“True enough,” replied Mrs Roby.
“Was he the worse of liquor at the time?”
“No. It was dark, and he was carrying a heavy box of something or other for his mother. Fred is a reformed man. I think the sight of your poor father, Gillie, has had something to do with it, and that night when his mother nearly died. At all events he never touches drink now, and he has got a good situation in one of the warehouses at the docks.”
“That’s well,” returned the Captain, with satisfaction. “I had hopes of that young feller from the night you mention. Now, mother, I’m off. Gillie and I have some business to transact up the water. Very particular business—eh, lad?”
“Oh! wery partickler,” said Gillie, responding to his patron’s glance with a powerful wink.
Expressing a hope that Susan would keep Mrs Roby company till he returned, the Captain left the room with his usual heavy roll, and the spider followed with imitative swagger.
Captain Wopper was fond of mystery. Although he had, to some extent made a confidant of the boy for whom he had taken so strong a fancy, he nevertheless usually maintained a dignified distance of demeanour towards him, and a certain amount of reticence, which, as a stern disciplinarian, he deemed to be essential. This, however, did not prevent him from indulging in occasional, not to say frequent, unbendings of disposition, which he condescended to exhibit by way of encouragement to his small protégé; but these unbendings and confidences were always more or less shrouded in mystery. Many of them, indeed, consisted of nothing more intelligible than nods, grins, and winks.
“That’ll be rather a nice cottage when it’s launched,” said the Captain, pointing to a building in process of erection, which stood so close to the edge of the Thames that its being launched seemed as much a literal allusion as a metaphor.
“Raither bobbish,” assented the spider.
“Clean run fore and aft with bluff bows, like a good sea-boat,” said the Captain. “Come, let’s have a look at it.”