But he soon put the dumb-bells down, and began to prepare himself for his work.

If this thing was to be done, it might as well be done at once.

He looked out of his window, and saw that the streets were in a mess of slush.

White snow was becoming black mud, as it will do in London; and the violence of frost was giving way to the horrors of thaw.

All would be soft and comparatively pleasant in Northamptonshire on the following morning, and if everything went right he would breakfast at the Willingford Bull.