With Clive in India | Page 4

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 lamps do not burn very brightly, and the fog is coming on. I thought that, if it grew thicker, I might lose my way, and in that case I might not have been in at the hour you named for supper."
"Humph!" the other gentleman grunted. "So your mother has taught you to be punctual to meals. But, no; boys' appetites teach them to be punctual then, if never at any other time.
"And why, sir?" he asked severely, "Did my niece not write to me before?"
"I don't know, sir," Charlie said. "I suppose she did not like--that is, she didn't think--that is--"
"Think, sir! Like, sir!" said his uncle. "What right had she either to think or to like? Her