Beyond the City

"Well, just as you like, sir. But you've lost your watch, I see."

"My watch!" He clapped his hand to his waistcoat. The chain was hanging

down in front, and the watch gone.

He passed his hand over his forehead. "I would not have lost that watch

for anything," said he. "No money could replace it. It was given me by

the ship's company after our African cruise. It has an inscription."

The policeman shrugged his shoulders. "It comes from meddling," said he.

"What'll you give me if I tell yer where it is?" said a sharp-faced boy

among the crowd. "Will you gimme a quid?"

"Certainly."

"Well, where's the quid?"

The Admiral took a sovereign from his pocket. "Here it is."

"Then 'ere's the ticker!" The boy pointed to the clenched hand of the

senseless woman. A glimmer of gold shone out from between the fingers,

and on opening them up, there was the Admiral's chronometer. This

interesting victim had throttled her protector with one hand, while she

had robbed him with the other.

The Admiral left his address with the policeman, satisfied that the

woman was only stunned, not dead, and then set off upon his way once

more, the poorer perhaps in his faith in human nature, but in very good

spirits none the less. He walked with dilated nostrils and clenched

hands, all glowing and tingling with the excitement of the combat, and

warmed with the thought that he could still, when there was need, take

his own part in a street brawl in spite of his three-score and odd

years.

His way now led towards the river-side regions, and a cleansing whiff

of tar was to be detected in the stagnant autumn air. Men with the blue

jersey and peaked cap of the boatman, or the white ducks of the dockers,

began to replace the corduroys and fustian of the laborers. Shops with

nautical instruments in the windows, rope and paint sellers, and slop

shops with long rows of oilskins dangling from hooks, all proclaimed

the neighborhood of the docks. The Admiral quickened his pace and

straightened his figure as his surroundings became more nautical, until

at last, peeping between two high, dingy wharfs, he caught a glimpse of

the mud-colored waters of the Thames, and of the bristle of masts

and funnels which rose from its broad bosom. To the right lay a quiet

street, with many brass plates upon either side, and wire blinds in

all of the windows. The Admiral walked slowly down it until "The Saint

Lawrence Shipping Company" caught his eye. He crossed the road, pushed

open the door, and found himself in a low-ceilinged office, with a long

counter at one end and a great number of wooden sections of ships stuck

upon boards and plastered all over the walls.