Yes, this was the thought uppermost in my mind; and, as the queer-looking old gentleman continued to hobble downwards I began to wonder whether the scullions in the kitchen, whom I could dimly discern beneath the street level and behind a screen of iron railings, would not, likewise, turn up their noses at the sight of such a seedy individual, telling him they had no rags or bones or bottles for him to-day.
“Poor old fellow!” I said to Dad, uttering my reflections aloud. “What could have made him act so foolishly as to go up there only to be turned away by that bumptious porter? How very shabby he is, Dad; and with such a noble face, too! May I give him that shilling you made me a present of this morning to buy himself some more snuff? He must have exhausted all he had in his waistcoat pocket by now; he does use it so extravagantly!”
“Hush, Jack, he may hear you!” whispered my father, dropping his voice to a lower key than mine, while the amused expression on his face changed to one of pleased recognition. “Why, it’s the old Admiral! I see he’s as great a snuff-taker as ever, and he seems to be even less careful than he used to be about his clothes; though, I must say, he never was a dandy at the best of times!”
At the moment Dad spoke, the old gentleman set his right foot gingerly on the pavement in front of us, his left following a second later, when the veteran signalised his reaching a sound anchorage with a final blast from his nasal trumpet and a fine flourish of his bandana, which nearly knocked out my nearest eye and set me sneezing from the loose particles of snuff disseminated into the surrounding air.
This gave my father the opportunity he wanted.
“How do you do, Admiral?” said he, drawing himself up and raising his hat in salute, while still holding me by the hand. “I don’t know if you remember me, sir, but I cannot forget you and your kindness to me of old, especially in getting me my last appointment. I’m glad to see you looking so well, sir!”
The old fellow stared at Dad with his gimlet grey eyes, looking him through and through, knitting his brows, and sniffing and snorting at a fine rate.
“Eh—what, who the deuce are you?” he ejaculated in short, jerky accents after a pause, evidently puzzled for the nonce, and, in his agitation, another fistful of snuff got arrested half-way between his waistcoat pocket and expectant nose, the consequence of which was that more than half was spilt on the front of his shirt, and already snuff-stained coat collar. “Eh, what? I think I know your face, but I’m hanged if I can recollect your name, sir!”
Dad smiled, and, whether this supplied a missing link to memory’s aid or no, the next instant a gleam of intelligence flashed across the veteran’s weatherbeaten face making him look so animated that he seemed a different person.
Shoving out his horny fist, forgetful of the balance of snuff contained therein, and thus causing me to sneeze again, as well as nearly blinding me for a second time, the rough old sailor caught hold of my father’s disengaged hand with a grip of iron, shouting a welcome in his hearty, loud voice which could have been heard across Pall Mall; for it was as breezy as the sea, echoing in ringing accents whose cordial tones I can almost fancy I now hear, like the surf of breakers breaking in the distance on some rock-bound shore.