“I wonder you go to sea, then,” said the old man, crossly; “you’re a fool to do it, getting drowned fifty times a day. I warrant you, you are always on the spree whenever you get on shore, like the rest of them, spending all your money instead of putting it in the savings bank, as you ought to do, as a provision for your old age.”
“Me get on the spree?” said the sailor, drawing himself up; “no, sir-ee. All my money goes to provide bread and molasses for my wife and family.”
“Why, bless my soul and body!” exclaimed the old gentleman, surveying his young companion through his spectacles in utter surprise, “you’re surely not married yet, youngster.”
“Yes, I regret to say I am,” said the youngster in question in a passive tone, “and got a large family with large appetites to support. It’s melancholy to reflect upon, but it’s true. My wife keeps a billiard-saloon, and the children keep apple-stands at the corner of the streets, except my oldest daughter, and she’s at service. Fine family, sir! Halloa! here we are, at the Judestown House, and there’s my old friend, Mrs. Gudge.”
“Humph!” grunted the old gentleman, doubtfully; “where are you from last, young man?”
“Liverpool—ship ‘Sea Nymph;’ master, Burleigh; first mate, Randolph Lawless, Esq., late of Heath Hill. Had some distinguished passengers out with us, too,” said the young man, tightening his belt.
“Humph!” again grunted the old man. “Who were they, may I ask?”
“Certainly, you may ask, and I have great pleasure in answering, the Earl and Countess De Courcy, and their daughter, Lady Rita—perhaps you’re acquainted with them already,” said the young man, with a wicked look in his knowing eyes.
“No, sir, I’m not,” snapped the old man, “and, what’s more, I don’t want to be, either, whether you believe it or not.”
“Well, it’s their loss then; that’s all I have to say about it. Here we are at anchor, at last. Halloa, Mrs. Gudge! don’t you know me?” exclaimed the young man, springing lightly from his lofty perch and alighting like a cat on his feet.