Leonard Chadwick wrote briefly and
hurriedly, but in good-natured terms; he was really very sorry indeed that
he could do so little; the fact was, just now he stood on anything but good
terms with his father, who kept him abominably short of cash. He enclosed
five pounds, and, if possible, would soon send more.
'Don't suppose I have forgotten what I owe you. As soon as ever I find
myself in an independent position you shall have substantial proof of my
enduring gratitude. Keep me informed of your address.'
Humplebee made no second application, and Leonard Chadwick did not again
break silence.
The years flowed on. At five-and-twenty Humplebee toiled in the same
office, but he could congratulate himself on a certain progress; by dogged
resolve he had acquired something like efficiency in the duties of a
commercial clerk, and the salary he now earned allowed him to contribute to
the support of his mother. More or less reconciled to the day's labour, he
had resumed in leisure hours his favourite study; a free library supplied
him with useful books, and whenever it was possible he went his way into
the fields, searching, collecting, observing. But his life had another
interest, which threatened rivalry to this intellectual pursuit.
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