"So I should say, by the build of you. I shouldn't be surprised if you know more when you come back again--if you ever do come back again, my bantam. Shall I tell you what generally happens to boys like you who go up to London without knowing much about it, and without any friends there? They generally"--Mr. Bankes, as it were, punctuated these words, laying an emphasis on each--"go under, and they stop under, and there's an end of them." He paused; if for a reply, in vain, for there was none from Bailey. "Do you think London's the Land of Golden Dreams? Well, it is; that's exactly what it is--it's the Land of Golden Dreams, and the dreams are short ones, and when you wake from them you're up to your neck in filth, and you wish that you were dead. For they're nothing else but dreams, and the reality is dirt, and shame, and want, and misery, and death." Again he paused; and again there was no reply from Bertie. "How much money have you got?" "One and fivepence." "Is that all?" "Yes." "Well! well! I say nothing, but I think a lot. And do you mean to tell me that you're off to London with the sum of one shilling and fivepence in your pocket?" "You said you ran away with ninepence-halfpenny." "Well, that's a score! And so I did, but circumstances alter cases, and that was the foolishest thing that ever I did." "You said it was the most sensible thing you'd ever done." "You've a remarkable memory--a remarkable memory; and if you keep it up you'll improve as you go on. If I said that, I was a liar--I was the biggest liar that ever lived. I wonder if you could go through the sort of thing that I have done?" Mr. Bankes' eyes were again fixed on Bertie, as though he would take his measure. "Most men would have been dead a dozen times. I don't know that I haven't been; I know I've often wished that I could have died just once--that I could have been wiped clean out. God save you, young one, from such a life as mine. Pray God to pull you up in time." Another pause and then-- "What's your plans?" "I don't know." "I shouldn't think you did by the look of you. And how long do you suppose you're going to live, on the sum of one and fivepence?" "I don't know." "Well, I should say that with economy you could manage to live two hours--perhaps a little more, perhaps a little less; that's to say, an hour before you have your dinner and an hour after. Some could manage to stretch it out to tea, but you're not one. And when the money's gone how do you suppose you're going to get some more?" "I don't know." "Now don't you think that I'd better turn Mary Anne right round, and take you back again? You've had a pleasant little drive, you know, and the morning air's refreshing." "I won't go, and you promised that you wouldn't." "You'll wish you had about this time to-morrow; and perhaps a little before. However, a promise is a promise, so on we go. Know where you are?"