CHAPTER III

WHICH CONCERNS ITSELF WITH A HAY-CART AND A BELLIGERENT WAGGONER It was upon a certain August morning that George Bellew shook the dust of London from his feet, and, leaving Chance, or Destiny, to direct him, followed a haphazard course, careless alike of how, or when, or where, sighing as often, and as heavily as he considered his heart-broken condition required--which was very often and very heavily--yet heeding for all that, the glory of the sun, and the stir and bustle of the streets about him. Thus it was that…