Nicholas got upon his legs, retreated a few steps, then turned round—"Brother, didn't you say something about a letter I was to put in the post?"
"No, I didn't," replied John, shortly, not raising his eyes from the brief.
"Well, I really thought I heard something—"
"Come, father; my uncle's busy."
"Well, then, good-bye, brother."
"Good-bye," replied John, without looking up; and Newton with his father, quitted the room.
No conversation passed during the walk to the inn, except an accidental remark of Nicholas, that it appeared to him that his brother was very busy.
When they arrived Newton hastened to open the enclosure, and found in it the draft for £500, which his uncle had ordered to be filled up the day before. Nicholas was lost in astonishment; and Newton, although he had already gained some insight into his uncle's character, was not a little surprised at his extreme liberality.
"Now," cried Nicholas, rubbing his hands, "my improvement upon the duplex;" and the subject brought up by himself again led him away, and he was in deep thought.
There was one little piece of advice upon the envelope—"When you cash the draft take the number of your notes." This was all; and it was carefully attended to by Newton, who took but £20, and left the remainder in the hands of the banker. The next day Newton called on the East India director, who gave him a letter to the captain of the ship, lying at Gravesend, and expecting to sail in a few days. To Gravesend he immediately repaired, and, presenting his credentials, was favourably received, with an intimation that his company was required as soon as convenient. Newton had now no other object to occupy him than to secure an asylum for his father; and this he was fortunate enough to meet with when he little expected. He had disembarked at Greenwich, intending to return to London by the coach, when, having an hour to spare, he sauntered into the hospital, to view a building which had so much of interest to a sailor. After a few minutes' survey he sat down on a bench, occupied by several pensioners, outside of the gate, wishing to enter into conversation with them relative to their condition, when one addressed another—"Why, Stephen, since the old man's dead, there's no one that'll suit us; and I expects that we must contrive to do without blinkers at all. Jim Nelson told me the other day that that fellow in town as has his shop full of polished brass, all the world like the quarter-deck of the Le Amphitrite, when that sucking Honourable (what was his name?) commanded her—Jim said to me, as how he charged him one-and-sixpence for a new piece of flint for his starboard eye. Now you know that old Wilkins never axed no more than threepence. Now, how we're to pay at that rate comes to more than my knowledge. Jim hadn't the dirt, although he had brought his threepence; so his blinkers are left there in limbo."