Already preparations had been made for the sale of the furniture,
which was to take place next day. Everything was to be sold except
the scientific books which had belonged to his father. These had
been packed in a great box until the time when he might place them
in a library of his own, and the doctor kindly offered to keep it
for him until such time should arrive. Frank wrote a long letter
to Ruthven, telling him of his loss, and his reasons for leaving
Deal, and promising to write some day and tell him how he was
getting on in London. This letter he did not intend to post until
the last thing before leaving Deal. Lucy had already gone to her
new home, and Frank felt confident that she would be happy there.
His friend, the doctor, who had tried strongly, but without avail, to
dissuade Frank from going up to London to seek his fortune there,
had promised that if the lad referred any inquiries to him he would
answer for his character.

He went down to the beach the last evening and said goodbye to his
friends among the fishermen, and he walked over in the afternoon
and took his last meal with Farmer Gregson.

"Look ye here, my lad," the farmer said as they parted. "I tell ye,
from what I've heerd, this London be a hard nut to crack. There be
plenty of kernel, no doubt, when you can get at it, but it be hard
work to open the shell. Now, if so be as at any time you run short
of money, just drop me a line, and there's ten pound at your service
whenever you like. Don't you think it's an obligation. Quite the
other way. It would be a real pleasure to me to lend you a helping
hand."