan was troubled by what he had seen up-stairs, and did not speak till Jack looked up and said, ‘Oh, there you are.’

‘Well, what do you think, Jack?’

‘Yes—­it’s all right,’ Raikes rejoined in most matter-of-course tone, and then he stepped to the window, and puffed a very deep breath indeed, and glanced from the straight line of the street to the heavens, with whom, injured as he was, he felt more at home now that he knew them capable of miracles.

‘Is it a bad joke played upon me?’ said Evan.

Raikes upset a chair.  ’It’s quite childish.  You’re made a gentleman for life, and you ask if it’s a joke played upon you!  It’s maddening!  There—­there goes my hat!’

With a vehement kick, Mr. Raikes despatched his ancient head-gear to the other end of the room, saying that he must have some wine, and would; and disdainful was his look at Evan, when the latter attempted to reason him into economy.  He ordered the wine; drank a glass, which coloured a new mood in him; and affecting a practical manner, said: