“My lady lass,” said the Captain, “cheer up, and try to eat a deal. Stand by, my deary! Liver wing it is. Sarse it is. Sassage it is. And potato!” all which the Captain ranged symmetrically on a plate, and pouring hot gravy on the whole with the useful spoon, set before his cherished guest.
“The whole row o’ dead lights is up, for’ard, lady lass,” observed the Captain, encouragingly, “and everythink is made snug. Try and pick a bit, my pretty. If Wal”r was here—”
“Ah! If I had him for my brother now!” cried Florence.
“Don’t! don’t take on, my pretty!” said the Captain, “awast, to obleege me! He was your nat’ral born friend like, warn’t he, Pet?”
Florence had no words to answer with. She only said, “Oh, dear, dear Paul! oh, Walter!”
“The wery planks she walked on,” murmured the Captain, looking at her drooping face, “was as high esteemed by Wal”r, as the water brooks is by the hart which never rejices! I see him now, the wery day as he was rated on them Dombey books, a speaking of her with his face a glistening with doo—leastways with his modest sentiments—like a new blowed rose, at dinner. Well, well! If our poor Wal”r was here, my lady lass—or if he could be—for he’s drownded, ain’t he?”
Florence shook her head.
“Yes, yes; drownded,” said the Captain, soothingly; “as I was saying, if he could be here he’d beg and pray of you, my precious, to pick a leetle bit, with a look-out for your own sweet health. Whereby, hold your own, my lady lass, as if it was for Wal”r’s sake, and lay your pretty head to the wind.”
Florence essayed to eat a morsel, for the Captain’s pleasure. The Captain, meanwhile, who seemed to have quite forgotten his own dinner, laid down his knife and fork, and drew his chair to the sofa.
“Wal”r was a trim lad, warn’t he, precious?” said the Captain, after sitting for some time silently rubbing his chin, with his eyes fixed upon her, “and a brave lad, and a good lad?”