He knew his way about London pretty well, though it was not often he had been to the West End, and he had to ask his road once or twice before he could find Grosvenor Square. When he got there it was some time before he could discover the number he wanted, and when he did at last pause before No.—, he felt quite frightened at seeing what a grand house it was. The doors looked so tall, and the knockers so high up, it was impossible to reach them. Then he remembered it would not be right for a poor boy to go to the front door, so he turned and went to the area gate and looked down the flight of steps that led to the kitchen. It took a great deal of courage to descend them and knock at the door below—more than he could all at once summon to his aid—and he stood irresolute, with the handle of the gate in his hand.
He went down at length and knocked timidly at the kitchen door. No one came, so after some time he knocked again and louder. It was opened by a girl, who asked him what he wanted.
"Please, I want to see the gentleman who said he lived here," said Dick.
The girl stared, and made him repeat his words. This time he spoke rather plainer, and said he wanted to see a gentleman who had given him some money an hour or two ago, in the Strand, for holding his horse.
A servant in livery crossed the passage at this moment, and heard what he said. He came to the door and exclaimed harshly—
"And so, because he gave you some money, you have come here hoping to get more, you young vagabond. That's always the way with you beggars."
"I'm not come to beg," replied Dick, indignantly. "I'm come to give the gentleman money, not to ask him for it."
"Did the gentleman bid you come?" asked the man.
"No," said Dick.
"Did any one send you?"