“You seem to be getting on pretty comfortably now,” remarked Tom.
“Yes, sir, thank God I am. Ever since I was enabled to cry, ‘God be merciful to me a sinner,’ things ’as gone well with me. An’ the puttin’ on o’ the blue ribbon, sir, ’as done me a power o’ good. You see, before that I was sorely tempted by comrades offerin’ me a glass, and by my own wish to ’ave a glass, but when I mounted the blue I was let alone, though they chaffed me now an’ then, an’ I felt it was no use thinkin’ about it, ’owever much I might wish for it. The missus, bless ’er ’art, sewed a bit o’ blue on my night-shirt in fun, but d’ee know, sir, I do believe it’s that ’as cured me o’ dreamin’ about it, as I used to do.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Butts,” said Tom, with a laugh. “Now, tell me; how long is it since you tasted strong drink?”
“Six months this very day, sir.”
“And are you satisfied that you are better without it?”
“Better without it, sir,” repeated Butts, with energy, “in course I am—better in body and better in soul, also in pocket. Of course you know, sir, we don’t carry on every day with such fires an’ dinners as we’re a-goin’ in for to-day—for Christmas on’y comes once a year, and sometimes we’ve been slack at the docks, an’ once or twice I’ve bin laid up, so that we’ve bin pinched a bit now an’ then, but we’ve bin able to make the two ends meet, and the older child’n is beginnin’ to turn in a penny now an’ again, so, you see, sir, though the fires ain’t always bright, an Jack Frost do manage to git in through the key ’ole rather often just now, on the whole we’re pretty comfortable.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Butts; very glad to hear it indeed,” said Tom, “because I’m anxious to help you, and I make it a point only to help those who help themselves. Six months of steadiness goes a long way to prove that your craving for drink has been cured, and that your reformation is genuine; therefore, I am able now to offer you a situation as porter in a bank, which for some time I have kept open on purpose to be ready for you. How will that suit you—eh?”
Whatever David Butts replied, or meant to reply, could only be gathered from his gratified expression, for at that moment his voice was drowned by a shriek of delight from the youngest children in consequence of Mrs Butts, at Matilda’s request, having removed the lid of the pot which held the dumpling, and let out a deliciously-scented cloud of steam. It was almost too much for the little ones, whose mouths watered with anticipation, and who felt half inclined to lay violent hands on the pot and begin dinner without delay.
“Now, I know by the smell that it is quite ready, so we will say good-bye at once,” said Matilda, getting up with a smile, and drawing her warm cloak round her. “Be sure to send your eldest girl to me to-morrow along with your husband.”
“And come early, Butts,” said Tom Westlake, buttoning up his coat.