A sedate-looking gentleman, about forty-five years of age, stepped into the boat, and in a few seconds I was in the stream, shooting the bridge with the ebbing tide.
“What’s the matter with deaf Stapleton?”
“Nothing, sir; but he’s getting old, and has made the boat over to me.”
“Are you his son?”
“No, sir, his ’prentice.”
“Humph! sorry deaf Stapleton’s gone.”
“I can be as deaf as he, sir, if you wish it.”
“Humph!”
The gentleman said no more at the time, and I pulled down the river in silence; but in a few minutes he began to move his hands up and down, and his lips, as if he was in conversation. Gradually his action increased, and words were uttered. At last he broke out:— “It is with this conviction, I may say important conviction, Mr Speaker, that I now deliver my sentiments to the Commons’ house of Parliament, trusting that no honourable member will decide until he has fully weighed the importance of the arguments which I have submitted to his judgment.” He then stopped, as if aware that I was present, and looked at me; but, prepared as I was, there was nothing in my countenance which exhibited the least sign of merriment; or, indeed, of having paid any attention to what he had been saying, for I looked carelessly to the right and left at the banks of the river. He again entered into conversation.
“Have you been long on the river?”