"That would still leave me two pounds a week, and of that I could send home at least twenty-five shillings." Horace mused.
"It seems to me rather queer to expect you to put the money in," said he.
"It may be queer, but it's their rule, Mr Medlock says." "And whatever does the Corporation do?
It's precious hazy to my mind." "I can't tell you anything about it now," said Reginald; "the concern is only just started, and I have promised to treat all Mr Medlock told me as confidential.

But I'm quite satisfied in my mind, and you may be too, Horace." Horace did not feel encouraged to pursue the discussion after this, and went off alone to work in low spirits, and feeling unusually dismal.
"By the way," said Reginald, as he started, "bring young Gedge home with you.

I meant to see him last night, but forgot." Reginald spent the day uneasily for himself and his mother in trying to feel absolutely satisfied with the decision he had come to, and in speculating on his future work.

Towards afternoon, weary of being all day in the house, he went out for a stroll.

It was a beautiful day, and the prospect of a walk in the park by daylight was a tempting one.
As he was passing down Piccadilly, he became aware of some one approaching him whom he knew, and whom, in another moment, he recognised as Blandford.
There was some excuse certainly for not taking in his old schoolfellow's identity all at once, for the boy he had known at Wilderham only a few months ago had suddenly blossomed forth into a man, and had exchanged the airy bearing of a school-boy for the half-languid swagger of a man about town.
"Hullo, Bland, old man!" exclaimed Reginald, lighting up jubilantly at the sight of an old familiar face, "how are you?
Who would have thought of seeing you ?" Blandford was surprised too, and for a moment critically surveyed the boy in front of him before he replied.
"Ah, Cruden, that you?
I shouldn't have known you." Reginald's face fell.