This
medical escort was a typical instance of my uncle's relentless
thoroughness. He was not in the secret, and so all the way from Euston to
those remote islands I had to endure the ordeal of sitting under the eye
of a conscientious middle-aged gentleman with a strong Yorkshire accent
and but one idea in his head:--to keep in readiness to seize me at each
station in case I leapt out of the carriage and headed for the
refreshment rooms. We parted, I think, with equal relief on either side.
Under a heavy sky and a chilly wind we steamed through divers waterways,
touched at divers islands, and shipped and unshipped many cattle. At
last, when it had turned afternoon and the wind was beginning to feel wet
as well as chilly, Thomas Sylvester stepped ashore on the modest pier at
Ransay. Already he had noted from the deck his prospective host, pipe in
mouth and hands in his knickerbocker pockets among a small knot of
inhabitants, but to his relief there were no other familiar faces.
"Let me be firmly established as Mr. Hobhouse, the doctor's new paying
guest, before they look at me too closely!" he said to himself.
In the doctor's blue eyes there was not a sign of recognition or
suspicion. I noticed again his habit of glancing at one askance which had
raised my ready suspicions last time we had met, but apart from that his
greeting was cordial and pleasant enough.
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