without first acquainting his mother; but this was an unusual event,
and he was so anxious to hear about Dr. Seaward, and talk over old
school days, the temptation was irresistible.

Harry Ashton called a cab, much to George's surprise, into which they
jumped; and were not very long in getting into the Clapham road, where
they alighted before a large, nice looking house.

"This is the crib," said Ashton, as he ushered George into a large
parlour, handsomely furnished with everything contributing to comfort
and amusement. "Now, make yourself at home. Here are some cigars
(producing a box of Havannahs), and here (opening a cellaret) is bottled
beer and wine; which shall it be?"

"As to smoking, that is a bad habit, or an art (which you like) I have
never yet practised," said George; "but I will join you in a glass of
wine just to toast 'Dr. Seaward and our absent friends in the school.'"

Then the two school friends fell into conversation. Many and many a
happy recollection came into their minds, and one long yarn was but the
preface to another.

"Come, George, fill up your glass," said Ashton repeatedly; but George
declined.

Two or three hours slipped rapidly away, and then George rose to leave.
"Not a bit of it, George," said Ashton; "we must have some supper and
discuss present times yet. I have not heard particulars of what you are
doing, or how you are getting on, and you only know I'm here, without
any of the history about it."