“What’s the use of my going?” he murmured, after a reflective pause.
“You promised the ladies of the Portsmouth Institute that you’d go to see it, and report progress,” said that extraordinary Something inside of him, which had a most uncomfortable way of starting up and whispering when least expected to do so.
“And,” added Something, “every gentleman should keep his word.”
“True,” replied Miles, almost angrily, though inaudibly; “but I’m not a gentleman, I’m only a private!”
“Goose!” retorted that pertinacious Something; “is not every private a gentleman who acts like one? And is not every gentleman a blackguard who behaves as such?”
Miles was silenced. He gave in, and went off at once to visit the Institute.
As he walked down the long straight street leading to the Grand Square, which had been almost destroyed by the bombardment, he passed numerous dirty drinking-shops, and wondered that English soldiers would condescend to enter such disgusting places. He was but a young soldier, and had yet to learn that, to men who have been fairly overcome by the power of the fiend Strong Drink, no place is too disgusting, and no action too mean, so that it but leads to the gratification of their intolerable craving. It is said that in two streets only there were 500 of these disreputable drinking-shops.
All sorts and conditions of men passed him as he went along: Turks, Greeks, Arabs, Negroes, Frenchmen, Italians, and Englishmen, the gay colours of whose picturesque costumes lent additional brilliancy to the sunny scene. The sight of the dark-skinned men and veiled women of the Arab quarter did more, however, than anything else to convince our hero that he had at last really reached the “East”—the land of the ancient Pharaohs, the Pyramids, the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, and of modern contention!
Presently he came upon the piece of waste ground which had been chosen as the site of the new Institute. It was covered with the ruins—shattered cement, glass, tiles, and general wreckage—of the buildings that had stood there before the bombardment, and on three sides it was surrounded by heaps of stones, shattered walls, and rubbish, some acres in extent. But the place had the great advantage of being close to the old harbour, not far from the spot where ancient Alexandria stood, and was open to the fresh, cooling breezes that came in from the sea.
Arab workmen were busily employed at the time on the foundations of the building, under the superintendence of an unmistakable and soldierly-looking Englishman, whose broad back was presented to Miles as he approached. Turning suddenly round, Mr Tufnell, the manager of the Portsmouth Institute, confronted the visitor with a stern but perspiring visage, which instantly became illuminated with a beaming smile.