The little man nodded.
“His partner,” he repeated, with much complacency. “But our dealin’s together was all on a strict business basis. We didn’t hobnob, ner gossip, ner slap each other on the back. So as fer saying we was exactly friends—w’y, I can’t honestly do it, Sam.”
“I understand,” said I, accepting his explanation in good faith.
“I came here at this time,” continued Mr. Perkins, addressing his speech to the jack-knife, which he held upon the palm of his hand, “to see Cap’n Steele on an important business matter. He had agreed to meet me. But I saw Ned Britton at the tavern, las’ night, an’ heerd fer the first time that the ‘Saracen’ had gone to Davy Jones an’ took the Cap’n with her. So I come up here to have a little talk with you, which is his son and my own nevvy.”
“Why didn’t you come up to the house?” I enquired.
Mr. Perkins turned upon me his peculiar wink, and his shoulders began to shake again, till I feared more convulsions. But he suddenly stopped short, and with abrupt gravity nodded his head at me several times.
“The woman!” he said, in a low voice. “I jest can’t abide women. ’Specially when they’s old an’ given to argument, as Ned Britton says this one is.”
I sympathized with him, and said so. Whereat my uncle gave me a look gentle and kindly, and said in a friendly tone:
“Sam, my boy, I want to tell you all about myself, that’s your blood uncle an’ no mistake; but first I want you to tell me all about yourself. You’re an orphan, now, an’ my dead sister’s child, an’ I take it I’m the only real friend you’ve got in the world. So now, fire away!”
There was something about the personality of Naboth Perkins that invited confidence; or perhaps it was my loneliness and need of a friend that led me to accept this astonishing uncle in good faith. Anyway, I did not hesitate to tell him my whole story, including my recent grief at the news of my dear father’s death and the startling discovery I had just made that I was penniless and in debt for my living to Mrs. Ranck.