CHAPTER ELEVEN.
HOW TOM DRIFT MADE ONE START IN LONDON, AND PREPARED TO MAKE ANOTHER.
The two months that followed my departure from Randlebury weremelancholy and tedious.
It was hard for me, after the boisterous surroundings of a publicschool, to settle down to the heavy monotony of a dull lodging in a backstreet of London; and it was harder still, after being the pride andfavourite of a boy like Charlie Newcome, to find myself the property ofTom Drift.
Not that Tom used me badly at first. He wound me up regularly, and forthe sake of his absent friend honoured me with a considerable share ofhis affection.
Indeed, for the first week or so he was quite gushing, scarcely lettingme out of his sight, and sometimes even dropping a tear over me. And I,remembering Charlie's last words, "Be good to Tom Drift," felt glad tobe able to remind my new master of old times, and keep fresh the hopesand resolutions with which Charlie had done so much to inspire him. ButTom Drift, I could not help feeling, was not a safe man.
There was something lacking in him, and that something was ballast. Noone, perhaps, ever had a greater theoretical desire to be all that wasright and good, but that was not in itself enough.
In quiet, easy times, and with a guiding friend to help him, Tom Driftdid well enough; but left to himself amid currents and storms he couldhardly fail to come to grief, as we shall presently see.
For the first two months he stuck hard to his work he was regular atlectures, and attentive when there; he spent his spare time well instudy bearing upon the profession for which he was preparing; he wroteand heard once a week from Charlie; he kept clear of the more rackety ofhis fellow-students; he spent his Sundays at Mr Newcome's house, and hetook plenty of healthy exercise both for body and mind.
With many examples about him of industry and success he determined tomake the most of his time as a student, and spoke of the life and sphereof a country doctor, for which he was training, with the enthusiasm ofone whose heart is in his work.
"The more I think of it," he once wrote to his mother, who was residingabroad for her health, "the more I take to it. A good doctor is thebest-liked man in his parish. Everybody comes to him in their trouble.He gets into the best society, and yet makes himself loved by thepoorest. In four or five years at least I ought to get through mycourse here, and then there is nothing to prevent my settling down atonce. By that time I hope you'll be well enough to come and keep housefor me, for all country doctors, you know, are bachelors," and so on.
All this was very well, and, as one of Tom's friends, I rejoiced to seehim thus setting himself in earnest to the duties of his calling. But Irejoiced with trembling. Although he kept clear, for the most part, ofhis fellow-students, choosing his friends charily and shyly, I could yetsee that he had no objection to contemplate from a distance the humoursand festivities of his more high-spirited companions. He was not one ofthose impulsive fellows who shut their eyes and take a header into themidst of a new good-fellowship, only to discover too late their error,and repent their rashness at leisure.
No, Tom had his eyes open. He saw the evil as well as the good, and,alas for him, having seen it, he looked still!
The students of Saint Elizabeth's Hospital were not on the whole a badset. On Tom's arrival in London, however, he had the firm impression inhis mind that all medical students were bad characters, and this foolishnotion did him much harm. If two or three of them were to go off for aspree, his imagination would at once picture them in scenes and placessuch as no respectable man would like to frequent, whereas, if the truthwere known, these misjudged young men had committed no greater crimethan that of taking a boat up the river, or a drive in a dog-cart. If agroup of them should be seen by him laughing and talking, heinstinctively concluded their topic must be ribaldry, whereas they wouldperhaps be only joking at the expense of some eccentric professor, orelse chaffing one of their own number. And so it happened that Tomfailed in time to distinguish between the really bad and such as he onlyimagined to be bad; and from his habit of looking on at them and theirdoings from a studied distance, their presence began gradually andinsensibly to exercise a very considerable influence over his mind.
"After all," he would sometimes say to himself, "these fellows get on.They pass their exams, they pay their bills, they gain the confidence oftheir professors, and at the same time they manage to enjoy themselves.Perhaps I am a fool to take so much pains about the first three of thesethings, and to deny myself the fourth. Perhaps, after all, thesefellows are not so bad as I have fancied, or perhaps I am prudish."
And then the silly fellow, having once inclined to admit there wassomething to be said for medical students, and having before consideredall bad alike, became tolerant all round, more particularly of thereally bad set, who appeared to him to enjoy themselves the most.
