Especially
Amelia--who was _not_ going with him.
"For rest and quiet," he said to us at breakfast, laying down the
Morning Post, "give _me_ the deck of an Atlantic liner! No letters;
no telegrams. No stocks; no shares. No Times; no Saturday. I'm sick
of these papers!"
"The World is too much with us," I assented cheerfully. I regret
to say, nobody appreciated the point of my quotation.
Charles took infinite pains, I must admit, to ensure perfect
secrecy. He made me write and secure the best state-rooms--main
deck, amidships--under my own name, without mentioning his, in
the Etruria, for New York, on her very next voyage. He spoke of
his destination to nobody but Amelia; and Amelia warned Cesarine,
under pains and penalties, on no account to betray it to the other
servants. Further to secure his incog., Charles assumed the style
and title of Mr. Peter Porter, and booked as such in the Etruria
at Liverpool.
The day before starting, however, he went down with me to the City
for an interview with his brokers in Adam's Court, Old Broad Street.
Finglemore, the senior partner, hastened, of course, to receive us.
As we entered his private room a good-looking young man rose and
lounged out. "Halloa, Finglemore," Charles said, "that's that scamp
of a brother of yours! I thought you had shipped him off years and
years ago to China?"
"So I did, Sir Charles," Finglemore answered, rubbing his hands
somewhat nervously.
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