isation supervised by Father
O'Malley. I, a friendless, bare-legged orphan had done this, because I
desired to do it. And now I was a recognised and respectable unit in a
free community, earning and paying my way with the best. (I was
pleasantly conscious of my blue serge suit, the satin tie, and the
multi-coloured silk handkerchief.) I was possessed of Capital--more
than twenty pounds; quite a substantial little sum in excess of twenty
pounds, even without the interest shortly to be added thereto.
Finally, that very evening, had I not been addressed as 'Mister
Freydon,' I, the erstwhile bare-footed 'inmate' of St. Peter's? There
was nothing of bathos, nothing in the least ludicrous, to me in this
last reflection.

'It's nothing, of course,' I told myself, with proud deprecation; 'and
he's only a shop assistant. But there it is. It does show something
after all. And, besides, he is a member of the School of Arts
Committee!'

The 'he' in this case was, of course, the person who had shown
discernment enough to address me as 'Mister Freydon.' And, deprecate
as I might, the thing had given me a thrill of deep and real
satisfaction. Merely recalling the sound of it added to the exaltation
of my mood, and to my obsession by the wonder, the romance of the
various transitions of my life.

The hazards of life, the wonder of it all--this it was that filled my
mind. How would Ted be struck by it? I thought. And there and then I
composed in my mind the letter which should accompany my return of the
pound he had given me when I could find an address to which it could
be sent. There should be no flinching here, no blinking the exact
truth. I may have been an insufferable young prig and snob. Very
likely I was. As I recall it that letter, composed while I gazed
across the valley at the evening star, was informed by a sort of easy
condescension and friendly patronage. Grateful, yes, but with a faint
hint, too, that Ted had been rather fortunate, a little honoured
perhaps in having enjoyed the privilege of assisting, however
slightly, in the launch of my career. At one time I had gladly
regarded it as a present. That, it seemed, was a blunder of my remote
infancy. Honest Ted's pound was a loan, of course, and like any other
honourable man I should naturally repay the loan!

Musing in this wise I turned away from the evening star, and walked
very slowly past the dairy and the wash-house to my own little room.
Now the odd thing was