Adolph got a position at last, as waiter in a good hotel, and Keppel Drummond, the son of a lord of an English manor, a place--as what? Why, as a boy to clean the knives and run messages at a neighbouring restaurant.
What a downfall! But really, such downfalls, if in cases such as Kep's they can be called so, are by no means uncommon in Australia. And, after all, honest work is no disgrace.
So he kept up his heart, and was happy, and even hopeful--wasn't the Breezy coming some day. He had written to Madge during the voyage in the Wampiri, a mail-bag from which went home by a passing steamer. He had told her all his joys, but never a word about the horrors of the Macbeth. He would not shock her.
He was expecting a letter almost every day, and the time seemed long indeed. But then anything might have happened to prevent the delivery of his own letter to her. The address he had given was simply Poste Restante, Sidney. He went there every day for weeks, and noticing his woe-begone expressive face, a kindly clerk at last took pity on him, and promised in the event of a letter coming, to forward it at once to his lodgings.
But wonders will never cease, and one day, while hurrying to send off a telegram, who should Kep see coming, swinging along the street on the opposite pavement, but Jack Stormalong himself.
What a happy meeting! Kep begged a whole day off, namely, that evening and next forenoon, and he got it too.
"I knew we'd meet, my little friend. By the way, is your name still Bowser. And you haven't repented yet, and become a prodigal son."
"Well, I can't easily be a prodigal son, Jack, on ten shillings a week, and a tip once in a blue moon. But how is Katie and her mother?"
"Splendidiferous sonny, simply splendidiferous. Going to get married at the end of my time."
"Why, I thought I was going to marry Katie, and that you would marry the mother!"