As he thus soliloquized he heard a shrilling sort
of squeak; and a showman stationed before his window
the stage on which Punch satirizes the laws and moralities
of the world, “kills the beadle and defies the
devil.”
KENELM turned from the sight of Punch and Punch’s
friend the cur, as his servant, entering, said a person
from the country, who would not give his name, asked
to see him.
Thinking it might be some message from his father,
Kenelm ordered the stranger to be admitted, and in
another minute there entered a young man of handsome
countenance and powerful frame, in whom, after a surprised
stare, Kenelm recognized Tom Bowles. Difficult
indeed would have been that recognition to an unobservant
beholder: no trace was left of the sullen bully
or the village farrier; the expression of the face
was mild and intelligent,—more bashful than
hardy; the brute strength of the form had lost its
former clumsiness, the simple dress was that of a
gentleman,—to use an expressive idiom, the
whole man was wonderfully “toned down.”
“I am afraid, sir, I am taking a liberty,”
said Tom, rather nervously, twiddling his hat between
his fingers.
“I should be a greater friend to liberty than
I am if it were always taken in the same way,”
said Kenelm, with a touch of his saturnine humour;
but then yielding at once to the warmer impulse of
his nature, he grasped his old antagonist’s
hand and exclaimed, “My dear Tom, you are so
welcome. I am so glad to see you. Sit down,
man; sit down: make yourself at home.”
“I did not know you were back in England, sir,
till within the last few days; for you did say that
when you came back I should see or hear from you,”
and there was a tone of reproach in the last words.
“I am to blame, forgive me,” said Kenelm,
remorsefully. But how did you find me out? you
did not then, I think, even know my name. That,
however, it was easy enough to discover; but who gave
you my address in this lodging?”
“Well, sir, it was Miss Travers; and she bade
me come to you. Otherwise, as you did not send
for me, it was scarcely my place to call uninvited.”
“But, my dear Tom, I never dreamed that you
were in London. One don’t ask a man whom
one supposes to be more than a hundred miles off to
pay one an afternoon call. You are still with
your uncle, I presume? and I need not ask if all thrives
well with you: you look a prosperous man, every
inch of you, from crown to toe.”
“Yes,” said Tom; “thank you kindly,
sir, I am doing well in the way of business, and my
uncle is to give me up the whole concern at Christmas.”
While Tom thus spoke Kenelm had summoned his servant,
and ordered up such refreshments as could be found
in the larder of a bachelor in lodgings. “And
what brings you to town, Tom?”
“Miss Travers wrote to me about a little business
which she was good enough to manage for me, and said
you wished to know about it; and so, after turning
it over in my mind for a few days, I resolved to come
to town: indeed,” added Tom, heartily,
“I did wish to see your face again.”
