Mysterious Doings.
Disappointed, displeased, and sorely puzzled, Billy Towler took his way towards the harbour, with his hands thrust desperately into his pockets, and an unwonted expression of discontent on his countenance. So deeply did he take the matter to heart, that he suffered one small boy to inquire pathetically, “if ’e’d bin long in that state o’ grumps?” and another to suggest that, “if ’e couldn’t be ’appier than that, ’e’d better go an’ drown hisself,” without vouchsafing a retort, or even a glance of recognition.
Passing the harbour, he went down to the beach, and there unexpectedly met with Mr Morley Jones.
“Hallo! my young bantam,” exclaimed Morley, with a look of surprise.
“Well, old Cochin-china, wot’s up?” replied Billy, in a gruff tone. “Drunk as usual, I see.”
Being somewhat desperate, the boy did not see, or did not mind the savage glance with which Mr Jones favoured him. The glance was, however, exchanged quickly for an idiotic smile, as he retorted—
“Well, I ain’t so drunk but I can see to steer my course, lad. Come, I’ve got a noo boat, what d’ye say to go an’ have a sail? The fact is, Billy, I was just on my way up to the house to ax you to go with me, so it’s good luck that I didn’t miss you. Will ’ee go, lad?”
At any other time the boy would have refused; but his recent disappointment in regard to the angelic nature of Katie still rankled so powerfully in his breast, that he swung round and said—“Get along, then—I’m your man—it’s all up now—never say die—in for a penny in for a pound,” and a variety of similar expressions, all of which tended to convince Mr Jones that Billy Towler happened to be in a humour that was extremely suitable to his purposes. He therefore led him towards his boat, which, he said, was lying on the beach at Broadstairs all ready to shove off.
The distance to Broadstairs was about two miles, and the walk thither was enlivened by a drunken commentary on the fallacy of human hopes in general on the part of Mr Jones, and a brisk fire of caustic repartee on the part of Master Towler.
A close observer might have noticed that, while these two were passing along the beach, at the base of the high cliffs of chalk running between Ramsgate and Broadstairs, two heads were thrust cautiously out of one of the small caverns or recesses which have been made in these cliffs by the action of the waves. The one head bore a striking resemblance to that of Robert Queeker, Esquire, and the other to that of Mr Larks.