"What can I do for you, sir?" he asked civilly.
"Well, in the first place, you can shake me by the hand."
The old man started at the voice.
"Why, 'tis Frank!" he exclaimed, "grown and sunburnt out of all
recollection. My dear boy, I am glad indeed to see you. Come in,
come in; John is inside."
Frank received another hearty greeting, and sat for a couple of
hours chatting over his adventures. He found that had he arrived
a fortnight later he would not have found either of his friends.
The porter was in a week about to be married again to a widow who
kept a small shop and was in comfortable circumstances. The naturalist
had sold the business, and was going down into the country to live
with a sister there.
After leaving them Frank drove to the residence of Sir James Ruthven
in Eaton Square. Frank sent in his name and was shown up to the
drawing room. A minute later the door opened with a crash and his
old schoolfellow rushed in.
"My dear, dear, old boy," he said wringing Frank's hand, "I am
glad to see you; but, bless me, how you have changed! How thin you
are, and how black! I should have passed you in the street without
knowing you; and you look years older than I do.
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