'Now, Jack,' said Tom on Saturday morning, 'we'll have a really good day
to-morrow. You won't want to paint, will you?'
'No,' I said hurriedly, 'I don't paint on Sundays.'
'All right,' he said, 'it's much the best plan; you come fresher to it
on Monday. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." That old
couplet must have been made for you, Jack. Well, then, let's see, where
shall we go? Suppose we make a long day of it, and go to Scarborough. We
must see Scarborough before we go home, must we not? We will go by the
early train, and come back as late as we can. The worst of it is there
are not so many trains to choose from on Sunday, but I daresay we shall
find one that will suit'; and, without saying another word, he went off
to my lodging for a _Bradshaw_.
What was I to do? A few weeks ago a Sunday spent in pleasure would have
been just what I should have chosen, and many a time had Tom and I been
up the river on Sunday together. There was hardly a place within easy
distance up the Thames which we had not visited in this way.
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