The Shadow of Great Britain

163: Chapter 117 Farewell to Cambridge Again_2 163: Chapter 117 Farewell to Cambridge Again_2 Eld sighed with relief, “Arthur, you’re always so considerate of your friends.”

Arthur shook his head, “No, Eld, you think too highly of me.

It’s not for you that I do this but for myself.

I just don’t want to still see you in Hell after I die.”

Eld looked a bit displeased, “Arthur, you son of a bitch!

What have I done to offend you?

Do you dislike me that much?

Drinking, watching plays—when have I not brought you along?”

Arthur appeared somewhat helpless, “No, no, Eld, there is no problem with our friendship.

I just don’t want the devils in Hell to mock me, saying, ‘Look everyone, that guy standing over there—his friend went to Hell because of a fish.’

Eld, if you’re set on going to Hell after you die, I’ll have to make an effort to get to Heaven.”

Eld rolled his eyes at this and gave Arthur’s shoulder a direct punch, “You’re something else!

I must clarify once again, I did not have any relations with a fish.

I was just trying to explain the special customs of sailors to you.”

Having said that, Eld quickly changed the subject, “Speaking of which, what brought you to Greenwich today?

Aren’t you working at Greater London Police Department headquarters now?

Did you come here today to reminisce about your past impoverished self?”

Seeing that he did not want to continue on that topic, Arthur went along with it, “I’m here to find a gentleman who runs a musical instrument shop in Greenwich; he will also be one of the shining stars at the Sunday banquet.”

Arthur stuck his head out to look outside the carriage window and said to the coachman, “Please stop here; we can walk the rest of the way ourselves.”

After saying this, Arthur opened the carriage door and, taking Eld with him, they crossed the muddy streets and crowded throngs of people post-rain.

They passed by the apartment that the real estate agent had previously shown them, and not far away stood a three-story red brick house with a brown cedar shingle roof.

Next to the red door fronting the street, there leaned a signboard that read—Three generations of heritage, top quality at reasonable prices, master craftsmanship, honest to all ages.

And the shop’s signboard proclaimed its renown—Wheatstone Musical Instruments.

Through the shop’s display window, one could see a line of musical instruments hanging against the pristine walls, painted with white enamel.

Inside, there were not only courtly instruments like violins, pianos, and harps that graced grand venues but also street performers’ favorites like rebecs, panflutes, or flutes.

Of course, the shop also had bugles used in the army to give commands and control the troop’s pace of advance and drums that were hit while hanging around the neck as they marched.

Eld squatted beside the window and took a look, unable to help nodding, “Who would’ve thought Greenwich had such a shop.

The array of instruments here doesn’t fall short of those in London’s largest musical instrument shops.

But has the owner gone mad?

Why open a shop in Greenwich?

How many people here would care to buy such things?

If he opened his shop in the West District, he’d surely make a fortune.”

As Arthur pushed open the door, he spoke, “Perhaps he opened his shop here precisely to avoid having too many customers.

Eld, you don’t understand—this gentleman is quite the eccentric.”

No sooner had they pushed open the door than the bell hung behind it chimed.

The only sound was the jingle of a bell, and the few patrons in the otherwise desolate shop couldn’t help but turn to look at the two of them.

But soon, they returned their attention to the eight-stringed lute hanging on the wall.

“Alfred, I’ve never seen this instrument before.

How about we try to accompany the poetry at this year’s university art festival with this new thing?”

“Uh…

William, are you talking about using it for your poetry, or for mine?

Maybe we should play it safe, new things aren’t necessarily more reliable than the old ones.

Actually, I think maybe no accompaniment is needed, just pure recitation could work…”

Eld, overheard their discussion about poetry.

This high-achieving student from the University of London’s Department of Classical Literature couldn’t help but approach: “Might I be so fortunate as to join in the gentlemen’s discussion?

I, though unworthy, happen to have some unique insights on poetry.”

The two young men gave Eld a wary glance, one seeming a bit shy and the other all arrogance in his eyes.

They were silent for a while until the shyer one broke the silence, speaking up for Eld: “Sir, our poetry isn’t much to speak of.

We wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

However, the other young man, full of arrogance, didn’t seem pleased with this response and corrected him: “Alfred, you should stop being so modest.

Your poetry won the gold award at Cambridge last year, you should be more confident and not always so timid.”

The shy young man, embarrassed, touched the back of his head and said: “But…

but…

William, didn’t you write a farcical play about my award-winning poem last year?

I think my poem might indeed have its flaws.”

Upon hearing this, the arrogant young man’s tongue seemed to twist: “Alfred, when I wrote that farce, it wasn’t…

it wasn’t about targeting you.

I didn’t even know you back then.

Besides, if I thought your work was no good, would I have bothered to create something based on it?

Alfred, you must have confidence.

Students of Cambridge should have confidence!”

When Eld heard the word ‘Cambridge’ repeated, his eyelids couldn’t help but twitch.

He took a step back and shook his head at Arthur: “God!

Did you hear that?

Cambridge, we must be out of luck to have run into such misfortune today.

Listen to what he’s saying?

Cambridge and its poetry, that’s utterly ridiculous!”

Eld thought he had spoken quietly enough, but his words still reached the other’s ears.

The young man with arrogance stepped forward, frowning and pressing him: “Sir, what exactly are you implying?

Are you belittling the bright art and glorious civilization created by Cambridge?”

Confronted with such aggression, Eld couldn’t help but take a step back and tried to laugh it off: “No, of course not.

To be honest, I actually quite appreciate the works of Cambridge students, like that…

uh…”

He paused, unable to recall anything, and in a moment of desperation, he tugged at Arthur’s clothes: “Arthur, do you remember?

That one I talked to you about–that piece by someone from Cambridge.

It was quite good.”

Arthur really didn’t want to get involved in the trouble Eld was stirring up, but since it had come to this, he too tried to remember.

“Ah!

You mean that one, the…

um…”

Arthur racked his brains, and then a flash of inspiration struck him: “That’s right, it was the one that goes, ‘I left quietly, just as I had come quietly, I wave quietly, bidding farewell to the clouds in the Western Heaven…’”