The bread was good, and
the beer did us no harm. Fred picked up his spirits again; when Mr.
Rowe's old mate came home he found us very cheerful and chatty. Fred
asked him about the son who was at sea, but I had some more important
questions to put, and I managed so to do, and with a sufficiently
careless air.
"I suppose there are lots of ships at London?" said I.
"In the Docks, sir, plenty," said our host.
"And where are the Docks?" I inquired. "Are they far from you?"
"Well, you see, sir, there's a many docks. There's the East India
Docks, St. Katharine's Docks, and the Commercial Docks, and Victoria
Dock, and lots more."
I pondered. Ships in the East India Dock probably went only to India.
St. Katharine conveyed nothing to my mind. I did not fancy Commercial
Docks. I felt a loyal inclination towards the Victoria Dock.
"How do people get from here to Victoria Dock now, if they want to?" I
asked.
"Well, of course, sir, you can go down the river, or part that way and
then by rail from Fenchurch Street."
"Where is Fenchurch Street, Mr. Smith?" said I, becoming a good deal
ashamed of my pertinacity.
"In the city, sir," said Mr. Smith.
The city! Now I never heard of any one in any story going out into the
world to seek his fortune, and coming to a city, who did not go into
it to see what was to be seen.
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