John Westlock, who did nothing by halves, if he could help it, had provided beds for his two guests in the hotel; and after a very happy evening, they retired. Mr. Pinch was sitting on the side of his bed with his cravat and shoes off, ruminating on the manifold good qualities of his old friend, when he was interrupted by a knock at his chamber door, and the voice of John himself.
“You’re not asleep yet, are you, Tom?”
“Bless you, no! not I. I was thinking of you,” replied Tom, opening the door. “Come in.”
“I am not going to detail you,” said John; “but I have forgotten all the evening a little commission I took upon myself; and I am afraid I may forget it again, if I fail to discharge it at once. You know a Mr. Tigg, Tom, I believe?”
“Tigg!” cried Tom. “Tigg! The gentleman who borrowed some money of me?”
“Exactly,” said John Westlock. “He begged me to present his compliments, and to return it with many thanks. Here it is. I suppose it’s a good one, but he is rather a doubtful kind of customer, Tom.”
Mr. Pinch received the little piece of gold with a face whose brightness might have shamed the metal; and said he had no fear about that. He was glad, he added, to find Mr. Tigg so prompt and honourable in his dealings; very glad.
“Why, to tell you the truth, Tom,” replied his friend, “he is not always so. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll avoid him as much as you can, in the event of your encountering him again. And by no means, Tom—pray bear this in mind, for I am very serious—by no means lend him money any more.”
“Aye, aye!” said Tom, with his eyes wide open.
“He is very far from being a reputable acquaintance,” returned young Westlock; “and the more you let him know you think so, the better for you, Tom.”
“I say, John,” quoth Mr. Pinch, as his countenance fell, and he shook his head in a dejected manner. “I hope you are not getting into bad company.”
“No, no,” he replied laughing. “Don’t be uneasy on that score.”
“Oh, but I am uneasy,” said Tom Pinch; “I can’t help it, when I hear you talking in that way. If Mr. Tigg is what you describe him to be, you have no business to know him, John. You may laugh, but I don’t consider it by any means a laughing matter, I assure you.”
“No, no,” returned his friend, composing his features. “Quite right. It is not, certainly.”
“You know, John,” said Mr. Pinch, “your very good nature and kindness of heart make you thoughtless, and you can’t be too careful on such a point as this. Upon my word, if I thought you were falling among bad companions, I should be quite wretched, for I know how difficult you would find it to shake them off. I would much rather have lost this money, John, than I would have had it back again on such terms.”
“I tell you, my dear good old fellow,” cried his friend, shaking him to and fro with both hands, and smiling at him with a cheerful, open countenance, that would have carried conviction to a mind much more suspicious than Tom’s; “I tell you there is no danger.”
“Well!” cried Tom, “I am glad to hear it; I am overjoyed to hear it. I am sure there is not, when you say so in that manner. You won’t take it ill, John, that I said what I did just now!”
“Ill!” said the other, giving his hand a hearty squeeze; “why what do you think I am made of? Mr. Tigg and I are not on such an intimate footing that you need be at all uneasy, I give you my solemn assurance of that, Tom. You are quite comfortable now?”
“Quite,” said Tom.
“Then once more, good night!”
“Good night!” cried Tom; “and such pleasant dreams to you as should attend the sleep of the best fellow in the world!”
“—Except Pecksniff,” said his friend, stopping at the door for a moment, and looking gaily back.
“Except Pecksniff,” answered Tom, with great gravity; “of course.”
And thus they parted for the night; John Westlock full of lightheartedness and good humour, and poor Tom Pinch quite satisfied; though still, as he turned over on his side in bed, he muttered to himself, “I really do wish, for all that, though, that he wasn’t acquainted with Mr. Tigg.”
They breakfasted together very early next morning, for the two young men desired to get back again in good season; and John Westlock was to return to London by the coach that day. As he had some hours to spare, he bore them company for three or four miles on their walk, and only parted from them at last in sheer necessity. The parting was an unusually hearty one, not only as between him and Tom Pinch, but on the side of Martin also, who had found in the old pupil a very different sort of person from the milksop he had prepared himself to expect.
Young Westlock stopped upon a rising ground, when he had gone a little distance, and looked back. They were walking at a brisk pace, and Tom appeared to be talking earnestly. Martin had taken off his greatcoat, the wind being now behind them, and carried it upon his arm.
