of you," he shouted to a porter, "look after these
things, will you, and get us a cab. I tell you what, Tom, you've got to
come up home with me first, and we can have dinner there; then I'll come
on to your den, and we can pack our knapsacks and sleep, and then start
by the five train to-morrow morning."

Thus he bustled, and thus he brought back the old times on poor Tom
Drift. Without the heart to speak, he helped his friend to collect his
luggage, and when they were fairly started in the cab he even smiled
feebly in reply to the boy's sallies.

"Tom, you rascal, didn't I tell you you weren't to knock yourself up,
eh? Why can't you do what you're told? Why, I declare you're as thin
as a hurdle, and as black under the eyes as if you had been fighting
with a collier. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Look at me; do
all I can I can't get up an interesting pallor like you, and I've
fretted enough over those conic sections (comic sections Jim always
calls them). Never mind! Wait till I get you down to the sea."

And so he rattled on, while Tom leaned back in his seat and winced at
every word.

When they reached Mr Newcome's of course there was a scene of eager
welcome on one side and boisterous glee on the other. Tom, as he looked
on, sighed, as well he might, and wished he could have been spared the
torture of this day.

Charlie tore himself away from his mother, to drag his friend into the
house.

"Look at this object!" he cried; "did you ever see such a caution to
students? If we do nothing else in Kent we shall scare the crows, eh,
Tom?"

"Charlie!" exclaimed his mother; "you have come home quite rude! I hope
you'll excuse him, Mr Drift."

Mr Drift said nothing, and looked and felt extremely miserable.

"He looks really ill, poor fellow!" said Mrs Newcome to her husband.
"I wonder they allow the students to overwork themselves in that way."

And then they sat down to dinner--a meal as distasteful to Tom as it was
joyful to Charlie and his parents.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

HOW TOM DRIFT PARTED WITH HIS BEST FRIEND.

Charlie could not fail to discover before long that there was something
wrong with my master.

Never before had he known him so silent, so spiritless, so mysterious.
No effort could rouse him into cheerfulness or conversation, and for the
first time for three years Charlie felt that Tom was sorry to see him.
Naturally, he put it all down to the results of overwork. Tom in his