The Argosy — page 109: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

96 Court Netherleigh. tallow. ‘Thank you very much.” And the young man, who was of good breeding, lifted his hat and walked away. Lord Acorn had as much notion in which direction he must look for ‘Tooley Street as he might have had in looking for the way to the North Pole. Making another inquiry, this time of a policeman, the road was pointed out to him, and the information given that it was “not far.” ‘That, at least, was the policeman’s opinion. So Lord Acorn, whose cab had been dismissed at first, and who liked walking, for he was a lithe, active man for his age, at length reached Tooley Street, and began a pilgrimage up and down its narrow confines, which seemed to be choked up with cumbersome drays and trolleys. Presently he discovered a huge pile of dark buildings, all along the wide face of which was posted the name of the firm:. “Turtle Kite, Tanner, Rex, and Co.” The goal at last ! Wondering within himself how Sir Turtle Kite, or any other person possessing rational instincts and ordinary lungs, could exist in such an atmosphere of dirt and turmoil, Lord Acorn looked about for the entrance. ‘There was none to be seen: and he was beginning seriously to speculate whether Turtle Kite, Tanner, Rex, and Co. entered the building by means of a rope ladder affixed to one of the little square holes that served for windows, when a man, who had the appearance of a porter, came out of a narrow, dark entry. ‘Ts there any entrance to this building, my man ?” ‘‘ Entrance is up here, sir; waggon entrance on t’other side.” ‘‘ Oh—ah—you belong to it, I perceive. Do you happen to know whether Sir Turtle Kite is in?” ‘'There’s nobody in at all, sir; warehouses is shut for the even- ing,” returned the porter. ‘‘Sir Turtle don’t come here much hisself now; he leaves things mostly to Tanner and Rex. ‘They’ll both be here to-morrow morning, sir. Watchman’s coming on pre- sently.” ‘Ah, yes, no doubt,” assented Lord Acorn in his suave way. “Then Sir Turtle does not live here, I presume.” The porter checked a laugh at the notion. “Sir Turtle lives at Brixton, sir. Leastways, it’s between Brixton and Clapham. Rose- mary Lodge, sir—a rare beautiful place it is.” Brixton now! ‘To Lord Acorn’s dismayed mind it seemed that he might almost as well start for the moon; and for a few seconds he hesitated. But—having undertaken this adventurous expedition, adventurous in more ways than one—he must carry it through for his unhappy daughter’s sake. “Do you fancy Sir Turtle is likely to be at home now, at—ah, Rosemary House—if I go there, my man ?.” ‘Most likely, sir. He is mostly at home earlier than this. Sir Turtle is very fond of his gardens and greenhouses, you see, and makes haste home to ’em. He’s got no wife nor child. But it’s Rosemary Lodge, sir; not Rosemary House.” ECOLPMICLYOOL KS, (Eo)