He had asked the editor
who had taken two short stories from him to let him have a cheque for
them, and in his inexperience had expected to see it arrive by return of
post. Also he had put his pride in his pocket, and had written a long
letter to his old schoolmate, John Purdie, in far-away Scotland,
explaining his present circumstances, and asking him, for old times' sake,
to lend him some money until he had finished and sold a novel, which, he
was sure, would turn out to be a small gold-mine. John Purdie, he knew,
was now a wealthy young man--successor to his father in a fine business;
Lauriston felt no doubt that he would respond. And meantime, till the
expected letters came, he had money--and when you have lived for four days
on two shillings, fourteen shillings seems a small fortune. Certainly,
within the last half-hour, life had taken on a roseate tinge--all due to a
visit to the pawnshop.
Hurrying back along Praed Street, Lauriston's steps were suddenly
arrested. He found himself unconsciously hurrying by an old-fashioned
eating-house, from whence came an appetizing odour of cooking food. He
remembered then that he had eaten nothing for four-and-twenty hours.
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