First, Mr Crossley was getting tired of old bachelorhood, and had at last begun to enjoy ladies’ society, especially that of such ladies as Mrs Leather and Mrs Brooke, to say nothing of May herself and Miss Molloy—the worsted reservoir—who had come to reside permanently in the town and who had got the “Blackguard Boy” into blue tights and buttons, to the amazement and confusion of the little dog Scraggy, whose mind was weakened in consequence—so they said. Second, Mr Crossley was remarkably fond of Captain Stride, whom he abused like a pick-pocket and stuck to like a brother, besides playing backgammon with him nightly, to the great satisfaction of the Captain’s “missus” and their “little Mag.” Third, Mr Crossley had no occasion to attend to business, because business, somehow, attended to itself, and poured its profits perennially into the old gentleman’s pocket—a pocket which was never full, because it had a charitable hole in it somewhere which let the cash run out as fast as it ran in. Fourth and last, but not least, Mr Crossley found considerable relief in getting away occasionally from his worthy housekeeper Mrs Bland. This relief, which he styled “letting off the steam” at one time, “brushing away the cobwebs” at another, was invariably followed by a fit of amiability, which resulted in a penitent spirit, and ultimately took him back to town where he remained till Mrs Bland had again piled enough of eccentricity on the safety valve to render another letting off of steam on the sea-shore imperative.
What Charlie learned at the meeting held in reference to the disappearance of old Mr Isaac Leather was not satisfactory. The wretched man had so muddled his brain by constant tippling that it had become a question at last whether he was quite responsible for his actions. In a fit of remorse, after an attack of delirium tremens, he had suddenly condemned himself as being a mean contemptible burden on his poor wife and daughter. Of course both wife and daughter asserted that his mere maintenance was no burden on them at all—as in truth it was not when compared with the intolerable weight of his intemperance—and they did their best to soothe him. But the idea seemed to have taken firm hold of him, and preyed upon his mind, until at last he left home one morning in a fit of despair, and had not since been heard of.
“Have you no idea, then, where he has gone?” asked Charlie.
“No, none,” said Mrs Leather, with a tear trembling in her eye.
“We know, mother,” said May, “that he has gone to London. The booking clerk at the station, you know, told us that.”
“Did the clerk say to what part of London he booked?”
“No, he could not remember.”
“Besides, if he had remembered, that would be but a slight clue,” said Mr Crossley. “As well look for a needle in a bundle of hay as for a man in London.”
“As well go to sea without rudder or compass,” observed Captain Stride.
“Nevertheless,” said Charlie, rising, “I will make the attempt.”