“Practical and sentimental—that’s Rosebud,” said the Pilot, from the further end of the seat. “And you’ll always notice, Scarlett, that it’s the practical that comes first with her. Once upon a time she give me a cardigan jacket to wear under my coat. She’d knitted it herself. She said it would keep me warm on frosty nights, and prevent me gettin’ cold and all that; and when I gets into the boat one night, and was feeling for a match, bless you if I didn’t find a piece o’ paper, folded up, in the pocket o’ that there cardigan jacket. I took it out and read it by the lantern. It was from my own dar’ter, jest as if I’d ha’ been her sweetheart, and in it was all manner o’ lovey-dovey things just fit to turn her old dad’s head. Practical first, sentimental afterwards—that’s Rosebud. Very practical over the makin’ of an apple-pie—very sentimental over the eatin’ of it, ain’t you, my gal?”
“I don’t know about the sentiment,” said Rose, “but I am sure about the pie. If that were missing at dinner-time I know who would grumble. So I’ll go, and attend to my duties.” She had risen, and was confronting Scarlett. “Good-bye,” she said, “and good fortune.”
Jack took her proffered hand. “Thank you,” he said.
She had walked a few steps towards the house, when she looked over her shoulder. “Don’t forget the nuggets,” she said with a laugh.
“I sha’n’t forget,” he replied. “If I get them, you shall have them. I hope I may get them, for your sake.”
“Now, ain’t that a wee bit mushy, for talk?” said the old Pilot, as his daughter disappeared. “You might give a gal a few pennyweights, or even an ounce, but when you say you hope you may find gold for her sake, ain’t that just a trifle flabby? But don’t think you can deceive my gal with talk such as that. She may be sentimental and stoopid with her old dad, but I never yet see the man she couldn’t run rings round at a bargain. And as for gettin’ soft on a chap, he ain’t come along yet; and when he does, like as not I’ll chuck him over this here bank, and break his impident neck. When my gal Rosebud takes a fancy, that’s another matter. If she should have a leanin’ towards some partic’lar chap, why, then I’d open the door, and lug him in by the collar if he didn’t come natural and responsive. I’ve got my own ideas about a girl marrying—I had my own experience, and I say, give a girl the choice, an’ she’ll make a good wife. That’s my theory. So if my gal is set agin a man, I’m set agin him. If she likes a partic’lar man, I’ll like him too. She won’t cotton to any miserable, fish-backed beach-comber, I can promise you. So mushy, flabby talk don’t count with Rose; you can make your mind clear on that point.”
The young man burst into a laugh.
“Keep her tight, Pilot,” he said, in a voice loud with merriment. “When you know you’ve got a good daughter, stick to her. Chuck every interloper over the bank. I should do so myself. But don’t treat me so when I come with the nuggets.”
“Now, look ’ee here,” said the Pilot, as he rose cumbersomely, and took Scarlett by the arm. “I’ve said you’re in a bad streak o’ luck, and I believe it. But, mark me here: nothing would please me better than for you to return with a hatful of gold. All I say is, if you’re bent on going, be careful; and, being in a bad streak, don’t expect great things.”
“Good-bye,” said Scarlett. “I’m in a bad streak? All right. When I work out of that you’ll be the first man I’ll come to see.”