Pursuing our way through crowds of frolicking sailors and fiddlers, we turned into a street leading to the Exchange. There, under the shadow of the colonnade, Harry told me to stop, while he left me, and went to finish his toilet. Wondering what he meant, I stood to one side; and presently was joined by a stranger in whiskers and mustache.
“It’s me” said the stranger; and who was me but Harry, who had thus metamorphosed himself? I asked him the reason; and in a faltering voice, which I tried to make humorous, expressed a hope that he was not going to turn gentleman forger.
He laughed, and assured me that it was only a precaution against being recognized by his own particular friends in London, that he had adopted this mode of disguising himself.
“And why afraid of your friends?” asked I, in astonishment, “and we are not in London yet.”
“Pshaw! what a Yankee you are, Wellingborough. Can’t you see very plainly that I have a plan in my head? And this disguise is only for a short time, you know. But I’ll tell you all by and by.”
I acquiesced, though not feeling at ease; and we walked on, till we came to a public house, in the vicinity of the place at which the cars are taken.
We stopped there that night, and next day were off, whirled along through boundless landscapes of villages, and meadows, and parks: and over arching viaducts, and through wonderful tunnels; till, half delirious with excitement, I found myself dropped down in the evening among gas-lights, under a great roof in Euston Square.
London at last, and in the West-End!
CHAPTER XLVI.
A MYSTERIOUS NIGHT IN LONDON
“No time to lose,” said Harry, “come along.”