CHAPTER NINE.
SAMUEL SHUCKLEFORD COMES OF AGE.
Reginald, meanwhile, blissfully unconscious of the arrangements which were being made for him, spent as comfortable an evening as he could in the conviction that to-morrow would witness his dismissal from the _Rocket_, and see him a waif on the great ocean of London life.

To his mother, and even to young Gedge, he said nothing of his misgivings, but to Horace, as the two lay awake that night, he made a clean breast of all.
"You'll call me a fool, I suppose," he said; "but how could I help it ?" "A fool! Why, Reg, I know I should have done the same.

But for all that, it _is_ unlucky." "It is.

Even eighteen shillings a week is better than nothing," said Reginald, with a groan.

"Poor mother was saying only yesterday we were just paying for our keep, and nothing more.