Amid the stream of Corinthians and fighting-men who were thronging into the room I had caught a glimpse of the sturdy figure and broad, good-humoured face of Champion Harrison. The sight of him was like a whiff of South Down air coming into that low-roofed, oil-smelling room, and I ran forward to shake him by the hand.
“Why, Master Rodney—or I should say Mr. Stone, I suppose—you’ve changed out of all knowledge. I can’t hardly believe that it was really you that used to come down to blow the bellows when Boy Jim and I were at the anvil. Well, you are fine, to be sure!”
“What’s the news of Friar’s Oak?” I asked eagerly.
“Your father was down to chat with me, Master Rodney, and he tells me that the war is going to break out again, and that he hopes to see you here in London before many days are past; for he is coming up to see Lord Nelson and to make inquiry about a ship. Your mother is well, and I saw her in church on Sunday.”
“And Boy Jim?”
Champion Harrison’s good-humoured face clouded over.
“He’d set his heart very much on comin’ here to-night, but there were reasons why I didn’t wish him to, and so there’s a shadow betwixt us. It’s the first that ever was, and I feel it, Master Rodney. Between ourselves, I have very good reason to wish him to stay with me, and I am sure that, with his high spirit and his ideas, he would never settle down again after once he had a taste o’ London. I left him behind me with enough work to keep him busy until I get back to him.”
A tall and beautifully proportioned man, very elegantly dressed, was strolling towards us. He stared in surprise and held out his hand to my companion.
“Why, Jack Harrison!” he cried. “This is a resurrection. Where in the world did you come from?”
“Glad to see you, Jackson,” said my companion. “You look as well and as young as ever.”