A man made of money

by Douglas William Jerrold

Here Mrs. Carraways burst into a hearty laugh. The affectionate exaggeration of Bessy was not to be resisted; and her mother, with tears in her eyes and laughter at her lips, threw her arms about Bessy’s neck, and doatingly kissed her. “Yes, my love; yes, my own Bessy; I will see everything with your own good, glad eyes. I ought to do so; and I will, love, from this moment.” And, in very truth, it was delightful to see with what instant earnestness Mrs. Carraways set about the good work. She, who went below, moping and dim, and sad, returned to the deck with such smiling looks, that they fell like sunlight upon her husband and the lovers. The whole party looked as though they had come to secure berths for a voyage to Utopia or Atlantis; with the further delight that there were kindred and friends gone thither long before, and anxiously expecting them. The party mounted the poop of the vessel, and Mrs. Carraways declared it would be a very beautiful place in fine weather to bring her knitting, and to work there and watch the birds and fishes. And the ship’s deck, that, a while past, was in such a dreadful litter, was reconsidered with a very tolerant eye. Nay, we will not avouch that even the pitch and tar had not, within a few minutes, contracted a sweet and flowery odour—a whiff of lilac or violet—deemed impossible before. In a word, everything about the Halcyon was better than Hope—even were she a royal academician—could have painted it. And when Captain Goodbody, in the forepart of the ship, was pointed out to Mrs. Carraways; the said Captain at the time employed dancing up and down at arm’s length an infant passenger of some eight or nine months’ worldly experience; and dancing the little one, chuckling and crowing in concert with his playmate,—when, we say, Mrs. Carraways saw the commander of the Halcyon so genially employed,—she emphatically avowed that then she had not another care about the voyage on her mind; and if the luggage had only been aboard, and the ship cleared of its litter, she would have been quite ready for sea that very minute.

“That’s a good lass,” said Carraways. “Still, not this minute. Here’s a pair of doves to be coupled, before we take ship in the ark;” and Bessy blushed.

“Why, of course, Gilbert,” replied his wife. “I meant that and all;” and Bessy blushed still deeper.

At this moment, a gentleman, his wife, and—Mrs. Carraways counted them as they came up the poop ladder—a family of nine children, ascended in procession. The gentleman approached Carraways with a ceremonious elevation of beaver: then, with measured syllables, began,—“I believe, sir, I have the pleasure of addressing a brother passenger that will be?” Carraways bowed. “My name, sir, is Dodo: a name, I believe, pretty well known in that place they call the world, down there,” and Dodo, as with accusing finger pointed towards the west, and bitterness seemed to well to his lips. Basil stared at the change wrought in the man. His face, once shrewd, earnest, yet withal honest and good-tempered, seemed edgy, as sharpened on the world’s grindstone. His thin hair was white as paper; and when he spoke, it was with a twitch, as though every syllable he uttered stung his lips with a sense of wrong. Basil at once recognised Dodo, although Dodo had no remembrance of Basil.

“I trust, sir,” continued Dodo, “I may take the freedom of a self-introduction; as I am to have the care of you during the voyage. I go out as doctor of the vessel. And my best wishes are that none of you will have any need of me.” Carraways bowed in thankfulness of such benevolence. “I go out, understand me,” said Dodo; and then he smiled scornfully—“but never, never to return. I will not take a particle of the dust of England with me. Not a particle. When I finally step aboard, it shall be in a pair of new shoes; bran-new shoes. Not a particle of that ungrateful earth,” and Dodo pointed to the west.

“I am sorry, sir,” said Carraways, “you should have such cause for new shoe-leather.”

“It is no matter, sir; no matter,” and Dodo raised his hands, and shook his fingers, as though shaking all annoyance from them. “No matter. We go to a fine country, sir; a virgin country, sir. A country, fresh from the hand of nature; a country, glorious and flourishing with living wood; a country yet unburdened, sir, with heavy sins of brick and mortar. A magnificent country. So fertile! A crop with every quarter; splendid pasturage; wonderful cattle; beautiful flowers, and birds, and fishes”—

“And”—said Mrs. Carraways—“and no snakes.”

At the sentence, Doctor Dodo fairly leapt from his feet. “That’s it, my dear madam—that’s it, my truthful lady! No snakes—no reptiles—no vipers; that’s it,” and Dodo rubbed his hands, and chuckled with a wildness of enjoyment, somewhat akin to ferocity. Mr. Carraways remembered the reports of Dodo’s insanity; and began to wonder at, perhaps to regret, his appointment as doctor of the Halcyon. “Excuse me, sir,” said Dodo; “but it’s a subject I must feel deeply. Allow me to introduce Mrs. Dodo; our children, with one at the breast at home. Well, sir; here we are, twelve of us, stung out of the country by vipers; bitten out of house and home by adders. Am I wrong then, when I thank heaven that where we’re bound to, there are no snakes?”

“Indeed, Doctor Dodo,” said Carraways, “your numerous family adds an interest to your story. What do you mean? Bitten, stung! I don’t understand you.”