“For shame, Dannie!” cries my uncle. “Leave the 108 parson take his liquor as he will. ’Tis easy t’ see he likes it neat.”
Cather was amused.
“T’ you, parson!” says my uncle.
The tutor laughed as he raised the glass of clear rum. I watched him with misgiving, alive to all the signs of raw procedure––the crook of his elbow, the tilt of the glass, the lift of his head. “To you, sir!” said he: and resolutely downed it. ’Twas impressive then, I recall, to observe his face––the spasm of shock and surprise, the touch of incredulity, of reproachful complaint, as that hard liquor coursed into his belly. ’Twas over in a moment––the wry mouth of it, the shudder––’twas all over in a flash. My tutor commanded his features, as rarely a man may, into stoical disregard of his internal sensations, and stood rigid, but calm, gripping the back of his chair, his teeth set, his lips congealed in an unmeaning grin, his eyes, which ran water against his will, fixed in mild reproach upon my beaming uncle, turning but once, I recall, to my solicitous self. With no unseemly outbreak––with but an inconsequent ahem and a flirt of his handkerchief over his lips––he returned to his composure. He would never again drink rum with my uncle, nor any other liquor, through all the years of our intimate connection; but this mattered not at all, since he had in the beginning pledged the old man’s health with honor to himself. I was glad, however, that on the windy night of our meeting he was no more put out; for I wished him safe within my uncle’s 109 regard, and knew, as I knew my uncle and the standards of our land, that he had by this gallant conduct achieved the exalted station. ’Twas a test of adaptability (as my uncle held), and of manhood, too, of which, as a tenet, taught me by that primitive philosopher, I am not able, bred as I am, to rid myself to this very day.
“Parson,” said my uncle, solemnly, advancing upon the tutor, “ye done it, and ye done it well! Shake, shipmate––shake!”
The bell tinkled.
“Is that dinner?” cries my tutor. “Jove! but I am on edge.”
We moved into the dining-room, myself pitying the man in a heartfelt way for his stomach’s sake. ’Twas unkind in my uncle to sharpen his appetite with red rum.
My uncle stumped ahead, his wooden leg as blithe as the sound one, and was waiting in his humble quarters, with a gnome-like leer of expectation, when we entered. Neither my watch, set with its shy jewels, nor my sparkling fingers, nor the cut and quality and fit of my London-made clothes, which came close to perfection, nor anything concerning me, had caused my tutor even so much as to lift an eyebrow of surprise; but the appearance of the table, laid in the usual way, gave him an indubitable fit of amazement: for, as was our custom on the neck of land by the Lost Soul, at the one end, where sat the luxurious Dannie Callaway, 110 by no will of his own, was the glitter of silver, the flash and glow of delicate china, a flower or more from our garden, exquisite napery, the bounties of the kindly earth, whatever the cost; but at the other (the napery abruptly ceasing at the centre of the table because of the wear and tear that might chance) was set out, upon coarse ware, even to tin, fare of common description, forecastle fare, fisherman fare, unrelieved by any grace of flower or linen or glitter of glass, by any grace at all, save the grace of a black bottle, which, according to my experience, was sufficient to my uncle and such rough folk as dined with him. ’Twas no cause for surprise to me, to whom the enigma had been familiar from the beginning; but my tutor, come suddenly against the puzzle, was nonplussed, small blame to him.