[THE VOYAGE OF HIRAM AND DAVE.]
BY A. J. ENSIGN.
George Whittingham was staring at a Billingsgate fish-woman. She was glaring at George, and treating him to some of that wonderfully abusive language known to all Englishmen as "Billingsgate." George was just about to repeat the expedient of a noted English wit, and call her a "miserable isosceles triangle, a beastly rectangular parallelopipedon," when some one pulled his coat sleeve and said,
"Mr. George, let 'er alone; she can beat you at that every time."
George whirled around at the sound of a familiar voice, and exclaimed: "Hiram Wardell! Well, what on earth are you doing in London?"
"Tryin' to find out how to get home, Mr. George. Me and Dave Hulick here ain't in London on a tour, I can tell you, and we don't want to stay here either."
"Then it's lucky for you that my father is in the consular service here. I guess he can help you two boys. But, say, this is a funny case, isn't it? Only a year ago you fellows were taking me out fishing off Joppa, and now—How did you get here, anyhow?"
"Well, Mr. George, this ain't a very good place for story-telling. Can't we go where it's quiet?"
"You two boys come to my father's office with me," said George, "and then you can tell him and me the story at the same time. I think that will be the best way to manage it."
So the well-dressed young gentleman, accompanied by the two rude-looking New Jersey "beach-combers," set off through the jostling, bustling London crowds toward Mr. Whittingham's office in Cheapside. George's father was at his desk, and expressed his readiness to listen to the story of the two boys, whom he was surprised to see in London. Hiram Wardell, when bidden to go on with his narrative, hung his head and twisted his cap nervously in his long red fingers.