he would have a roof to sleep under. But this could not last; and
what was he to do? Perhaps he had been wrong in not writing at once
to Ruthven and his schoolfellows. He even felt sure he had been
wrong; but it would be ten times as hard to write now. He would
rather starve than do this. How was he to earn his living? He
would, he determined, at any rate try for a few days to procure a
place as an errand boy. If that failed, he would sell his clothes,
and get a rough working suit. He was sure that he should have more
chance of obtaining work in such a dress than in his present attire.

Musing thus, Frank at last dropped off to sleep. When he woke he
found himself alone, his companion having left without disturbing
him. From the noises around him of trains coming in and out, Frank
judged that the hour was late.

"I have done one wise thing," he said, "anyhow, and as far as I
can see it's the only one, in leaving my watch with the doctor to
keep. He pointed out that I might have it stolen if I carried it,
and that there was no use in keeping it shut up in a box. Very
possibly it might be stolen by the dishonesty of a servant. That's
safe anyhow, and it is my only worldly possession, except the books,
and I would rather go into the workhouse than part with either of
them."

Rising, he made his way into the station, where he found the porter
at his usual work.

"I would not wake you," the man said; "you were sleeping so quiet,
and I knew 'twas no use your getting up early. I shall go out and
settle for a room at dinner time. If you will come here at six