Chapter 46 - Page 2

Caryatides of turbaned
slaves, sat knots of gentlemanly men, with cut decanters and
taper-waisted glasses, journals and cigars, before them.

To and fro ran obsequious waiters, with spotless napkins thrown over
their arms, and making a profound salaam, and hemming deferentially,
whenever they uttered a word.

At the further end of this brilliant apartment, was a rich mahogany
turret-like structure, partly built into the wall, and communicating
with rooms in the rear. Behind, was a very handsome florid old man, with
snow-white hair and whiskers, and in a snow-white jacket--he looked like
an almond tree in blossom--who seemed to be standing, a polite sentry
over the scene before him; and it was he, who mostly ordered about the
waiters; and with a silent salute, received the silver of the guests.

Our entrance excited little or no notice; for every body present seemed
exceedingly animated about concerns of their own; and a large group was
gathered around one tall, military looking gentleman, who was reading
some India war-news from the Times, and commenting on it, in a very loud
voice, condemning, in toto, the entire campaign.

We seated ourselves apart from this group, and Harry, rapping on the
table, called for wine; mentioning some curious foreign name.

The decanter, filled with a pale yellow wine, being placed before us,
and my comrade having drunk a few glasses; he whispered me to remain
where I was, while he withdrew for a moment.

I saw him advance to the turret-like place, and exchange a confidential
word with the almond tree there, who immediately looked very much
surprised,--I thought, a Little disconcerted,--and then disappeared with
him.

While my friend was gone, I occupied myself with looking around me, and
striving to appear as indifferent as possible, and as much used to all
this splendor as if I had been born in it. But, to tell the truth, my
head was almost dizzy with the strangeness of the sight, and the thought
that I was really in London. What would my brother have said? What would
Tom Legare, the treasurer of the Juvenile Temperance Society, have
thought?

But I almost began to fancy I had no friends and relatives living in a
little village three thousand five hundred miles off, in America; for it
was hard to unite such a humble reminiscence with the splendid animation
of the London-like scene around me.

And in the delirium of the moment, I began to indulge in foolish golden
visions of the counts and countesses to whom Harry might introduce me;
and every instant I expected to hear the waiters addressing some
gentleman as "My Lord," or "four Grace." But if there were really any
lords present, the waiters omitted their titles,