“The matter? Och, it’s bad luck’s the matter. Hasn’t our frindship only just begood, an’ isn’t it goin’ to be cut short all of a suddint, niver more to be renewed?”
In pathetic tones, and with many Hibernian comments, the poor man communicated the news brought by the telegram. But regrets were of no avail; the orders were peremptory; the chance of returning to England in such circumstances too good to be lightly thrown away; so that same forenoon saw the whole party, with the skin of the royal tiger, on their way back to the city of Bombay.
It is easier to imagine than to describe the state of mind into which they were thrown when, on returning to their hotel, they discovered the perfidy of Stumps. Fortunately, they had enough of money left to discharge the hotel bill, and redeem their property.
“You’re quite sure of the name of the vessel he sailed in?” asked Sam of the waiter who had so cleverly obtained and so cautiously retained his information as to the proceedings of Stumps.
“Quite sure, sir,” replied the waiter. “The ship’s name was Fairy Queen, bound for the port of London, and the thief—the gen’lem’n, I mean—shipped in the name of James Gibson.”
Having received the “consideration” which he had anticipated, and had afterwards given up as lost, the waiter retired, and Sam, with his friends, went to inquire after the great cable with which they now felt themselves to be specially connected.
“Letta,” said Robin, as they went along, “you and I must part for a time.”
“Oh! must we?” asked the child, with a distressed look.
“Yes, but only for a very short time, dear,” returned Robin. “You know we cannot get you a berth on board the Great Eastern. They won’t even take you as chief engineer or captain!”
“But why not as the captain’s daughter—or his wife?” said Letta, who thoroughly understood and enjoyed a joke.