As his companions became more attractive to him, his work became lessinteresting.
"Why should I grind and plod here," he said, "while every one else isenjoying himself? If young Charlie were here, I'm pretty sure _he'd_ bein for some of their sprees, and laugh at me for wearing my eyes out asI'm doing."
And then he leaned back in his chair and took to wondering what the sixfellows who started that afternoon for Richmond were doing. Smashingthe windows of the "Star and Garter," perhaps, or fighting the bargeeson the river, or capturing a four-in-hand drag, or disporting themselvesin some such genial and truly English manner. And as Tom conjured upthe picture he half envied them their sport.
So he gradually became restless and discontented. The days were wearyand the evenings intolerably dull. The visits to Mr Newcome were ofcourse pleasant enough, but it was slow being cooped up an entire Sundaywith two old people. On the whole, life in London was becoming stupid.
One of the first symptoms of his altered frame of mind was theoccasional neglect of his regular letter to Charlie. That ever-faithfulyoung man wrote as punctually as clockwork. Every Thursday morning aletter lay on Tom's plate at breakfast-time, addressed in the well-knownhand, and bearing the Randlebury post-mark. And jolly lively lettersthey were.
I remembered one of them well. It came after two weeks' omission onTom's part, and ran thus:--
"Dear Tom,
"A pretty fellow you are to correspond with! Here am I, piping to you with all my might, but I can't get you to dance. I know what you'll tell me, you old humbug--`awfully hard grind'--`exam coming on'--`lectures day and night,' and rubbish like that. All very well, but look here, Thomas, don't fancy that your diligence in cutting off legs and arms can be an excuse for cutting yours truly in this heartless manner. Not having a letter of yours to answer, I don't know how I shall scrape up material enough for a yarn. There was a big football-match on Saturday, and Jim and I were in it. You should have seen me turning somersaults, and butting my head into the fellows' stomachs. Jim and I got shoulder to shoulder once in the game. You know old Howe? Well, he was running with the ball to wards our goal, and Jim and I were in front of him.
I was nearest, and charged, and over I went like a ninepin; then Jim was on him, and over _he_ went too. However, I was up again in time to jump on Howe's back; but he shook me off on to the ground on my nose. Then Jim, having recovered, took _his_ fling, and a rare fling it was, for Howe dodged him just as he was at the top of a kangaroo leap, and left him looking very foolish in a sitting posture on the ground. However, in dodging, Howe had allowed me time to extricate my nose from the earth and make my third attempt. This time was more successful, for I got my hands round the ball; but I shouldn't have kept them there if Jim hadn't taken the opportunity of executing another astounding buck-jump, which landed him safe on his man's shoulders, where he stuck like a scared cat on the back of a somnambulist. So between us we brought our quarry to earth and gained no end of applause. Wasn't it prime?
That's about all the news here, except that Willoughby is going to Trinity at Midsummer, and that Salter is laid up fr
om the effects of an explosion of crackers in his trousers pockets.
"I've taken a turn at reading hard, which may astonish you. The doctor told me, if I really thought of some day arraying my manly form in a scarlet jacket and wearing a sword, I ought to put it on with my mathematics, which are not my _forte_, you know. So now I'm drawing circles and triangles at every available moment, and my logarithm tables are thumbed almost to death. Don't imagine _you're_ the only burner of midnight oil.
"I had a letter from home to-day. They were saying they hadn't seen you lately. I hope you'll go up when you can; it would be a charity to the dear old folk; besides, they are very fond of you--queer taste! How's the ticker? Give it a cuff from me for not reminding you to write the last two weeks.
The repeater goes on all serene. It has already gained some notoriety, as I was publicly requested, before the whole Fifth, the other day, to abstain from evoking its musical talents in the course of the Latin prose lesson. Now I must shut up. Seriously, old man, don't overwork yourself, and don't bother to write unless you've time; but you know how welcome your letters are to
"Your affectionate chum,
"C.N."
Of course Tom sat down and answered this letter at once, muchreproaching himself for his past neglect.
