"Ah—thank you—a tallow-merchant," repeated his lordship, with a deprecatory shrug of the shoulders at the objectionable word, tallow. "Thank you very much." And the young man, who was of good breeding, lifted his hat and walked away.
Lord Acorn had as much notion in which direction he must look for Tooley Street as he might have had in looking for the way to the North Pole. Making another inquiry, this time of a policeman, the road was pointed out to him, and the information given that it was "not far." That, at least, was the policeman's opinion.
So Lord Acorn, whose cab had been dismissed at first, and who liked walking, for he was a lithe, active man for his age, at length reached Tooley Street, and began a pilgrimage up and down its narrow confines, which seemed to be choked up with cumbersome drays and trolleys. Presently he discovered a huge pile of dark buildings, all along the wide face of which was posted the name of the firm: "Turtle Kite, Tanner, Rex, and Co." The goal at last!
Wondering within himself how Sir Turtle Kite, or any other person possessing rational instincts and ordinary lungs, could exist in such an atmosphere of dirt and turmoil, Lord Acorn looked about for the entrance. There was none to be seen: and he was beginning seriously to speculate whether Turtle Kite, Tanner, Rex, and Co. entered the building by means of a rope-ladder affixed to one of the little square holes that served for windows, when a man, who had the appearance of a porter, came out of a narrow, dark entry.
"Is there any entrance to this building, my man?"
"Entrance is up here, sir; waggon-entrance on t'other side."
"Oh—ah—you belong to it, I perceive. Do you happen to know whether Sir Turtle Kite is in?"
"There's nobody in at all, sir; warehouses is shut for the evening," returned the porter. "Sir Turtle don't come here much hisself now; he leaves things mostly to Tanner and Rex. They'll both be here tomorrow morning, sir. Watchman's coming on presently."
"Ah, yes, no doubt," assented Lord Acorn, in his suave way. "Then Sir Turtle does not live here, I presume."
The porter checked a laugh at the notion. "Sir Turtle lives at Brixton, sir. Leastways, it's between Brixton and Clapham. Rosemary Lodge, sir—a rare beautiful place it is."