In fact, I had almost come to forget that my friend Smith had a home anywhere but in Beadle Square.
He glanced rapidly over the short scrawl, and as he did so his face turned pale and a quick exclamation escaped his lips.
"Anything wrong, old man ?" I asked.
"Yes," said he, looking up with a face full of trouble.

"Here, you can see it," he added, putting the letter into my hand.
It was a very short letter, and ran thus:-- "Dear Mister Johnny,--Mary is very very ill.

Could you come and seen her?
Do come--from Jane Shield." "Mary is my sister," said Jack, nearly breaking down.

"I must go, whether Barnacle lets me or no." Our walk to the office that morning was quicker than usual, and more silent.

Poor Jack was in no mood for conversation, and I fancied it would be kinder not to worry him.