Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

Seeing a number of people ahead and an empty smoking-carriage close at hand, I jump into this, stow away my bag, and find myself with a quarter of an hour to the good. I get out to look about me. Enter Sir Peter Portland (looking younger than ever, as he always does whenever I meet him) in decidedly fashionable yachting-costume, cap and all (he once owned a yacht) , carrying a brown-paper parcel. Delighted to see one another. He secures a seat in my carriage. So does another fellow, name unknown, but evidently a gallant seaman with a weather-beaten countenance.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

I wave my hand to him in the heartiest manner, expressive of my delight at seeing him, and I am sincerely grateful, for I feel at this moment that Rossher is the only friend I have in this strange world, from which I am liable at any moment to be summarily ejected, being unable to show my raison d'être in the shape of the invitation-card.
"Name?" says a sharp man in ordinary civilian's dress, from whom, judging by his tone and business-like manner, I feel confident I can expect no mercy.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

We steam down the line, we dodge in and out, we see all the ships, and this is the liveliest and most interesting part of the day's proceedings. Then comes the most melancholy, when we steam back, and allow the other guests to re-embark for dinner on board ("Wish you'd stop," says Rossher, heartily, and I as heartily wish I could; so do we all) , and then the four separatists, waving their adieux, are conveyed on board the tender to Southsea.
Source: Gutenberg

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