But under the pressure of such necessity ideas died within him.
And all through the night, and even when the little window, curtained with
a bit of muslin hardly bigger than a pocket-handkerchief, had grown white
with dawn, he sat gazing at the sheet of paper, his brain on fire, unable
to think. Laying his pen down in despair, he thought of the thousands who
would come to his aid if they only knew--if they only knew! And soon after
he heard life beginning again in the little brick street. He felt that his
brain was giving way, that if he did not find change, whatever it was, he
must surely run raving mad. He had had enough of England, and would leave
it for America, Australia--anywhere. He wanted change. The present was
unendurable. How would he get to America? Perhaps a clerkship on board one
of the great steamships might be obtained.
The human animal in extreme misery becomes self-reliant, and Hubert hardly
thought of making application to his uncle. The last time he had applied
for help his letter had remained unanswered, and he now felt that he must
make his own living or die. And, quite indifferent as to what might befall
him, he walked next day to the Victoria Docks. He did not know where or how
to apply for work, and he tired himself in fruitless endeavour.
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