and my aunt. He had a way of talking about the advantages of
application to study in early life, and the duties of youth towards
those placed in authority over it, that won for him much esteem in
grown-up circles. The spirit of the Bar had descended upon Skegson
at a very early period of his career.

My aunt, indeed, was so much pleased with him that she gave him two
shillings towards his own expenses ("sprung half a dollar" was how he
explained the transaction when we were outside), and commended me to
his especial care.

Skegson was very silent during the journey. An idea was evidently
maturing in his mind. At the Angel he stopped and said: "Look here,
I'll tell you what we'll do. Don't let's go and see that rot. Let's
go to a Music Hall."

I gasped for breath. I had heard of Music Halls. A stout lady had
denounced them across our dinner table on one occasion--fixing the
while a steely eye upon her husband, who sat opposite and seemed
uncomfortable--as low, horrid places, where people smoked and drank,
and wore short skirts, and had added an opinion that they ought to be
put down by the police--whether the skirts or the halls she did not
explain. I also recollected that our charwoman, whose son had lately
left London for a protracted stay in Devonshire, had, in conversation
with my mother, dated his downfall from the day when he first visited
one of these places; and likewise that Mrs. Philcox's nursemaid, upon
her confessing that she had spent an evening at one with her young
man, had been called a shameless hussy, and summarily dismissed as
being no longer a fit associate for the baby.