CHAPTER XXXI.
SHOWS HOW TOBIAS GOT TO LONDON.
We will now take a peep at Tobias. On—on—on, like the wind, went the poor belated boy from the vicinity of that frightful prison-house at Peckham. Terror was behind him—terror with dishevelled locks was upon his right hand, and terror shrieking in his ear was upon his left. On—on, he flew like a whirlwind. Alas, poor Tobias, will your young intellects yet stand these trials? We shall see! Through the deep mud of the Surrey roads—past pedestrians—past horsemen, and past coaches flew poor Tobias, on—on. He had but one thought, and that was to place miles and miles of space between him and Mr. Fogg’s establishment. The perspiration poured down his face—his knees shook under him—his heart beat as though in some wild pulsation it would burst, but
