Story 1—Chapter X.
A Conundrum.
Ernest Wilton felt almost inclined to be vexed at first, thinking that the speaker had deliberately led him on with the intention, finally, of “selling” him, or perpetrating an April fool trick at his expense, it just being about that time of year. But after one steadfast glance at Mr Rawlings’ unmoved face, which bore an expression of honest sincerity that could not be doubted, he laughed off his annoyance, for he could perceive that his companion was perfectly guiltless of any attempt at a joke, and had said what he did in serious confidence.
“Did you not open the packet?” said he, when he had stifled his laughter, which increased all the more from Mr Rawlings’ unconsciousness of having done or said anything to provoke it.
“No, I didn’t do it at the time, thinking it might be some little keepsake or love-token which the boy would not have liked any prying eyes to look into if he were in the full possession of his faculties; and afterwards, when I wanted to, thinking that it might disclose his identity, Seth wouldn’t allow it.”
“Hullo!” said that worthy, coming up at the moment, with Sailor Bill in close attendance behind him as usual, “what are you two chaps a conspiring about? I guess,” he continued, with the broad smile that seemed to illumine the whole of his rugged countenance and give it such a pleasant, cheery look, “you’re up to some mischief about me, hey? I kalkerlate I heard my name kinder mentioned.”
“We were talking about the boy, Seth,” said Mr Rawlings, smiling too.
“Speakin’ ’bout my b’y, wer’ yer?” said he, turning half round as he spoke, to pat Sailor Bill’s head kindly. “Poor feller! yer might ha’ sunthin’ a sight worse ter talk about, I reckon! He’s a chap as can’t do harm to none whatsomdever, if he can’t do ’em no good, as he once did to me, I guess.”
“You can’t forget that, Seth?” said Mr Rawlings.
“No, nor won’t as long as this chile draws breath nether,” answered the ex-mate of the Susan Jane, feelingly, with a look of almost parental fondness at the boy.
“Mr Wilton here was wondering, Seth,” continued Mr Rawlings, “why you would not let me open that package round poor Sailor Bill’s neck, to see whether it would give us any clue to who he is.”
The smile faded instantly from Seth Allport’s face, which reassumed its normal grim, firm look, just as if some one had dealt him what he would have called a “back-hander.”
“Mr Wilton may wonder, and you too, Mr Rawlings, but I jest won’t that, siree, not if I know it. Nary a soul shall look upon it, I guess, till that thar b’y opens it hisself. I said that months agone, Rawlings, as you knows well, and I say it now agin.”
“I wish I could recollect whom he resembles, really,” said Ernest Wilton, to give a turn to the conversation, which had got into such an unpleasant hitch. “There is nothing so worrying as to try and puzzle over a face which you seem to remember and which you cannot place.”
“Yes,” said Mr Rawlings; “like a name sometimes seems to hover right on the tip of your tongue, and yet you can’t get it out, try what you may. I suppose you left England only lately?”
“I?” replied the young engineer. “Why, it’s nearly four years since I left Liverpool for America—quite.”
“Perhaps you keep up communication, however, with the tight little island, eh?” said Mr Rawlings. “I daresay some one was sorry to lose you.”
“Not they,” said Ernest Wilton carelessly. “‘I care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody cares for me,’” he hummed in a rich baritone voice, although there was a tone of sadness in it that belied the tenor of the words. “I assure you,” he added presently, in one of those sudden bursts of confidence in which some of us are apt to indulge sometimes when we get a sympathetic listener, “that I haven’t written home or heard from thence for more than three years, and they will have thought me dead by this time! I’ve no doubt there is a large parcel of letters and papers awaiting me now in New York, where I told them to address me when I came to America; for I’ve not been back there either since the day I landed, when I started straight across the continent for California, with a gentleman who had an interest in some mines there, with whom I came over in the same steamer from Liverpool; and I have never been eastwards again, or turned my face thither till I came through Oregon as far as this place, which is still considerable to the west, I think, eh?”
And he laughed lightly, as if he did not care to talk much of home or its associations.
“I don’t think it’s quite right, though,” suggested Mr Rawlings in his grave, kind way, “altogether to abandon one’s relatives and friends in that fashion.”
“No?” said the young man inquiringly; and then added more frankly, impressed by the manner of the other, “Well, perhaps it isn’t quite the right thing to do; but I have been a rover almost all my life, and a wanderer from home. Besides, my parents are both dead, and there’s nobody now who particularly cares about me or my welfare in old England.”
“Not anybody?” persisted Mr Rawlings, who thought it strange that such a nice, handsome fellow as the young engineer appeared should be without some tie in the world to hold him to his country.
“I certainly have an uncle and aunt and some cousins,” said Ernest Wilton, acknowledging his relatives as if he were confessing some peccadillo; “and my aunt used to be fond of me as a boy, I remember well.”
“Then I should write to her,” said Mr Rawlings. “When you get as old as I am, you won’t like to feel yourself alone amongst strangers, and without some one to connect you with the past of your childhood.”
“I will write to my aunt, then, as you have reminded me of my shortcomings,” said Ernest Wilton, laughing. “I promise you that at any rate.”
“That’s a good fellow. I’m sure you won’t regret it afterwards,” said Mr Rawlings, who was then proceeding to ask the young engineer something about his journey from California to Dakota when Seth, who had listened patiently to their conversation so far, now interrupted them.
“Come, mister,” said he, addressing Ernest Wilton, “I suggest—”
“Do call me by my right name, please,” interposed the good-humoured young fellow, speaking in such a sort of pleading way that Seth could not take offence.
“Waal, thin, ef yer are so partick’ler,” replied that worthy, with a very bad pretence of being angry, “kim along, Wilton, thaar now! and see to this mine of ourn that you’ve now got to look arter. How does yer like that style anyhow?”
“Decidedly better,” responded the young engineer, with his frank, light-hearted laugh, in which Mr Rawlings joined.
And the four then proceeded in the direction of the shaft, Seth leading the way, with Sailor Bill, as usual behind him.