w the worst at
last, boys."

"Which is," said Reginald, bitterly, "we are worth among us the
magnificent sum of sixteen pounds per annum. Quite princely!"

"Reg, dear," said his mother, "let us be thankful that we have anything,
and still more that we may start life owing nothing to any one."

"Start life!" exclaimed Reginald; "I wish we could end it with--"

"Oh, hush, hush, my precious boy!" exclaimed the widow; "you will break
my heart if you talk like that! Think how many there are to whom this
little sum would seem a fortune. Why, it may keep a roof over our
heads, at any rate, or help you into situations."

"Or bury us!" groaned Reginald.

The mother looked at her eldest son, half in pity, half in reproach, and
then burst into tears.

Reginald sprang to her side in an instant.

"What a beast I am!" he exclaimed. "Oh, mother, do forgive me! I
really didn't think what I was saying."

"No, dear Reggie, I know you didn't," said Mrs Cruden, recovering
herself with a desperate effort. "You mustn't mind me, I--I scarcely--
know--I--"

It was no use trying. The poor mother broke down completely, and on
that evening it was impossible to talk more about the future.

Next morning, however, all three were in a calmer mood, and Horace said
at breakfast, "We can't do any good here, mother. Hadn't we better go
to London?"

"I think so; and Parker here knows of a small furnished lodging in Dull
Street, which she says is cheap. We might try there to begin with. Eh,
Reg?"

Reginald winced, and then replied, "Oh, certainly; the sooner we get
down to our right level the better."

That evening the three Crudens arrived in London.

CHAPTER THREE.

NUMBER SIX, DULL STREET.

Probably no London street ever rejoiced in a more expressive name than
Dull Street. It was not a specially dirty street, or a specially
disreputable street, or a specially dark street. The neighbourhood
might a hundred years ago have been considered "genteel," and the houses
even fashionable, and some audacious antiquarians went so far as to
assert that the street took its name not from its general appearance at
all, but from a worthy London alderman, who in the reign of George the
First had owned most of the neighbouring property.

Be that as it may, Dull Street was--and for all I know may still be--one
of the dullest streets in London. A universal seediness pervaded its
houses from roof to cellar; nothing was as it should be