With the vision of Charlie before his eyes, and with the sound of hisvoice again in his ears, all his old resolutions and impulses returnedthat morning. He worked hard, and flung the trashy novel, over which hehad been wasting his time the day before, into the fire; he went off tolectures with something like his old eagerness, and discharged hisduties in the wards with interest and thoroughness; he refused to allowhis mind to be distracted by the proceedings of his fellow-students, andhe resolved to spend that very evening at Mr Newcome's.
Tom Drift would probably have laughed at the idea that this suddenchange was due entirely to Charlie's letter. To him it seemed like aspontaneous reassertion of its natural self by his mind, and a matterfor such self-congratulation and satisfaction, that it at once coveredthe multitude of past omissions.
Indeed, Tom felt very virtuous as he returned that afternoon to hislodgings; and so felt no need to look away from self to Him who alonecan keep us from falling.
He read Charlie's letter over again, and smiled at the idea of _his_getting up mathematics in his spare time.
"He's not the sort of fellow to stick to work of that sort," said Tom tohimself, secretly comparing his own remarkable powers of applicationwith those of his Randlebury friend.
Then he sat down, and more than ever admiring and wondering at his owngreediness for hard work, read till it was time to start for MrNewcome's.
It was a good long way, but being a fine evening, Tom determined towalk. He felt that after his work the fresh air would do him good, andbesides, as he was in plenty of time, he could indulge himself in thatvery cheap and harmless luxury, an inspection of the shop windows as hewent along. He therefore selected a longer and more crowded route thanperhaps he need have done, and certainly, as far as the shops went, wasrewarded for his pains.
However, Tom seemed to me to have as much interest in watching thepeople who passed to and fro as in the shops. He amused himself bywondering where this one was going and what that one was doing. Withhis usual tendency, he chose to imagine they were all bent on mischiefor folly, and because they happened to be in a certain street, andbecause in that street he had frequently heard some of his fellow-students speak of a low theatre, he jumped to the conclusion that everyone he saw was bound for this place. Something impelled him to gohimself and take an exterior survey of this mysterious and much-spoken-of building. He found it; and, as he expected, he found peoplethronging in, though not in the numbers he had anticipated. He stoodand watched them for some time, and wondered what they were going tosee.
He went up and read the playbill. He read the name of the play, thetitles of its acts, and the names of its actors. He wondered if the manwho just then drove up in a hansom was one of the heroes of the piece,or whether he was one of the performers in the farce announced to followthe play. Still the people streamed in. There was no one he knew, andno one knew him.
"Strange," thought he, "there are so many places in London where onecould go and no one ever know it."
He wished he could see what the place was like inside; it must surely becrowded by this time.
Thus he dawdled for some time; then with a sigh and an effort he torehimself away and walked quickly on to the Newcomes' house. Theirwelcome was most cordial.
"We were afraid," said Mr Newcome, "you had quite deserted us. Comein, it is pleasant to see you. We had a letter from Charlie only to-day, telling us to see you did not overwork yourself, and to make youcome up here whether you would or not. Of course we could hardly followsuch instructions literally."
Tom spent a pleasant evening with the two good people.
He always had found Mr Newcome a clever and very entertaining man--aman whom one feels all the better for talking to, and who naturally setsevery guest in his house at ease. They talked much about Charlie andhis prospects. They even consulted Tom as to the wisdom of yielding tothe boy's desire for a military career, and Tom strongly supported theidea.
Then Tom's own prospects were canvassed and highly approved of by bothMr, and Mrs Newcome.
Tom already pictured himself settled down in his country practice,enjoying himself, doing good to others, and laying by a comfortablecompetency for future years. On the whole, he felt, as he quitted thehospitable roof of his genial friends, that he had rarely spent a morepleasant or profitable evening.
People were thronging out of the theatre as he returned, and he couldnot resist the desire to stand and watch them; for a little. Hewondered what they had seen, and whether those he saw had waited for the"farce," or was that still going on?--and he wondered if any people everwent into a theatre at so late an hour as eleven.
Ah, Tom! he did not go in that night, or the next, but he was gettinghimself ready for the first step.
Reader, do not mistake Tom's weakness and folly. He was not trying topersuade himself this place was a good one for him to enter; he was notthoughtlessly going in to discover too late that he had better havestayed out. No, Tom--rightly or wrongly--had made up his own mind thatthis theatre was a bad place, and _yet_ he had a desire to enter in!