“Banks, where is the captain?” I asked, as I entered the parlour the next morning.
“Gone, sir, since seven o'clock,” was the reply. “Gone!” I exclaimed; “gone where?”
“Faith, I did not ask his honour, sir.”
I thought it strange, but reflected that John Paul was given to whims. Having so little time before him, he had probably gone to see the sights he had missed yesterday: the Pantheon, which was building, an account of which had appeared in all the colonial papers; or the new Blackfriars Bridge; or the Tower; or perhaps to see his Majesty ride out. The wonders of London might go hang, for all I cared. Who would gaze at the King when he might look upon Dorothy! I sighed. I bade Banks dress me in the new suit Davenport had brought that morning, and then sent him off to seek the shipping agent of the Virginia packet to get us a cabin. I would go to Arlington Street as soon as propriety admitted.
But I had scarce finished my chocolate and begun to smoke in a pleasant revery, when I was startled by the arrival of two gentlemen. One was Comyn, and the other none less than Mr. Charles Fox.
“Now where the devil has your captain flown to?” said my Lord, tossing his whip on the table.
“I believe he must be sight-seeing,” I said. “I dare swear he has taken a hackney coach to the Tower.”
“To see the liberation of the idol of the people, I'll lay ten guineas. But they say the great Mr. Wilkes is to come out quietly, and wishes no demonstration,” said Mr. Fox. “I believe the beggar has some sense, if the—Greek—would only let him have his way. So your captain is a Wilkite, Mr. Carvel?” he demanded.
“I fear you run very fast to conclusions, Mr. Fox,” I answered, laughing, tho' I thought his guess was not far from wrong.
“I'll lay you the ten guineas he has been to the Tower,” said Mr. Fox, promptly.