He makes a clean sweep of
all untidy accumulations, puts all his drawers in order, and leaves
no note or scrap of paper undestroyed, save such memoranda as bear
directly on his studies. This done, he turns to his wardrobe,
selects a few articles of ordinary wear - among them, change of
stout shoes and socks for walking - and packs these in a knapsack.
This knapsack is new, and he bought it in the High Street
yesterday. He also purchased, at the same time and at the same
place, a heavy walking-stick; strong in the handle for the grip of
the hand, and iron-shod. He tries this, swings it, poises it, and
lays it by, with the knapsack, on a window-seat. By this time his
arrangements are complete.
He dresses for going out, and is in the act of going - indeed has
left his room, and has met the Minor Canon on the staircase, coming
out of his bedroom upon the same story - when he turns back again
for his walking-stick, thinking he will carry it now. Mr.
Crisparkle, who has paused on the staircase, sees it in his hand on
his immediately reappearing, takes it from him, and asks him with a
smile how he chooses a stick?
'Really I don't know that I understand the subject,' he answers.
'I chose it for its weight.'
'Much too heavy, Neville; MUCH too heavy.'
'To rest upon in a long walk, sir?'
'Rest upon?' repeats Mr. Crisparkle, throwing himself into
pedestrian form. 'You don't rest upon it; you merely balance with
it.'
'I shall know better, with practice, sir.
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