CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
HOW MY FRIEND SMITH AND I CAUGHT A YOUNG TARTAR.
The novelty of our life in London soon began to wear off.

For the first week or so I thought I never should grow weary of the wonderful streets and shops and crowds of people.

And the work at the office, while it was fresh, appeared--especially when enlivened by the pranks of my fellow-clerks--more of a game than downright earnest.

My eight shillings a week, too, seemed a princely allowance to begin with, and even the lodging-house in Beadle Square was tolerable.
But after a month or so a fellow gets wonderfully toned down in his notions.

I soon began to pine inwardly for an occasional escape from the murky city to the fresh air of the country.