Harry murmured his thanks and bowed himself out. His nerves were a-tingle with his unexpected good fortune. To have seen and spoken with the greatest man in the kingdom was itself an unforeseen privilege; and the prospect of assistance from such a powerful and august personage filled him with elation. The earl had shown no great cordiality, it was true; but Harry was inclined to draw good augury from the few words he had uttered. They were probably more sincere than a warm volubility would have been. He left the house with a sparkling eye and a springy gait, and looked eagerly around to see if Sherebiah were near at hand to hear his news. But Sherebiah was nowhere to be seen. Having no particular business, now that his great errand was accomplished, Harry walked through Whitehall into St. James’s Park, in the hope that he might catch a glimpse of Queen Anne herself. The guard had just been changed at St. James’s Palace, and a stream of people met him as he strolled along the Mall. He was interested in watching them—the fine ladies with their hoops and patches, the beaux with their many-coloured coats, canes dangling at their buttons, toothpicks between their teeth, and snuff-boxes in frequent use. So absorbed was he that he was startled when all at once a hand struck him a hearty blow on the shoulder, and a voice exclaimed: "Hey, Harry, what make you, ogling the ladies?" He turned and saw his friend Godfrey Fanshawe, the captain of the cricket team to whose victory he had so much contributed. The two young fellows shook hands heartily. "What brings you to London?" continued Fanshawe. "I’ve come in search of fortune, like Dick Whittington. You heard of my father’s death?" "Ay, but nothing since. They seldom write letters at home." Harry then explained the course of events which had brought him to London, concluding with his recent interview with Marlborough and Godolphin. "Egad, man!" exclaimed Fanshawe, "you’re in luck’s way indeed. Would that I stood so well with the two greatest men in England. My lord Marlborough will gazette you an ensign of foot or a cornet of horse; and my cornetcy, I may tell you, cost my father a pretty penny. What luck, Harry, if we make the next campaign together! The earl will surely go back to Flanders when the winter is over." "I should like nothing better." "Where are you staying?" "At the Angel and Crown, in Threadneedle Street." "You must leave that and come westward. Are you alone?" "Sherry Minshull is with me at present; but he’ll get work for himself as soon as I am settled."