He was glad that Susan Nipper came between them, or he might have left her with a sorrowful remembrance of him. He was glad too that she did not look out of the coach again, but waved the little hand to him instead, as long as he could see it.
In spite of her request, he could not help opening the packet that night when he went to bed. It was a little purse: and there was money in it.
Bright rose the sun next morning, from his absence in strange countries and up rose Walter with it to receive the Captain, who was already at the door: having turned out earlier than was necessary, in order to get under weigh while Mrs MacStinger was still slumbering. The Captain pretended to be in tip-top spirits, and brought a very smoky tongue in one of the pockets of the broad blue coat for breakfast.
“And, Wal”r,” said the Captain, when they took their seats at table, if your Uncle’s the man I think him, he’ll bring out the last bottle of the Madeira on the present occasion.”
“No, no, Ned,” returned the old man. “No! That shall be opened when Walter comes home again.”
“Well said!” cried the Captain. “Hear him!”
“There it lies,” said Sol Gills, “down in the little cellar, covered with dirt and cobwebs. There may be dirt and cobwebs over you and me perhaps, Ned, before it sees the light.”
“Hear him!” cried the Captain. “Good morality! Wal”r, my lad. Train up a fig-tree in the way it should go, and when you are old sit under the shade on it. Overhaul the—Well,” said the Captain on second thoughts, “I ain’t quite certain where that’s to be found, but when found, make a note of. Sol Gills, heave ahead again!”
“But there or somewhere, it shall lie, Ned, until Wally comes back to claim it,” said the old man. “That’s all I meant to say.”
“And well said too,” returned the Captain; “and if we three don’t crack that bottle in company, I’ll give you two leave to.”