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Indignation awoke in the mind of Pitman. 'Those spectacles were to be
mine,' he cried. 'They are an essential part of my disguise.'
'I am going to wear them myself,' replied Michael; and he added, with
some show of truth, 'There would be a devil of a lot of suspicion
aroused if we both wore spectacles.'
'O, well,' said the assenting Pitman, 'I rather counted on them; but of
course, if you insist. And at any rate, here is the cart at the door.'
While the men were at work, Michael concealed himself in the closet
among the debris of the barrel and the wires of the piano; and as soon
as the coast was clear the pair sallied forth by the lane, jumped into
a hansom in the King's Road, and were driven rapidly toward town. It
was still cold and raw and boisterous; the rain beat strongly in their
faces, but Michael refused to have the glass let down; he had now
suddenly donned the character of cicerone, and pointed out and lucidly
commented on the sights of London, as they drove. 'My dear fellow,' he
said, 'you don't seem to know anything of your native city. Suppose we
visited the Tower? No? Well, perhaps it's a trifle out of our way.
But, anyway--Here, cabby, drive round by Trafalgar Square!' And on that
historic battlefield he insisted on drawing up, while he criticized the
statues and gave the artist many curious details (quite new to history)
of the lives of the celebrated men they represented.
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