On the way up in the train (it is always “up” when you go to London; no matter if you start from the top of the highest mountain in Scotland, you speak of going “up to London”) Kit told the Captain about the old sailor from the Flower City, and showed his father’s knife.
“Do not set your hopes too high,” the Captain said after he had heard the story; “but I should look upon that as a very encouraging piece of news. It shows that their boats were sound and that the crew were still afloat after the schooner went down. As one man was saved, another may have been. There is still great doubt, of course; but I should continue to hope.”
When they reached the Fenchurch Street office, they found Mr. Watkins waiting for Kit, still arrayed in a long black coat and high silk hat, but much newer and brighter ones than he wore while at work, and looking so stiff and starched that Kit had to laugh to himself to think what a figure he would cut in any American city at that hour of the morning.
“Now where shall we go first?” the clerk asked, when they reached the street.
“I don’t want to interfere with any plans you may have made,” Captain Griffith answered, “but if you have not settled upon any place, I suggest that we go first to see the Temple. That I consider one of the greatest curiosities of London—like a quiet country village set down in the very heart of the largest city in the world.”
“Is it a church, sir?” Kit asked.
“No, indeed!” the Captain laughed; “quite the opposite; it is one of the headquarters of the London lawyers, though there is a fine old church in the grounds. But it is so different from anything we have in America that I can hardly explain it to you. You will soon see for yourself, if we go there.”
“We can easily walk as far as the Temple,” Mr. Watkins said, “and you can always see more in walking than in riding. This way, right up Fenchurch Street. The way we give the same street different names in London is puzzling to strangers, but you soon grow used to it. Now this is one of the chief thoroughfares running east and west; and when you learn the principal ones, you can easily find your way about. I believe in your country each street bears the same name through its entire length, but it is not so here. For instance, this is Fenchurch Street. We keep right along in this street for miles, if we choose, but it has a great many different names. In a short distance the name changes to Lombard Street, then Cheapside, then Newgate Street, then Holborn Viaduct, then New Oxford Street, then Oxford Street, then away out in the West End it becomes Bayswater Road, though it is really the same street all the way through. But we do not go as far as that. We will have a look at the Bank of England as we pass King William Street, then when we get to the end of Cheapside we will see the Post Office and St. Paul’s Cathedral, and cut through St. Paul’s Churchyard to Ludgate Hill, which will take us to Fleet Street, and there is the Temple.”
“I believe I have heard of every one of those places before,” Kit exclaimed, as they made their way along the crowded street; “and I am glad we are going through St. Paul’s Churchyard. I have heard so much about the old London graveyards, and that must be one of the best of them.”
Why did the Captain and Mr. Watkins look at each other and smile when he said this, Kit wondered.