He soon appreciated our difficulty; but he could suggest no relief.

For he was as poor as either of us, and had as few friends.
My uncle's letter did not come that day or the next.
Meanwhile I knew no peace.

Hawkesbury's manner was more suave and condescending than ever.
To the rest of my fellow-clerks during those two days I was the most cross-grained and obnoxious comrade conceivable.

My only relief seemed to be in quarrelling with somebody, and as they all laid themselves out to bait and tease me one way or another I had a pretty lively time of it.
My chief hope was (and Jack shared in it), that if my uncle had been determined not to help me at all he would probably have written by return.

The delay might mean he was at least considering the matter.
At last, on the third day of my waiting, the postman knocked at our door.