“A friend in need is a friend indeed.”—Old Proverb.
I have often thought that the biggest bit of goodluck (and I was lucky), which befell me on my outsetinto the world, was that the man I sat next to in therailway carriage was not a rogue. I travelled thirdclass to Liverpool for more than one reason—it wasthe cheapest way, besides which I did not wish tomeet any family friends—and the man I speak ofwas a third-class passenger, and he went to Liverpooltoo.
At the time I was puzzled to think how he cameto guess that I was running away, that I had moneywith me, and that I had never been to Liverpoolbefore; but I can well imagine now how my ignoranceand anxiety must have betrayed themselves at everystation I mistook for the end of my journey, and withevery question which I put, as I flattered myself, inthe careless tones of common conversation, I reallywonder I had not thought beforehand about myclothes, which fitted very badly on the character Iassumed, and the company I chose; but it was notperhaps to be expected that I should know then, asI know now, how conspicuous all over me must havebeen the absence of those outward signs of hardshipand poverty, which they who know poverty andhardship know so well.
I wish I had known them, because then I shouldhave given the man some of my money when weparted, instead of feeling too delicate to do so. Ican remember his face too well not to know now howmuch he must have needed it, and how heroic a virtuehonesty must have been in him.
It did not seem to strike him as at all strange orunnatural that a lad of my age should be seeking hisown fortune, but I feel sure that he thought it wasmisconduct on my part which had made me runaway from home. I had no grievance to describewhich he could recognize as grievous enough todrive me out into the world. However, I felt veryglad that he saw no impossibility in my earning myown livelihood, or even anything very unusual in mysituation.
“I suppose lots of young fellows run away fromhome and go to sea from a place like this?” said I,when we had reached Liverpool.
“And there’s plenty more goes that has no homesto run from,” replied he sententiously.
Prefacing each fresh counsel with the formula,“You’ll excuse me,” he gave me some excellentadvice as we threaded the greasy streets, and jostledthe disreputable-looking population of the lower partof the town. General counsels as to my conduct,and the desirableness of turning over a new leaf for“young chaps” who had been wild and got intoscrapes at home. And particular counsels whichwere invaluable to me, as to changing my dress, howto hide my money, what to turn my hand to with thequickest chance of bread-winning in strange places,and how to keep my own affairs to myself amongstrange people.
It was in the greasiest street, and among themost disreputable-looking people, that we found the“slop-shop” where, by my friend’s orders, I was to“rig out” in clothes befitting my new line of life.He went in fir