Alderman Holloway, a man used to business, would not indulge himself in a single compliment upon this occasion, till he had cautiously searched the captain’s papers. The bill of lading which had been sent with the Lively Peggy from Jamaica, was found amongst them; it was an exact list, corresponding precisely with that which Mrs. Howard’s agent had sent her by post, of the consignment shipped after the sale of her plantation. The alderman, satisfied, after counting the puncheons of rum and hogsheads of sugar, turned to Mrs. Howard, and shook hands with her, with a face of mercantile congratulation, declaring that “she was now as good a woman as ever she had been, and need never desire to be better.”
“My dear Oliver,” cried Howard, “this is all owing to you: you discovered—”
“No, no, no!” interrupted Oliver, precipitately: “all that I did was accident; all that you did was not accident. You first made me love you, by teaching me that I was not a blockhead, and by freeing me from—”
“A tyrant, you were going to say,” cried Holloway, colouring deeply; “and, if you had, you’d have said the truth. I thought; Howard, afterwards, that you were a brave fellow for taking his part, I confess. But, Oliver, I thought you had forgiven me for all these things.”
“Forgiven! Oh yes, to be sure,” cried little Oliver; “I wasn’t thinking of myself, or you either; I was only thinking of Howard’s good nature; and then,” continued he, “Howard was just as good to the mulatto woman as he was to me—wasn’t he, Cuba?”
“That he was!” replied the poor woman; and, looking at Mrs. Howard, added, “Massa’s heart as good as hers.”
“And his head’s as good as his heart, which makes it all better still,” continued Oliver, with enthusiasm. “Mr. Russell, you know how hard he worked at that translation, to earn money to support poor Cuba, and to paper the room, and to pay the bricklayer for the smoky chimney: these things were not done by accident, were they? though it was by accident that I happened to observe Cuba’s curious thimble.”
“There are some people,” interrupted Mr. Russell, “who, by accident, never observe any thing. We will not allow you, Oliver, to call your quick habit of observation accident; your excellent capacity will—”
“My excellent capacity,” repeated Oliver, with unfeigned surprise: “why, you know, I get by rote slower than any body in the world.”
“You may,” said Dr. B., “notwithstanding, have an excellent capacity: much may be learned without books; much more with books, Oliver; but, for your comfort, you need not learn them by rote.”