Mahony spent the rest of the day in getting together a fresh load of
goods. For, whether he lost or won his suit, the store had to be
restocked without delay.
That evening towards eight o'clock the two men turned out of the Lowther
Arcade. The night was cold, dark and wet; and they had wound comforters
round their bare throats. They were on their way to the Mechanics' Hall,
to hear a lecture on Mesmerism. Mahony had looked forward to this all
through the sorry job of choosing soaps and candles. The subject piqued
his curiosity. It was the one drop of mental stimulant he could hope to
extract from his visit. The theatre was out of the question: if none of
the actors happened to be drunk, a fair proportion of the audience was
sure to be.
Part of his pleasure this evening was due to Purdy having agreed to
accompany him. It was always a matter of regret to Mahony that, outside
the hobnob of daily life, he and his friend had so few interests in
common; that Purdy should rest content with the coarse diversions of the
ordinary digger.
Then, from the black shadows of the Arcade, a woman's form detached
itself, and a hand was laid on Purdy's arm.
"Shout us a drink, old pal!"
Mahony made a quick, repellent movement of the shoulder. But Purdy, some
vagrom fancy quickened in him, either by the voice, which was not
unrefined, or by the stealthiness of the approach, Purdy turned to look.
"Come, come, my boy. We've no time to lose.
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