The doctor expressed satisfaction at finding that his new “charitable contributor” took such enlarged views of a pigeon-hole, and, promising to pay him another visit when the “cabin” should have been put to rights, said good-bye, and went to relieve the wants of the sick woman.
As the captain accompanied him along the passage, they heard the voice and step of poor Mrs Leven’s dissipated son, as he came stumbling and singing up the stair.
He was a stout good-looking youth, and cast a half impudent half supercilious look at Captain Wopper on approaching. He also bestowed a nod of careless recognition on Dr Lawrence.
Thinking it better to be out of the way, the Captain said good-bye again to his friend, and returned to the cabin, where he expressed to Mrs Roby the opinion that, “that young feller Leven was goin’ to the dogs at railway speed.”
Thereafter he went “aloft,” and, as he expressed it, “rigged himself out,” in a spruce blue coat with brass buttons; blue vest and trousers to match; a white dicky with a collar attached and imitation carbuncle studs down the front. To these he added a black silk neckerchief tied in a true sailor’s knot but with the ends separated and carefully tucked away under his vest to prevent their interfering with the effulgence of the carbuncle studs; a pair of light shoes with a superabundance of new tie; a green silk handkerchief, to be carried in his hat, for the purpose of mopping his forehead when warm, and a red silk ditto to be carried in his pocket for the benefit of his nose. In addition to the studs, Captain Wopper wore, as ornaments, a solid gold ring, the rude workmanship of which induced the belief that he must have made it himself, and a large gold watch, with a gold chain in the form of a cable, and a rough gold nugget attached to it in place of a seal or key. We class the watch among simple ornaments because, although it went—very demonstratively too, with a loud self-asserting tick—its going was irregular and uncertain. Sometimes it went too slow without apparent cause. At other times it went too fast without provocation. Frequently it struck altogether, and only consented to resume work after a good deal of gentle and persuasive threatening to wind it the wrong way. It had chronic internal complaints, too, which produced sundry ominous clicks and sounds at certain periods of the day. These passed off, however, towards evening. Occasionally such sounds rushed as it were into a sudden whirr and series of convulsions, ending in a dead stop, which was an unmistakeable intimation to the Captain that something vital had given way; that the watch had gone into open mutiny, and nothing short of a visit to the watchmaker could restore it to life and duty.
“I’m off now,” said the Captain, descending when he was fully “rigged.” “What about the door-key, mother?—you’ve no objection to my calling you mother, have you?”
“None whatever, Captain,” replied Mrs Roby, with a pleasant smile, “an old friend of William may call me whatever he pleases—short,” she added after momentary pause, “of swearin’.”
“Trust me, I’ll stop short of that. You see, old lady, I never know’d a mother, and I should like to try to feel what it’s like to have one. It’s true I’m not just a lad, but you are old enough to be my mother for all that, so I’ll make the experiment. But what about the key of the door, mother? I can’t expect you to let me in, you know.”
“Just lock it, and take the key away with you,” said Mrs Roby.
“But what if a fire should break out?” said the Captain, with a look of indecision.
“I’m not afraid of fire. We’ve got a splendid brigade and plenty of fire-escapes, and a good kick from a fireman would open my door without a key.”
“Mother, you’re a trump! I’ll lock you in and leave you with an easy mind—”
He stopped abruptly, and Mrs Roby asked what was the matter.
“Well, it’s what I said about an easy mind that threw me all aback,” replied the Captain, “for to tell ’ee the truth, I haven’t got an easy mind.”
“Not done anything wicked, I hope?” said Mrs Roby, anxiously.
“No, no; nothin’ o’ that sort; but there is somethin’ lyin’ heavy on my mind, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t make a confidant o’ you, bein’ my mother, d’ee see; and, besides, it consarns Willum.”
The old woman looked eagerly at her lodger as he knitted his brows in perplexity and smoothed down his forelock.
“Here’s where it is,” he continued, drawing his chair closer to that of Mrs Roby; “when Willum made me his exikooter, so to speak, he said to me, ‘Wopper,’ says he, ‘I’m not one o’ them fellers that holds on to his cash till he dies with it in his pocket. I’ve got neither wife nor chick, as you know, an’ so, wot I means to do is to give the bulk of it to them that I love while I’m alive—d’ee see?’ ‘I do, Willum,’ says I. ‘Well then,’ says he, ‘besides them little matters that I axed you to do for me, I want you to take partikler notice of two people. One is the man as saved my life w’en I was a youngster, or, if he’s dead, take notice of his child’n. The other is that sweet young creeter, Emma Gray, who has done the correspondence with me so long for my poor brother. You keep a sharp look-out an’ find out how these two are off for money. If Emma’s rich, of course it’s no use to give her what she don’t need, and I’ll give the most of what I’ve had the good fortune to dig up here to old Mr Lawrence, or his family, for my brother’s widow, bein’ rich, don’t need it. If both Emma and Lawrence are rich, why then, just let me know, and I’ll try to hit on some other plan to make away with it, for you know well enough I couldn’t use it all upon myself without going into wicked extravagance, and my dear old Mrs Roby wouldn’t know what to do with so much cash if I sent it to her. Now, you promise to do this for me?’ says he. ‘Willum,’ says I, ‘I do.’”
“Now, mother,” continued the Captain, “what troubles me is this, that instead o’ findin’ Miss Emma rich, and Mr Lawrence poor, or wice wersa, or findin’ ’em both rich, I finds ’em both poor. That’s where my difficulty lies.”
Mrs Roby offered a prompt solution of this difficulty by suggesting that William should divide the money between them.
“That would do all well enough,” returned the Captain, “if there were no under-currents drivin’ the ship out of her true course. But you see, mother, I find that the late Mr Stoutley’s family is also poor—at least in difficulties—although they live in great style, and seem to be rich; and from what I heard the other day, I know that the son is given to gamblin’, and the mother seems to be extravagant, and both of ’em are ready enough to sponge on Miss Emma, who is quite willin’—far too willin’—to be sponged upon, so that whatever Willum gave to her would be just thrown away. Now the question is,” continued the Captain, looking seriously at the kettle with the defiant spout, “what am I to advise Willum to do?”
“Advise him,” replied Mrs Roby, promptly, “to give all the money to Dr Lawrence, and get Dr Lawrence to marry Miss Gray, and so they’ll both get the whole of it.”
A beaming smile crossed the Captain’s visage.
“Not a bad notion, mother; but what if Dr Lawrence, after gettin’ the money, didn’t want to marry Miss Gray?”
“Get him to marry her first and give the money afterwards,” returned Mrs Roby.
“Ay, that might do,” replied the Captain, nodding slowly, “only it may be that a man without means may hesitate about marryin’ a girl without means, especially if he didn’t want her, and she didn’t want him. I don’t quite see how to get over all these difficulties.”
“There’s only one way of getting over them,” said Mrs Roby, “and that is, by bringin’ the young people together, and givin’ ’em a chance to fall in love.”
“True, true, mother, but, so far as I know, Dr Lawrence don’t know the family. We couldn’t,” said the Captain, looking