And now it is incumbent on us to draw our story to a close.
On the day following the feast Captain Samson called with his chief mate on the writer of the important letter, and found that his principal chest of gold had indeed been fished up from the deep. He and O’Rook were able to give so correct an account of its contents that their claim was at once admitted, and thus the captain became possessor of gold to the value of about four thousand pounds sterling, while O’Rook recovered upwards of one thousand. This was only a fraction of their original fortune, but the interest of it was sufficient to supply their moderate wants.
Going straight off to the Holly Tree, of which a healthy shoot had been planted in the suburbs, O’Rook proceeded, according to use and wont, to “comfort the widdy.”
“It’s a rich man I am, darlin’, after all,” he said, on sitting down beside her.
“How so, Simon?”
Simon explained.
“An’ would you consider yourself a poor man if you had only me?” asked the widow, with a hurt air.
“Ah! then, it’s the women can twist their tongues, anyhow,” cried O’Rook. “Sure it’s about dirty goold I’m spakin’, isn’t it? I made no reference to the love of purty woman—did I, now? In regard of that I wouldn’t change places with the Shah of Pershy.”
“Well now, Simon, if it’s the women that can twist their tongues, it’s the Irishmen that can twist their consciences, so you an’ I will be well matched.”
“That’s well said, anyhow,” rejoined O’Rook. “An’ now, darlin’, will ye name the day?”