I 'm not quite sure what we said on the occasion, but, though I know we both agreed that he was the most ungrateful reprobate that the confiding arms of Friendship had ever embraced, I yet think we entertained a very strong, though unexpressed, idea, that we should only be too glad to follow his example. But if my surprise and indignation were great then, they were still more greatly excited the next morning.
CHAPTER II.
THE CHRISTMAS DINNER.
I had lain rather late, having no horrid bell to rouse me up for chapel, so it was after ten o'clock in the morning of Christmas-day before I went to Collins's rooms to breakfast, for he and I always boiled one kettle between us. There was the breakfast laid out, certainly, but only for one. And, to increase my wonderment, on diving into his bedroom, where I heard somebody moving, whom should I see but old Mrs. Tester, the bed-maker, busily employed in cramming linen, clothes, and a heterogeneous mass of articles into the portmanteaus that were gathered around her. The fearful truth at once flashed upon my mind! Collins was gone!
"Tell—me tell me the worst!" I gasped out, and old Mrs. Tester handed me the following note:—
