The Argosy — page 273: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

254 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. But the fact was that Philip had had what seemed to him nothing less than a flash of inspiration. He had suddenly remembered that there was such a person as Freddy Bootle in existence. Why not go to him in his trouble? Freddy was rich, and as kind-hearted as he was rich; he was not the sort of man to allow a friend to sink for want of a helping hand: in any case Philip felt sure of his sympathy and advice. Eating his soup with some degree of relish, he paid, and drove off in a hansom to Mr. Bootle’s, rooms in Bond Street. Philip felt desperate. Especially at the thought of having to reveal his folly to his mother, and her consequent distress. That seemed worse than the loss of the money itself. Never had his conduct, his almost criminal weakness, presented itself to him in so odious a light as now. Had the money been absolutely his own, had it been bequeathed to him by will or come to him by any mode other than that by which it had come, he could have borne to lose it with comparative equanimity. But when he called to mind the fact that the sum which it had taken him so short a time to dissipate was the accumulation of long years of patient pinching and hoarding on the part of his mother, that it represented many a self-denied luxury, many a harmless pleasure ruthlessly sacrificed, and that all this had been done to ensure the advancement in life of his worthless self, he was almost ready to think that the sooner the world were rid of him, the better for everyone concerned. How could he ever bear to face again that mother and her thoughtful love >—how witness her pained face when he should declare his folly? dust she betold? If only Freddy Bootle would give him a help in this strait, what a different man he would be in time to come! It was a break in the bitterness of his thoughts when the cab drew up at Mr. Bootle’s lodgings. Philip was not kept long in suspense. An elderly man answered his knock and ring. The elderly man was sorry to say that Mr. Bootle was in Rome at present, and was not expected back till after Christmas. ‘Was there ever so unlucky a wretch as 1?” murmured Philip to himself as he turned, more sick at heart than ever, from the door. His one and only hope had failed him. The short winter day was drawing to a close, and the lamps were being lighted as he turned into Piccadilly. . He wandered about aimlessly for some time, into this street and that, stopping now and again to stare into a shop window, or at the unending procession of vehicles in the busier streets, and then wandering on again without seeming to see anything. All at once he was startled into the most vivid life. Coming towards him, but yet a little distance away, and with several of the hurrying crowd between them, he saw Captain Lennox. ‘The light from a shop-window shone full on his pale, strongly-marked features, and there could be no mistake. Philip sprang forward eagerly, and ‘the sudden movement seemed to have the effect of attracting the Gomilichbooks:.¢o