“You oughtn't to go alone, Mr. Harris; you're not strong enough for that yet.”
“I wonder if Chris would let you turn valet for me and go too.”
“I'd give a great deal to see London again,” said Donald enthusiastically.
“Would wages have to be taken into account?” laughed Ted; “you know the state of my finances, Donald.”
“Board and expenses—that is all, sir,” and so the serious talk ended with this bit of pleasantry; and Ted realizing that he had not been disappointed in feeling that Donald would somehow be able to help him, found himself entering into the new scheme with rather more hope than circumstances would seem to justify.
It was by no means a cheery announcement to the household in the little thatched cottage when Ted told them that evening, that two days later he must gather his belongings together and turn his back on the home and the friends that had formed his little world during all the long weeks of convalescence; and then when he asked if Donald might perhaps be permitted to go up to London with him, Mrs. Hartley felt that all the brightness of the summer was fast slipping away. No one could appreciate what new life had opened up for the old couple with the coming of Chris and Ted and Donald, and now two were proposing to go at once, and only five weeks more, and Chris would be bidding them farewell on his way to the Majestic down at Liverpool, and on which it had been arranged that Donald at the same time should once more put to sea. So no wonder that at first they all declared that the boy could not be spared; but the more they thought of it the more they felt that Ted really needed him. As a result, a telegram was finally sent to Mr. Harris, which caught the driving party at Windemere, asking if he would approve of Donald's going up to London with a convalescent gentleman who greatly needed his services. The telegram was signed Christopher Hartley; and Mr. Harris, concluding that Donald and Chris were quite able to decide what was best in the matter, telegraphed back, “No objection, of course, if you think it advisable;” and its welcome message brought more joy to the hearts of Ted and Donald than they could graciously give expression to in the face of Mr. and Mrs. Hartley's regret at their departure.
It was astonishing with what celerity Donald had seemed to merge the sailor-boy in the farm-hand, and now in turn the farm-hand in the valet. He brushed away at Ted's clothes as vigorously as though that had been his calling from his youth up, and stowed away his belongings in the boxes that Harry Allyn had sent down from Oxford with an economy of space that was truly amazing. And now at last there was no more to be done, and Mrs. Hartley bade her boys God-speed with lips that from trembling could hardly frame the blessing, and on which face—Ted's or Donald's—loving gratitude found deeper expression it would have been difficult to have told. The old keeper pressed Ted's hands, and actually said something about feeling he had been a little hard on him at first; and then turning to Donald, made him promise to count Nuneham as his home ever afterward, and run down for a Sunday between voyages whenever he could manage it; and the words were about the most precious that had ever fallen on Donald's ears.
The hotel to which the two travellers betook themselves in London was a modest one, as befitted their circumstances. Ted, however, who, in spite of himself, had still considerable regard for appearances, could not resist the temptation of investing—though Donald urgently protested against such extravagance—in a suit of clothes, somewhat less conspicuous than the nautical blue jersey and wide-flapping trousers of Donald's Sunday best, and better adapted to his new calling.
“Now, Donald,” said Ted, who found himself relying on Donald's advice in truly remarkable fashion, “what's to be the first step in the programme? Shall we try to look up your Mr. Belden in the London Directory?”
“As you say, sir,” said Donald, who was amusing himself and Ted as well by endeavoring to acquit himself as the most respectful of valets. So forth they fared together, for the little hostelry was by far too unpretentious to boast a city directory; but the morning was so fine, notwithstanding mid-August weather, that they were tempted to stroll on and on, deferring a little, by tacit consent, the immediate object of their expedition. Along the Thames embankment they strolled from their quarters up near Blackfriar's Bridge, past the Savoy Hotel, and keeping near the river until, reaching Northumberland Avenue, they turned in the direction of Trafalgar Square.