‘It’s nothing partickler,’ said Mr Willet, chuckling again. ‘It’s nothing at all partickler, Joseph. Tell me something about the Salwanners.’ Having preferred this request, Mr Willet chuckled a third time, and after these unusual demonstrations of levity, he put his pipe in his mouth again.
‘What shall I tell you, father?’ asked Joe, laying his hand upon his sire’s shoulder, and looking down into his face. ‘That I have come back, poorer than a church mouse? You know that. That I have come back, maimed and crippled? You know that.’
‘It was took off,’ muttered Mr Willet, with his eyes upon the fire, ‘at the defence of the Salwanners, in America, where the war is.’
‘Quite right,’ returned Joe, smiling, and leaning with his remaining elbow on the back of his father’s chair; ‘the very subject I came to speak to you about. A man with one arm, father, is not of much use in the busy world.’
This was one of those vast propositions which Mr Willet had never considered for an instant, and required time to ‘tackle.’ Wherefore he made no answer.
‘At all events,’ said Joe, ‘he can’t pick and choose his means of earning a livelihood, as another man may. He can’t say “I will turn my hand to this,” or “I won’t turn my hand to that,” but must take what he can do, and be thankful it’s no worse.—What did you say?’
Mr Willet had been softly repeating to himself, in a musing tone, the words ‘defence of the Salwanners:’ but he seemed embarrassed at having been overheard, and answered ‘Nothing.’
‘Now look here, father.—Mr Edward has come to England from the West Indies. When he was lost sight of (I ran away on the same day, father), he made a voyage to one of the islands, where a school-friend of his had settled; and, finding him, wasn’t too proud to be employed on his estate, and—and in short, got on well, and is prospering, and has come over here on business of his own, and is going back again speedily. Our returning nearly at the same time, and meeting in the course of the late troubles, has been a good thing every way; for it has not only enabled us to do old friends some service, but has opened a path in life for me which I may tread without being a burden upon you. To be plain, father, he can employ me; I have satisfied myself that I can be of real use to him; and I am going to carry my one arm away with him, and to make the most of it.’
In the mind’s eye of Mr Willet, the West Indies, and indeed all foreign countries, were inhabited by savage nations, who were perpetually burying pipes of peace, flourishing tomahawks, and puncturing strange patterns in their bodies. He no sooner heard this announcement, therefore, than he leaned back in his chair, took his pipe from his lips, and stared at his son with as much dismay as if he already beheld him tied to a stake, and tortured for the entertainment of a lively population. In what form of expression his feelings would have found a vent, it is impossible to say. Nor is it necessary: for, before a syllable occurred to him, Dolly Varden came running into the room, in tears, threw herself on Joe’s breast without a word of explanation, and clasped her white arms round his neck.
‘Dolly!’ cried Joe. ‘Dolly!’