He had a grey beard, a
big nose, thick lips, and heavy shoulders. His curly white hair and the
general character of his head recalled vaguely a burly apostle in the
_barocco_ style of Italian art. Standing up at a tall, shabby, slanting
desk, his silver-rimmed spectacles pushed up high on his forehead, he was
eating a mutton-chop, which had been just brought to him from some
Dickensian eating-house round the corner.
Without ceasing to eat he turned to me his florid, _barocco_ apostle's
face with an expression of inquiry.
I produced elaborately a series of vocal sounds which must have borne
sufficient resemblance to the phonetics of English speech, for his face
broke into a smile of comprehension almost at once.--"Oh, it's you who
wrote a letter to me the other day from Lowestoft about getting a ship."
I had written to him from Lowestoft. I can't remember a single word of
that letter now. It was my very first composition in the English
language. And he had understood it, evidently, for he spoke to the point
at once, explaining that his business, mainly, was to find good ships for
young gentlemen who wanted to go to sea as premium apprentices with a
view of being trained for officers.
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