“Look here, Alister dear,” said Dennis; “don’t be bothering yourself whether she employs your aunt’s dressmaker or no, but when you’re about half-way up that ladder of success that I’ll never be climbing (or I’d do it myself), say a good word for Alfonso to some of these Scotch captains with big ships, that want a steward and stewardess. That’s what she’s got her eye on for Alfonso, and Alfonso has been a good friend to us.”
“I’ll mind,” said Alister. And he did. For (to use his own expression) our Scotch comrade was “aye better than his word.”
Dennis O’Moore’s cousin behaved very kindly to us. He was not only willing to find Dennis the money which the squire had failed to send, but he would have advanced my passage-money to Halifax. I declined the offer for two reasons. In the first
place, Uncle Henry had only spoken of paying my passage from Halifax to England, and I did not feel that I was entitled to spend any money that I could avoid spending; and, secondly, as Alister had to go north before the mast, I chose to stick by my comrade, and rough it with him. This decided Dennis. If Alister and I were going as seamen, he would not “sneak home as a passenger.”
The elderly cousin did not quite approve of this, but the engineer officer warmly supported Dennis, and he was also upheld in a quarter where praise was still dearer to him, as I knew, for he took me into his confidence, when his feelings became more than he could comfortably keep to himself.
“Perhaps she won’t like your being a common sailor, Dennis,” I had said, “and you know Alister and I shall quite understand about it. We know well enough what a true mate you’ve been to us, and Alister was talking to me about it last night. He said he didn’t like to say anything to you, as he wouldn’t take the liberty of alluding to the young lady, but he’s quite sure she won’t like it, and I think so too.”
I said more than I might otherwise have done, because I was very much impressed by Alister’s unusual vehemence on the subject. He seldom indeed said a word that was less than a boast of Scotland in general, and Aberdeenshire in particular, but on this
occasion it had burst forth that though he had been little “in society” in his native country, he had “seen enough to know that a man would easier live down a breach of a’ the ten commandments than of any three of its customs.” And when I remembered for my own part, how fatal in my own neighbourhood were any proceedings of an unusual nature, and how all his innocence, and his ten years of martyrdom, had not sufficed with many of Mr. Wood’s neighbours to condone the “fact” that he had been a convict, I agreed with Alister that Dennis ought not to risk the possible ill effects of what, as he said, had a ne’er-do-weel, out-at-elbows, or, at last and least, an uncommon look about it; and that having resumed his proper social position, our Irish comrade would be wise to keep it in the eyes he cared most to please.
“Alister has a fine heart,” said Dennis, “but you may tell him I told her,” and he paused.
“What did she say?” I asked anxiously.