CHAPTER 8




Warburton often returned from Whitechapel to Chelsea on foot,
enjoying the long walk after his day in the office. This evening, a
heavily clouded sky and sobbing wind told that rain was not far off;
nevertheless, wishing to think hard, which he could never do so well
as when walking at a brisk pace, he set off in the familiar
direction--a straight cut across South London.

In Lower Kennington Lane he stopped, as his habit was, at a little
stationer's shop, over which was the name Potts. During his last
year in the West Indies, he had befriended an English lad whose
health was suffering from the climate, and eventually had paid his
passage to the United States, whither the young adventurer wished to
go in pursuit of his fortune. Not long after he received a letter of
thanks from the lad's father, and, on coming to London, he sought
out Mr. Potts, whose gratitude and its quaint expression had pleased
him. The acquaintance continued; whenever Warburton passed the shop
he stepped in and made purchases--generally of things he did not
in the least want. Potts had all the characteristics which were wont
to interest Will, and touch his sympathies; he was poor, weak of
body, humble-spirited, and of an honest, simple mind. Nothing more
natural and cordial than Will's bearing as he entered and held out
his hand to the shopkeeper. How was business? Any news lately from
Jack? Jack, it seemed, was doing pretty well at Pittsburgh; would
Mr. Warburton care to read a long letter that had arrived from him a
week ago? To his satisfaction, Will found that the letter had