Having the immediate prospect of the private Drawing Academy vividly
and menacingly present before his eyes, Zack thought of the future for
once in his life, and astonished the ministering vassals of the oyster
shop (with all of whom he was on terms of intimate friendship), by
enjoying himself with exemplary moderation at the festive board. When
he had done supper, and was on his way to bed at the tobacconist's
across the road, it is actually not too much to say that he was sober
and subdued enough to have borne inspection by the President and
Council of the Royal Academy, as a model student of the Fine Arts.
It was rather a surprise to him not to hear his friend snoring when he
let himself into the passage, but his surprise rose to blank
astonishment when he entered the front room, and saw the employment on
which his fellow lodger was engaged.
Mat was sitting by the table, with his rifle laid across his knees, and
was scouring the barrel bright with a piece of sand paper. By his side
was an unsnuffed candle, an empty bottle, and a tumbler with a little
raw brandy left in the bottom of it. His face, when he looked up,
showed that he had been drinking hard. There was a stare in his eyes
that was at once fierce and vacant, and a hard, fixed, unnatural smile
on his lips which Zack did not at all like to see.
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