“It’s all right, Faithful, here is your discharge, and an order for your passage home.”
He laid it on the table, and then went away, for a first lieutenant in harbour has no time to lose. The next person who came was Tom, holding in his hand a letter from Mary, with a postscript from his mother.
“Well, Jacob,” said he, “I have news to tell you. Mary says that Mr Turnbull is dead, and has left her father 200 pounds, and that she has been told that he has left you something handsome.”
“He has indeed, Tom,” replied I; “read this letter.”
While Tom was reading, I perceived the letter from Mr Drummond, which I had forgotten. I opened it. It communicated the same intelligence as that of the lawyer, in fewer words; recommended my immediate return, and enclosed a bill upon his house for 100 pounds, to enable me to appear in a manner corresponding to my present condition.
“Well,” said Tom, “this is, indeed, good news, Jacob. You are a gentleman at last, as you deserve to be. It has made me so happy; what do you mean to do?”
“I have my discharge here,” replied I, “and am ordered a passage home.”
“Better still. I am so happy, Jacob; so happy. But what is to become of me?” And Tom passed the back of his hand across his eyes to brush away a tear.
“You shall soon follow me, Tom, if I can manage it either by money or any influence.”
“I will manage it, if you don’t, Jacob. I won’t stay here without you, that I am determined.”