“Am I right, again?” inquired the Captain in a whisper, with the scarlet circle on his forehead swelling in his triumphant joy.
Mr Carker, in reply, still smiling, and now nodding assent, Captain Cuttle rose and squeezed him by the hand, assuring him, warmly, that they were on the same tack, and that as for him (Cuttle) he had laid his course that way all along. “He know’d her first,” said the Captain, with all the secrecy and gravity that the subject demanded, “in an uncommon manner—you remember his finding her in the street when she was a’most a babby—he has liked her ever since, and she him, as much as two youngsters can. We’ve always said, Sol Gills and me, that they was cut out for each other.”
A cat, or a monkey, or a hyena, or a death’s-head, could not have shown the Captain more teeth at one time, than Mr Carker showed him at this period of their interview.
“There’s a general indraught that way,” observed the happy Captain. “Wind and water sets in that direction, you see. Look at his being present t’other day!”
“Most favourable to his hopes,” said Mr Carker.
“Look at his being towed along in the wake of that day!” pursued the Captain. “Why what can cut him adrift now?”
“Nothing,” replied Mr Carker.
“You’re right again,” returned the Captain, giving his hand another squeeze. “Nothing it is. So! steady! There’s a son gone: pretty little creetur. Ain’t there?”
“Yes, there’s a son gone,” said the acquiescent Carker.
“Pass the word, and there’s another ready for you,” quoth the Captain. “Nevy of a scientific Uncle! Nevy of Sol Gills! Wal”r! Wal”r, as is already in your business! And”—said the Captain, rising gradually to a quotation he was preparing for a final burst, “who—comes from Sol Gills’s daily, to your business, and your buzzums.”