Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood.
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