“Oh! you’re all safe, my dear fellow,” interrupted Mr. Scales, wiping the perspiration off his rubicund countenance. “The clothes are in the box—the landlady is intimidated, and therefore in your interests—and the bailiffs have got entirely on a wrong scent. In fact, they had left the house before I got there: but there’s no doubt they’re waiting about in the neighbourhood—and therefore it will be better for you to remain here until dark, if you possibly can. I will give you a bit of dinner—and may be a glass of grog——”
“Potheen—rale potheen!” ejaculated the captain, viewing with supreme satisfaction the present prospect of affairs.
“Well—whiskey, if you prefer it,” said the obliging Mr. Scales. “At all events we’ll have a jolly afternoon of it, and drink to our better acquaintance.”
“Betther acquaintance!” cried the Irishman, who, in spite of his adventurous kind of existence, possessed many of the truly generous qualities of his much maligned and deeply injured fellow-countrymen; “betther acquainted we can’t become, my frind: for when a man has done all he could for another, and that other a tothal stranger to him, I mane to say it makes them inthimate at once. And, be Jasus! Misther Scales, if ye’ve an inimy in the whole wor-r-ld, tell me his name and give me his address, and it’s Capthain O’Bluntherbuss that’ll be afther paying him a morning visit, sinding up his car-r-d, and then skinning him alive!”
Mr. Scales expressed his gratitude for these demonstrations of friendship, but assured the gallant gentleman that he had no enemy whom he wished to undergo the process of flaying at that particular time.
The captain now entered the little bed-room, and hastily equipped himself in his own clothing—the breeches, which the good-natured Brother had paid for at the tailor’s, being neatly mended: so that the Irishman speedily re-appeared in the semi-military garb which became him rather more suitably than the habiliments of Mrs. Rudd.
CHAPTER CXLVIII.
THE CHARTER HOUSE.
Captain O’Blunderbuss, having made himself thus far comfortable, wrote a note to Curtis, which Mr. Scales despatched by a messenger to Mr. Bubbleton Styles’s office in the City;—for the Irishman calculated that if Curtis should return to the lodgings in Charterhouse Square before the said note reached him, he would, on hearing the adventures of the morning, retrace his way to Crosby Hall Chambers—there to await either the presence of the captain, or at least some communication from him. This arrangement appeared to be far more prudent than to trust Mrs. Rudd with either letter or message announcing the place where the captain was concealed.
The note being written, and the messenger despatched with it, Mr. Scales proposed a luncheon of bread and cheese and porter, as it was only eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and he intended to order dinner for half-past two. A “nurse,” as the charwoman was called, making her appearance about this time, the refreshments above mentioned were duly procured; and Mr. Scales intimated to his attendant that he should not dine in the common hall that day, but would entertain his friend with steaks and potatoes in his own apartment.
When the captain and the worthy Brother were again alone together, they fell into a conversation upon the establishment to which the latter belonged and in which the former had found so hospitable a refuge.