"Of course I won't; but I don't see why you are so particular about not calling on him. I know he would be glad to help me."
Mrs. Taylor made no reply, and her son, bidding her good night, left the house. He went on board of the Skylark, and after he had told the Darwinian the whole story of his misfortune, he turned in. He did not sleep as well as usual. He could not help thinking half the night of his troubles. They worried him, and he wondered if people were ever really punished for crimes they did not commit.
Ezekiel Taylor left the cottage hardly less disturbed than his wife was. He had a strong suspicion that he was not the head of the family; that Mrs. Taylor had actually usurped his powers and prerogatives; that she dared to think and act for herself and her son without much, if any, regard to him. He felt belittled and degraded; not because he was a drunkard, and neglected to provide for his family, but because he was not in fact, as he was in name, the head of the house. He was thirsty and hankering for rum, and this condition made him ugly. He had not a cent in his pocket, and his credit at the saloon was not good even for a single dram. But he went to the saloon, for it was possible that some one might treat him. The first person he saw when he entered was Captain Chinks.
Almost everybody seemed to be troubled that night, and Captain Chinks was among the number. Things did not work to suit him; and every time he viewed himself in the glass he saw that black eye which Bobtail had given him, and every time he touched that eye there was a soreness there to remind him of that affair in the cabin of the Skylark. He did not love Little Bobtail, and the event of the day that had set everybody to talking about and praising the boy made him feel ten times worse. It would be hard to convict him of stealing the letter while almost everybody was making a lion of him.
"Ah, Zeke!" exclaimed Captain Chinks, as the tippler entered the saloon.
"How d'y do, cap'n?" replied the nominal head of the family.
"I'm glad to see you, Zeke. I've been wanting to see you. Won't you take something?"
"Thank ye; I don't care if I do take a little o' sunthin'. I don't feel jest right to-night," answered Ezekiel, placing his hand upon his diaphragm, to intimate that this was the seat of his ailing.
"We will go into this little room, if you like," added Captain Chinks, as he led the way into a small apartment, where a party could dine or sup in privacy. "Give us a bottle of that brandy," he continued, addressing the keeper of the saloon.
Ezekiel smiled, for a private room indicated a free-and-easy time. A bottle of brandy promised a succession of drams, enough to warm up that disagreeable coldness at the diaphragm, and to lift his brain up to the pitch of a tippler's highest enjoyment. Then "that brandy" suggested a liquor of choice quality, something which his companion had tested, and knew to be good. Ezekiel was happy, and for the moment he forgot that he was not the actual head of the family; that his wife had kept money "hid away from him;" and that her son had destroyed his property. But he wondered what Captain Chinks could want of him, for that worthy did not generally treat him with much consideration, whereas now he was polite, generous, and ready to invest to the extent of a whole bottle of that brandy, which must be very choice, and therefore expensive.