He
had paid his landlady, he had silver and copper in his pocket, he had the
chance of earning five pounds during the coming week--and he expected a
cheque for his two stories by every post. And if John Purdie made him the
loan he had asked for, he would be able to devote a whole month to
finishing his novel--and then, perhaps, there would be fame and riches.
The dismal November evening disappeared in a dream of hope.
But by the end of the week hope was dropping to zero again with Lauriston.
No letters had arrived--either from John Purdie or the editor. On the
Sunday morning he was again face to face with the last half-crown. He laid
out his money very cautiously that day, but when he had paid for a frugal
dinner at a cheap coffee-shop, he had only a shilling left. He wandered
into Kensington Gardens that Sunday afternoon, wondering what he had best
do next. And as he stood by the railings of the ornamental water, watching
the water-fowls' doings, somebody bade him good-day, and he turned to find
the pretty girl of the pawnshop standing at his side and smiling shyly at
him.
CHAPTER THREE
THE DEAD MAN
Lauriston was thinking about Zillah at the very moment in which she spoke
to him: the memory of her dark eyes and the friendly smile that she had
given him as he left the pawnshop had come as a relief in the midst of his
speculations as to his immediate future.
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