Chapter Twenty Six.
Deep Plots and Plans—Bill Jones relates his Misadventures—Mademoiselle Nelina consents to run off with Larry O’Neil—A Yankee Musician outwitted—The Escape.
As Larry had rightly anticipated, Bill Jones made his appearance at the City Hotel the moment the concert was over, and found his old comrades waiting anxiously for him.
It did not take long to tell him how they had discovered the existence of Nelly Morgan, as we shall now call her, but it took much longer to drag from Bill the account of his career since they last met, and the explanation of how he came to be placed in his present circumstances.
“Ye see, friends,” said he, puffing at a pipe, from which, to look at him, one would suppose he derived most of his information, “this is how it happened. When I set sail from the diggin’s to come here for grub, I had a pleasant trip at first. But after a little things began to look bad; the feller that steered us lost his reckoning, an’ so we took two or three wrong turns by way o’ makin’ short cuts. That’s always how it Is. There’s a proverb somewhere—”
“In Milton, maybe, or Napier’s book o’ logarithms,” suggested Captain Bunting.
“P’r’aps it wos, and p’r’aps it wosn’t,” retorted Bill, stuffing the end of his little finger, (if such a diminutive may be used in reference to any of his fingers), into the bowl of his pipe. “I raither think myself it wos in Bell’s Life or the Royal Almanac; hows’ever, that’s wot it is. When ye’ve got a short road to go, don’t try to make it shorter, say I—”
“An’ when ye’ve got a long story to tell, don’t try to make it longer,” interrupted Larry, winking at his comrade through the smoke of his pipe.
“Well, as I wos sayin’,” continued Bill, doggedly, “we didn’t git on so well after a bit; but somehow or other we got here at last, and cast anchor in this very hotel. Off I goes at once an’ buys a cart an’ a mule, an’ then I sets to work to lay in provisions. Now, d’ye see, lads, ’twould ha’ bin better if I had bought the provisions first an’ the mule and the cart after, for I had to pay ever so many dollars a day for their keep. At last I got it all square; packed tight and tied up in the cart—barrels o’ flour, and kegs o’ pork, an’ beans, an’ brandy, an’ what not; an’ away I went alone; for, d’ye see, I carry a compass, an’ when I’ve once made a voyage, I never need to be told how to steer.
“But my troubles began soon. There’s a ford across the river here, which I was told I’d ha’ to cross; and sure enough, so I did—but it’s as bad as Niagara, if not worse—an’ when I gits half way over, we wos capsized, and went down the river keel up. I dun know yet very well how I got ashore, but I did somehow—”