“Mean to make her a tinker’s bride,” replied Joey, laughing.
“Joey, I shall certainly knock you down, if you apply that term to her. Come let us go to the village,—it is close at hand.”
As soon as they arrived at the village, Spikeman went into the alehouse. During the remainder of the day he was in a brown study, and Joey amused himself with a book. At nine o’clock the company had all quitted the tap-room, and then Spikeman entered into conversation with the hostess. In the course of conversation, she informed him that the mansion belonged to Squire Mathews, who had formerly been a great manufacturer, and who had purchased the place; that the old gentleman had long suffered from the gout, and saw no company, which was very bad for the village; that Miss Melissa was his daughter, and he had a son, who was with his regiment in India, and, it was said, not on very good terms with his father; that the old gentleman was violent and choleric because he was always in pain; but that every one spoke well of Miss Melissa and Miss Araminta, her cousin, who were both very kind to the poor people. Having obtained these particulars, Spikeman went to bed: he slept little that night, as Joey, who was his bedfellow, could vouch for; for he allowed Joey no sleep either, turning and twisting round in the bed every two minutes. The next morning they arose early, and proceeded on their way.
“Joey,” said Spikeman, after an hour’s silence, “I was thinking a great deal last night.”
“So I suppose, for you certainly were not sleeping.”
“No, I could not sleep; the fact is, Joey, I am determined to have that girl, Miss Mathews, if I can; a bold attempt for a tinker, you will say, but not for a gentleman born as I was. I thought I never should care for a woman; but there is a current in the affairs of men. I shall now drift with the current, and if it leads to fortune, so much the better; if not, he who dares greatly does greatly. I feel convinced that I should make her a good husband, and it shall not be my fault if I do not gain her.”
“Do you mean to propose in form with your foot on your wheel?”
“No, saucebox, I don’t; but I mean to turn my knife-grinder’s wheel into a wheel of fortune; and with your help I will do so.”
“You are sure of my help if you are serious,” replied Joey; “but how you are to manage I cannot comprehend.”
“I have already made out a programme, although the interweaving of the plot is not yet decided upon; but I must get to the next town as fast as I can, as I must make preparations.”