CHAPTER XII.
TOM


In the last few chapters I have made but little mention of Tom. The time
was drawing nearer when I was to lose him for ever. Until early in 1876
we lived together in the closest intimacy. We pooled our resources, and
when either ran short of money, which often happened, the common purse,
if it were not empty, was always available. Similar in height and in
figure, our clothes, except our hats, boots and gloves, in each of which
I took a larger size than he, were, when occasion required,
interchangeable. We standardised our wardrobe as far as we could. We
rose together, ate together, retired together, and, except during
business hours, were rarely apart. I being, he considered, the more
prudent in money matters, kept our lodging accounts and paid the bills.
He being more musical, and a greater lover of the drama than I, arranged
our visits to the theatres and concert halls. I was the practical, he
the aesthetical controller of our joint menage. Once I remember--this
occurred before we left Derby--we both fancied ourselves in love with the
same dear enchantress, a certain dark-eyed brunette. Each punctually
paid his court, as opportunity offered, and each, when he could, most
obligingly furthered the suit of the other; and this went on till the
time arrived for Tom's departure to Glasgow, when I was left in
possession of the field. Then I discovered, to my surprise, that I was
not so deeply enamoured as I had imagined; and, curiously enough, Tom on
his part had no sooner settled in Scotland than he made a similar
discovery.