“No, no, my father,” he said, with a look that was almost imperious. “I would have you return to the shop. This day I must walk alone.” “As you will, Achilles,” said his father, turning upon his heel. An instant later, however, the white-haired man had turned again to watch the frail figure cross the street and enter a hairdresser’s shop. XIV At eleven o’clock the boy set out for No. 24 Trafalgar Square. During the small hours of that morning his scheme of action had been planned to the most minute detail, but so weak is the human character even in the highest moments of its resolve, that on the very threshold of this enterprise, which the boy knew to be the foremost of his life, he departed in an almost wanton manner from this programme upon which he had spent all the powers of his mind. His visit to the hairdresser; the triumphant effrontery with which he had asked for his locks to be shorn; the calm fortitude with which he had submitted to that searching and public operation; the self-contained manner in which he had given the hairdresser street-person a large piece of silver for his great kindness and courtesy, all these achievements had conspired to imbue him with a valour, which at the very outset of his venture was destined to lead him into an unwarrantable, an almost foolhardy course. At the corner of Milton Street, at its juncture with an extremely busy thoroughfare which he would be compelled to traverse, there was a recognized halting place for those wonderful vehicles called omnibuses. At this corner it was their custom to discharge and to accept passengers. As he came to the corner an omnibus, painted a bright yellow, chanced to be standing there. At the sight of it, inflamed with a valour that was almost insolent and without pausing to reflect upon what his act involved, he walked, almost with vainglory, straight into the ’bus. Never before had he dared to enter one alone; such a deed was far from being contemplated by that programme to which he was pledged to adhere; but he had cast the die before he had reflected upon his recklessness, and like an authentic hero in an entrancing tale he was being drawn by two stout, but comely horses to No. 24 Trafalgar Square. When the conductor came round for the fares he said to him in a voice that was a little timid in spite of its boldness, “W-will y-you p-please stop the omnibus at No. 24 Trafalgar Square.” “Don’t go to Trafalgar Square,” said the conductor curtly. “Charing Cross Station.” This was dreadfully unexpected. “W-would y-you m-mind asking the h-horses to stop, if y-you p-p-please,” he stammered. “Can’t yer jump off?” said the conductor sharply. “Oh n-n-no,” said the boy. “S-s-stop where you are then,” said the conductor. A girl seated opposite began to titter audibly. The other passengers were content with furtive smiles.