He did not know what to do with himself. It was now four o'clock, and he had eaten nothing since breakfast, except the biscuits at Tenby Terrace. He did not care to do anything particular. It was sufficiently delightful to stroll about old familiar London, and look at the old things through the glass of his new fortune. He felt "the glorious privilege of being independent." He might hail a cab and be driven to Shropshire House, one of the most splendid dwelling-places in London. He might drive to any of the stations of the great railways, and be carried at the rate of forty miles an hour towards one of his country-seats. He might drive to London Bridge or the Docks, and there take passage for almost any land under the sun. Ay, that would not be a bad notion. Why not get into a cab, drive to London Bridge, take a steamboat to Greenwich, and come back by land? He had often done this before, and the excursion would be well within his present means!
He called a passing hansom and got in. In the old days he always thought a good many times before he took a cab. In fact he thought so often that he rarely took one. He got out at London Bridge and took the boat to Greenwich.
He took a seat and looked at the motley crowd around him. He sat between a private soldier and a young girl who looked like a poor milliner. Opposite him was a working-man, with a short clay pipe in his mouth, fast asleep. Forward of the sleeping man was a comely matron, with a rosy child at her side; and aft of the sleeping man was a nondescript long-shore man, half clerk, half tout, whole rogue.
What should he do when he reached Greenwich? Get something to eat at The Ship? Ay, that would be very good. The fresh air of the river cooled him, and he felt the gratifying assurance that when he got to The Ship he should be in a condition to dispose of a nice little dinner in a thoroughly workmanlike manner.
Was this the first time a duke had gone from London Bridge to Greenwich on the fore-deck of a steamboat? (He was smoking still; and no smoking is "allowed abaft the funnel.") He thought it most likely. Would this poor young milliner rather sit beside him or beside that fine young soldier? And what would that poor young milliner think if she knew she was sitting by the side of a real duke, who had a great desire to put his arm round the owner of that pallid face and limp figure, and support her in a fatherly way until they came to their journey's end?
"Will you allow me to offer you a cigar?" said the Duke to the soldier.
"Very much obliged to you, I'm sure, sir," said the soldier, taking one.
"Are you stationed down the river? A light? Here, strike it on the box."
"Thank you. No, sir. I am not stationed down the river. I am going down to see some friends at Greenwich."
"Lady friends, I have no doubt?" said the Duke, with a good-natured smile. The soldier was a fine honest-looking young fellow, and it pleased the Duke to think he had a sweetheart down at Greenwich, who would be glad to see him when he got there, as May was glad to see another person when that person got to Tenby Terrace.