England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century
The success with which Warburton kept his secret, merely proved how
solitary most men are amid the crowds of London, and how easy it is for
a Londoner to disappear from among his acquaintances whilst continuing
to live openly amid the city's roar. No one of those who cared enough
about him to learn that he had fallen on ill-luck harboured the
slightest suspicion of what he was doing; he simply dropped out of
sight, except for the two or three who, in a real sense of the word,
could be called his friends. The Pomfrets, whom he went to see at very
long intervals, supposed him to have some sort of office employment,
and saw nothing in his demeanour to make them anxious about him. As for
Norbert Franks, why, he was very busy, and came not oftener than once a
month to his friend's obscure lodgings; he asked no intrusive
questions, and, like the Pomfrets, could only suppose that Warburton
had found a clerkship somewhere. They were not quite on the old terms,
for each had gone through a crisis of life, and was not altogether the
same as before; but their mutual liking subsisted. Obliged to retrench
his hospitality, Warburton never seemed altogether at his ease when
Franks was in his room; nor could he overcome what seemed to him the
shame of having asked payment of a debt from a needy friend,
notwithstanding the fact, loudly declared by Franks himself, that
nothing could have been more beneficial to the debtor's moral health.
So Will listened rather than talked, and was sometimes too obviously in
no mood for any sort of converse.
Sherwood he had not seen since the disastrous optimist's flight into
Wales; nor had there come any remittance from him since the cheque for
a hundred pounds. Two or three times, however, Godfrey had
written--thoroughly characteristic letters--warm, sanguine,
self-reproachful. From Wales he had crossed over to Ireland, where he
was working at a scheme for making a fortune out of Irish eggs and
poultry. In what the "work" consisted, was not clear, for he had no
money, beyond a small loan from his relative which enabled him to live;
but he sent a sheet of foolscap covered with computations whereby his
project was proved to be thoroughly practical and vastly lucrative.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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