Mr Davis—the father of the unfortunate girl who had eloped with Leary—was a respectable shopkeeper in the grocery line.
As there could be no great difficulty in finding his shop, I resolved to make my first call upon the grocer.
Notwithstanding my hatred to Leary, I felt some interest in the child he had helped to make an orphan. I wished to ascertain, whether it had been safely delivered into the charge of its grandparents—as also the gold, which the Californian miners had so liberally contributed towards its support.
The next day after landing in Sydney, I made my call upon Mr Davis.
I found his shop without any difficulty; and in it himself—an honest-looking man, apparently about fifty years of age.
His business appeared to be in a flourishing condition: for the establishment was a large one, and to all appearance well-stocked with the articles required in a retail grocery.
There were two young men behind the counter, besides Mr Davis himself, who, as I entered, was in the act of serving a customer.
On the old gentleman being told, that if he was not too much engaged, I should like a few minutes’ conversation with him, he handed the customer over to one of his assistants; and conducted me into a sitting-room that adjoined the shop.
After complying with his request to be seated, I told him, I had lately arrived from California, where I had heard of him, and that I had now called to see him, on a business to me of some importance. I added, that the communication I had to make might awaken some unpleasant thoughts; but that I deemed it better to make it, rather than run the risk of incurring his displeasure, by not communicating with him at all.
Mr Davis then civilly demanded to know the nature of my business, though from his tone I could tell, that he already half comprehended it.