The Argosy — page 365: what you’re looking at

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

344 Lady Valeria. “ Elsie will like to see it. I can post it to her without any com- ment,” he reflected. ‘‘ Dear, dear, to think of her so happy at that lovely place, with roses and myrtles under her windows, and pleasant company, and yet she wishing for nothing so much as to come home and make her old father comfortable. Perhaps there is no place like London, after all. Ive thought of a great many things I can do to make her life easier. What’ll she say to her pretty new room, I wonder! I’ve had oze good child at least, only one, to stay with me. Well, there! I’ve forgiven Sampson, and I won’t let him see that I’m there to look on him in his disgrace to-day. I ought to keep away, but I must see for myself that the boy is safe and alive. ‘ Lance thrust through the fore-arm, and collar-bone broken,’ that’s what the papers said. If he’d only stayed safely at the office! He'll think of that now.” He had many similar reflections with which to beguile the long, slow omnibus journey, that ended in a region of fog—a few shades paler than at the farther end. He peered about at a street corner for a minute, intending to make his way to Whitehall, Mr. Ebden’s remarks having set him against Trafalgar Square ; but he got bewil- dered and hesitated, made a few uncertain steps, and, somehow, got caught up and absorbed in a stream of sight-seers making steadily for Charing Cross. He was too confused to resist, and so, unknown to himself and against his will, by a moment’s irresolution changed the course of his life for the rest of his days, gave a romance to St. Iridolin’s, and ended this story. The streets were thickly lined by an orderly, expectant crowd ; orderly, because hopeless of finding a place once lost in the ever more thickening fog. Why they should wait at all was a matter of wonder- ment. It was cold, it was damp underfoot, only one in every dozen had a chance of beholding more than a misty outline of the passing troops they had come to welcome, and yet they waited, cheered by occasional rifts and flashes of sunshine through the cloud curtain. Mr. Paramount, drifting along, found himself in Cockspur Street, where a voice from King George’s statue invited him to ‘‘ Come up ’ere, guv’nor!” He was very doleful by this time. He had no fear of being seen, but, alas, no chance either of seeing. His spectacles got blurred directly ; and with the utmost striving he could not flatter himself he should obtain a place in the inner line. “‘ They are coming!” ‘There was a stir and a thrill; and suddenly, and with electric effect, the fog lifted, and out flashed in full glory the brief sunshine. He ran along behind the close-serried line of backs and shoulders, making desperate efforts to find a gap. In vain. He could hear the measured tramp of feet, and the approaching roar of voices. ‘‘ Here they come! Hurrah !” and the crowd jammed more closely. ‘‘Oh, what is it? Mado are they 2” he demanded, piteously. ‘‘ Indians!” said someone. “ There’s a swell. Look at him!” He made another struggle forward. ‘The CONMICMOOOKS.E©