296 A JACOBITE EXILE

Ten days later, Charlie arrived in the Port of London,
and took up his abode at the Bull’s Head, where he found
the quarters comfortable indeed after the rough work of
campaigning. The next morning he took a waiter into his
confidence.

“T have come to London to see a little life,” he said,
“and I want to be put into the way of doing it. I don’t
want to go to places where young gallants assemble; my
purse is not deep enough to stand such society. I should
like to go to places where I shall meet hearty young fellows,
and could have a throw of the dice, or see a main fought
by good cocks, or even sally out and have a little fun with
the watch. My purse is fairly lined, and I want some
amusement,—something to look back upon when I go
home again. What is the best way to set about it?”

“Well, sir, if that is your humour, I have a brother who
is one of the mayor’s tipstaffs. He knows the city well, ay
and Westminster too, and the purlieus of St. James’s, and
whether you want to meet young gallants or roistering
blades, or to have a look in at places where you can hire a
man to cut another’s throat for a few crowns, he can show
you them. He will be on duty now, but I will send him a
message to come round this evening, and I warrant me he
will be here. He has showed young squires from the coun-
try over the town before this, and will guess what is on
hand when he gets my message.”

Having nothing to do, Charlie sauntered about the town
during the day, looking into the shops, and keeping a keen
eye on passers-by, with the vague hope that he might be
lucky enough to come across his man,

After he had finished his supper, the waiter came up and
told him that his brother was outside.

“T have spoken to him, sir, and he warrants that he can
take you into the sort of society you want to meet, whatever
it may be.” Charlie followed him out. A man was stand-
ing under the lamp that swung before the door.