“Why—er—nothin’ of account. I cal’late the C. stands for Charles, then.”
“No-o. Mr. Dickens’s Christian name is Cornelius; but don’t mention it before him, he is very sensitive on that point.”
The Dickenses “tickled” the captain exceedingly, and, after the meal was over, he spoke of them to Pearson.
“Say,” he said, “you’re in notorious company, ain’t you, Jim? What has Cornelius Charles turned out so far, in the way of masterpieces?”
Pearson laughed. “I believe he is employed by a subscription house,” he replied. “Doing hack work on an encyclopedia. A great collection of freaks, aren’t they, Captain Warren?”
“Kind of. But that old book-shop man and his wife seem nice folks. And, as for freaks, the average boardin’ house, city or country, seems to draw ’em like flies. I guess most anybody would get queer if they boarded all the time.”
“Perhaps so. Or, if they weren’t queer, they wouldn’t board permanently from choice. There are two or three good fellows who dine and breakfast here. The food isn’t bad, considering the price.”
“No, it ain’t. Tasted more like home than any meal I’ve had for a good while. I’m afraid I never was cut out for swell livin’.”
Mrs. Hepton approached them as they stood in the hall. She wished to know if Mr. Pearson’s friend was thinking of finding lodgings. Because Mr. Saks—the artist’s name—was giving up the second floor back in a fortnight, and it was a very pleasant room. “We should be delighted to add you to our little circle, Captain Warren.”
Pearson told her that his companion was already lodged, and she said good-by and left them. The captain smiled broadly.