Explore "Rodney Stone" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
MY father's appointment with Lord Nelson was an early one, and he was the / more anxious to be punctual as he knew how much the Admiral's movements / must be affected by the news which we had heard the night before. I had / hardly breakfasted then, and my uncle had not rung for his chocolate, / when he called for me at Jermyn Street. A walk of a few hundred yards / brought us to the high building of discoloured brick in Piccadilly, which / served the Hamiltons as a town house, and which Nelson used as his / head-quarters when business or pleasure called him from Merton. A / footman answered our knock, and we were ushered into a large drawing-room / with sombre furniture and melancholy curtains. My father sent in his / name, and there we sat, looking at the white Italian statuettes in the / corners, and the picture of Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples which hung / over the harpsichord. I can remember that a black clock was ticking / loudly upon the mantelpiece, and that every now and then, amid the rumble / of the hackney coaches, we could hear boisterous laughter from some inner / chamber.
When at last the door opened, both my father and I sprang to our feet, / expecting to find ourselves face to face with the greatest living / Englishman. It was a very different person, however, who swept into the / room.