When Hamish erred, it was invariably from
thoughtlessness--from carelessness--never from deliberate intention.
Arthur, of course, turned from the objectionable street, and continued
his straightforward course. They were frequently hindered; the streets
were always crowded at assize time, and acquaintances continually
stopped them. Amongst others, they met Roland Yorke.
"Are you coming round to Cator's, to-night?" he asked of Hamish.
"Not I," returned Hamish, with his usual gay laugh. "I am going to draw
in my expenses, and settle down into a miser."
"Moonshine!" cried Roland.
"Is it moonshine, though? It is just a little bit of serious fact,
Yorke. When lord chancellors turn against us and dash our hopes, we
can't go on as though the exchequer had no bottom to it."
"It will cost you nothing to come to Cator's. He is expecting one or
two fellows, and has laid in a prime lot of Manillas."
"Evening visiting costs a great deal, one way or another," returned
Hamish, "and I intend to drop most of mine for the present. You needn't
stare so, Yorke."
"I am staring at you. Drop evening visiting! Any one, dropping that,
may expect to be in a lunatic asylum in six months."
"What a prospect for me!" laughed Hamish.
"_Will_ you come to Cator's?"
"No, thank you."
"Then you are a muff!" retorted Roland, as he went on.
It was dusk when they reached the cathedral.
"I wonder whether the cloisters are still open!" Arthur exclaimed.
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