Somebody about the place had asked me my name, and I had told it
plainly--George Walker. I never was ashamed of my name yet, and
never had cause to be. I believe at this day it will go as far in
Friday Street as any other. A man may be popular, or he may not.
That depends mostly on circumstances which are in themselves
trifling. But the value of his name depends on the way in which he
is known at his bank. I have never dealt in tea spoons or gravy
spoons, but my name will go as far as another name. "George
Walker," I answered, therefore, in a tone of some little authority,
to the man who asked me, and who sat inside the gate of the hotel in
an old dressing-gown and slippers.

That was a melancholy day with me, and twenty times before dinner
did I wish myself back at Cairo. I had been travelling all night,
and therefore hoped that I might get through some little time in
sleeping, but the mosquitoes attacked me the moment I laid myself
down. In other places mosquitoes torment you only at night, but at
Suez they buzz around you, without ceasing, at all hours. A
scorching sun was blazing overhead, and absolutely forbade me to
leave the house. I stood for a while in the verandah, looking down
at the few small vessels which were moored to the quay, but there
was no life in them; not a sail was set, not a boatman or a sailor
was to be seen, and the very water looked as though it were hot. I
could fancy the glare of the sun was cracking the paint on the
gunwales of the boats. I was the only visitor in the house, and
during all the long hours of the morning it seemed as though the
servants had deserted it.

I dined at four; not that I chose that hour, but because no choice
was given to me. At the hotels in Egypt one has to dine at an hour