Guy was impressed with the immensity of the city before they reached the railroad terminal, but that impression became a prolonged thrill of metropolitan wonder as he and his mother left the train and moved through the throng of many nationalities toward the long line of cabs waiting for passengers. Here he noticed a marked distinction between the old and new world. New York with its dash and go, its modern buildings and sunny people; London old and grim, brooding thru its veil of smoke and soot on its antiquated buildings and solemn people.
Their hotel they found to be a favorite stopping place for Americans and excellently located for visitors wishing to see the city. Guy and his mother were soon comfortably provided for and sought refreshments and rest after their journey’s end.
On the following day they set out to meet the specialist, Dr. Sprague. They found him at one of the big hospitals of the city. He had been informed of their coming, but was unable to make an examination of the boy’s eyes that day. They had to be content with an appointment two days later.
Guy made friends rapidly wherever he went, and in London several such acquaintances contributed much to the interest of his visit. One of these was a clerk of the hotel, two years older than the young American. This clerk, whose name was Arthur Fletcher, made his friendship doubly acceptable to Guy by reason of his volunteered usefulness. He knew London like a book and was ever ready with his information when needed.
Occasionally Guy and Arthur would go out to see London by night. During these walks the former plied his English friend with questions so industriously that his own fund of information grew rapidly. The second of these occasions proved particularly memorable.
It was early March and pleasant weather when the fogs lifted or were blown away. London has little low temperature, even in the middle of winter, the most disagreeable feature of the atmosphere being its heavy, smoke-laden mists. On the evening in question a thick fog had settled over the city, making it difficult for one to distinguish the features of another even under a street-light and at “how-de-do” proximity.
Guy still wore his amber glasses, which caused the vapor to look weird in lighted places. He had been receiving daily treatments to strengthen his eyes, and it was uncertain as yet whether he would have to undergo an operation. Mrs. Burton would have protested against his going out in the fog, but the specialist had said that he need take no particular precautions, except that he must not read and he must not lose sleep.
“I’ll show you London in a fog,” said Artie, as he was familiarly known because of a constitutional suggestion of effeminacy in him. Nevertheless, in spite of this appearance, he was a vigorous youth.
“We won’t see much London, I’m afraid,” laughed Guy.
“We’ll see London in its nightgown,” said the clerk. “The city looks like a ghost now. An’ there’s some ghostly things goin’ on in this village, you can bet safe.”