“Ah, that’s a puzzler,” he replied, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. “Will you take me to your mother’s house, lad?”
“Willingly,” said I, and, jumping up, I led the way. As we turned to go, I observed that the old gentleman with the gold-headed cane was leaning over the rail of the pier at a short distance from us. A feeling of anger instantly rose within me, and I exclaimed, loud enough for him to hear—
“I do believe that stingy old chap has been listening to every word we’ve been saying!”
I thought I observed a frown on the sailor’s brow as I said this, but he made no remark, and in a few minutes we were walking rapidly through the streets. My companion stopped at one of those stores so common in seaport towns, where one can buy almost anything, from a tallow candle to a brass cannon. Here he purchased a pound of tea, a pound of sugar, a pound of butter, and a small loaf,—all of which he thrust into the huge pockets of his coat. He had evidently no idea of proportion or of household affairs. It was a simple, easy way of settling the matter, to get a pound of everything.
In a short time we reached our house, a very old one, in a poor neighbourhood, and entered my mother’s room. She was sitting at the table when we went in, with a large Bible before her, and a pair of horn-spectacles on her nose. I could see that she had been out gathering coals and cinders during my absence, for a good fire burned in the grate, and the kettle was singing cheerily thereon.
“I’ve brought a friend to see you, mother,” said I.
“Good-day, mistress,” said the sailor bluntly, sitting down on a stool near the fire. “You seem to be goin’ to have your tea.”
“I expect to have it soon,” replied my mother.
“Indeed!” said I, in surprise. “Have you anything in the kettle?”
“Nothing but water, my son.”