With Clive in India | Page 4

persons also bound for London, the journey to which was, in those days,
regarded as an arduous undertaking.
As soon as the Yarmouth Belle issued from the mouth of the river, she
began to pitch heavily; and Charlie, who from frequently going out
with his father in the revenue cutter, was a good sailor, busied himself

in doing his best for his afflicted fellow passengers. Towards evening
the wind got up, and shifting ahead, the captain dropped anchor off
Lowestoft. The next morning was finer, and the Yarmouth Belle
continued her way. It was not, however, till Thursday afternoon that
she dropped anchor in the Pool.
Charlie was soon on shore, and giving his trunk to a porter, desired him
to lead the way to Bread Street, in which his uncle resided; for in the
last century, such things as country villas were almost unknown, and
the merchants of London for the most part resided in the houses where
they carried on their business. Keeping close to the porter, to see that he
did not make off with his trunk, for Charlie had received many
warnings as to the extreme wickedness of London, he followed him
through the busy streets, and arrived safely at his uncle's door.
It was now dusk, and Charlie, on giving his name, was shown upstairs
to a large room, which was lighted by a fire blazing in the hearth.
Standing with his back to this was a gentleman whom he at once
recognized, from his mother's description, as her uncle, although he
was a good deal more portly than when she had seen him last.
"So you are my grandnephew," he said, holding out what Charlie
considered to be a very limp and flabby hand towards him.
"Yes, Uncle," Charlie said cheerfully; "and we are very much obliged
to you, Mamma and I, for your kindness."
"Humph!" the old gentleman grunted.
"And how is it," he asked severely, "that you were not here yesterday?
My niece's letter led me to expect that you would arrive yesterday."
"We came as fast as we could, Uncle," Charlie laughed; "but of course
the time depends upon the wind. The captain tells me that he has been
as much as three weeks coming round."
Mr. Tufton grunted again as if to signify that such unpunctuality was
altogether displeasing to him.

"You are tall," he said, looking up at Charlie, who stood half a head
above him, "and thin, very thin. You have a loose way of standing,
which I don't approve of."
"I'm sorry I'm loose, sir," Charlie said gravely, "if you do not approve
of it; but you see, running about and playing games make one lissome.
I suppose, now that's all over and I am going to spend my time in
writing, I shall get stiffer."
"I hope so, I hope so," Mr. Tufton said encouragingly, and as if
stiffness were one of the most desirable things in life. "I like to see
young men with a sedate bearing.
"And you left my niece and grandnieces well, I hope?"
"Quite well, thank you, sir," Charlie said; "but, of course, a good deal
upset with parting from me."
"Yes," Mr. Tufton said; "I suppose so. Women are so emotional. Now
there's nothing I object to more than emotion."
As Charlie thought that this was probably the case, he was silent,
although the idea vaguely occurred to him that he should like to excite
a little emotion in his uncle, by the sudden insertion of a pin, or some
other such means. The silence continued for some little time, and then
Mr. Tufton said:
"I always dine at two o'clock; but as probably you are hungry--I have
observed that boys always are hungry--some food will be served you in
the next room. I had already given my housekeeper orders. No doubt
you will find it prepared. After that, you may like to take a walk in the
streets. I have supper at nine, by which hour you will, of course, have
returned."
Charlie, as he ate his meal, thought to himself that his uncle was a
pompous old gentleman, and that it would be very hard work getting on
with him, for the next three weeks. However, he consoled himself by
the thought:

"Kind is as kind does after all, and I expect the old gentleman is not as
crusty as he looks."
Charlie had handed to Mr. Tufton a letter which his mother had given
him, and when he returned from a ramble through the streets, he found
that gentleman sitting by the fire, with lights upon a small table beside
him. Upon this Mrs. Marryat's letter lay open.
"So you have soon become tired of the streets of London,
Grandnephew!" he said.
"There is not much to see, sir. The