CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
HOW TOM DRIFT, STILL GOING DOWNHILL, MET MY OLD MASTER.
When Tom reached his lodgings that night he found a jubilant letter from Charlie awaiting him.
"Just fancy," he said, "it's only three weeks more, old man, and then to Jericho with books, and test-tubes, and anatomy! I'll drag you out of your study by the scruff of your neck, see if I don't; I'll clap a knapsack on your back, and haul you by sheer force down into Kent.
There you shall snuff the ozone, and hold your hat on your head with both hands on the cliff top.

I'll hound you through old castles, and worry you up hills.

If I catch so much as a leaflet on chemistry in your hands, I'll tear it up and send it flying after the sea-gulls.

In short, I shouldn't like to say what I won't do, I'm so wild at the prospect of a week with you.

Of course, the dear old people growl at me for leaving them in the lurch; but they are glad for us to get the blow; indeed, my pater insists on paying the piper, which is handsome of him.
I expect I shall get a day in London on my way, either going or returning; and if you can put me up at your diggings for the night, we'll have a jolly evening, and you can show me all your haunts." Tom gasped as he got so far; and well he might.
"I'll tell you all the news when I come.