Fleet Street, seven o'clock in the morning, was the word. My Tutor, the
Rev. Edward P----, to whom I hereby present my best compliments, had a
parting interview with me: gave me my little account for my governor:
the remaining part of the coach-hire; five shillings for my own
expenses; and some five-and-twenty shillings on an old account which had
been overpaid, and was to be restored to my family.

Away I ran and paid Hawker his three-and-six. Ouf! what a weight it
was off my mind! (He was a Norfolk boy, and used to go home from Mrs.
Nelson's "Bell Inn," Aldgate--but that is not to the point.) The next
morning, of course, we were an hour before the time. I and another
boy shared a hackney-coach; two-and-six: porter for putting luggage on
coach, threepence. I had no more money of my own left. Rasherwell,
my companion, went into the "Bolt-in-Tun" coffee-room, and had a good
breakfast. I couldn't; because, though I had five-and-twenty shillings
of my parents' money, I had none of my own, you see.

I certainly intended to go without breakfast, and still remember how
strongly I had that resolution in my mind. But there was that hour to
wait. A beautiful August morning--I am very hungry. There is Rasherwell
"tucking" away in the coffee-room. I pace the street, as sadly almost as
if I had been coming to school, not going thence. I turn into a court by
mere chance--I vow it was by mere chance--and there I see a coffee-shop
with a placard in the window, Coffee, Twopence. Round of buttered
toast, Twopence. And here am I, hungry, penniless, with five-and-twenty
shillings of my parents' money in my pocket.

What would you have done? You see I had had my money, and spent it in
that pencil-case affair. The five-and-twenty shillings were a trust--by
me to be handed over.