Thirty shillings, twelve for his
"third floor back," and the rest for clothes and books and simple
amusements. What a whirl he had been in, this past fortnight!
He pulled at his chin, shook his head and turned away. No, he simply
could not do it. What! suffer himself to be laughed at behind his
back? Impossible, a thousand times no! At the first news stand he
bought two or three morning papers, and continued on to his lodgings.
He must leave England at once, but the question was--How?
It was a comfortable room, as "third floor backs" go. He read the
"want" advertisements carefully, and at length paused at a paragraph
which seemed to suit his fancy perfectly. "Cabin stewards
wanted--White Star Line--New York and Liverpool." He cut out the
clipping, folded it and stored it away. Then he proceeded to pack up
his belongings, not a very laborious affair.
Manuscripts. He riffled the pages ruefully. Sonnets and chant-royals
and epics, fine and lofty in spirit; so fine indeed that they easily
sifted through every editorial office in London.
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