Three days after Frank's arrival at Cape Coast the mail steamer
came along, and he took passage for England. Very strange indeed
did it feel to him when he set foot in Liverpool. Nearly two years
and a half had elapsed since he had sailed, and he had gone through
adventures sufficient for a lifetime. He was but eighteen years
old now, but he had been so long accustomed to do man's work that
he felt far older than he was. The next day on arriving in town he
put up at the Charing Cross Hotel and then sallied out to see his
friends.
He determined to go first of all to visit the porter who had been
the earliest friend he had made in London, and then to drive to
Ruthven's, where he was sure of a hearty welcome. He had written
several times, since it had been possible for him to send letters,
to his various friends, first of all to his sister, and the doctor,
to Ruthven, to the porter, and to the old naturalist. He drove to
London Bridge Station, and there learned that the porter had been
for a week absent from duty, having strained his back in lifting a
heavy trunk. He therefore drove to Ratcliff Highway. The shop was
closed, but his knock brought the naturalist to the door.
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