“‘What’s the matter, madam?’ I asked.
“‘Matter!’ she exclaimed, ‘a pretty telegraph yours is to be sure! wuss than the old carrier by a long way. Here ’ave I bin standin’ for full ’alf-an-hour with my neck nigh broke, and there’s no sign of it yet.’
“‘No sign of what, madam?’
“‘Of my brown paper passel, to be sure. Didn’t you tell me, young man, that they said they’d send it by telegraph as soon as possible?’
“‘No, madam,’ I replied, ‘I told you they had telegraphed to say they would send it on as soon as possible—meaning, of course, by rail, for we have not yet discovered the method of sending parcels by telegraph—though, no doubt, we shall in course of time. If you’ll give me your address I’ll send the parcel to you.’
“‘Thank you, young man. Do,’ she said, giving me an old envelope with her name on it. ‘Be sure you do. I don’t mind the money much, but I couldn’t a-bear to lose that muffler. It was such a sweet thing, turned up with yaller, and a present too, which it isn’t many of ’em comes my way.’
“So you see, Stumps, some people have queer notions about the powers of the telegraph.”
“But did the old lady get the parcel all right?” asked Stumps, who was a sympathetic soul.
“Of course she did, and came over to the station next day to thank me, and offer me the bad shilling by way of reward. Of course I declined it with many expressions of gratitude.”
While they were thus adding intellectual sauce to the material feast of breakfast, the rescued sailor awoke from his prolonged sleep, and stretched himself.