"When is it to be, brother?"
"When is what to be, sister?"
"The—the marriage."
"I tell you I ain't a-goin' to marry," repeated the captain; "though why a stout young feller like me, just turned sixty-four, shouldn't marry, is more than I can see. You know the old proverbs, lass—'It's never too late to marry'; 'Never ventur', never give in'; 'John Anderson my jo John, when we was first—first——'"
"Married," suggested Minnie.
"Just so," responded the captain, "and everybody knows that he was an old man. But no, I'm not goin' to marry; I'm only goin' to give up my house, sell off the furniture, and come and live with you."
"Live with me!" ejaculated Mrs. Brand.
"Ay, an' why not? What's the use o' goin' to the expense of two houses when one'll do, an' when we're both raither scrimp o' the ready? You'll just let me have the parlour. It never was a comf'rable room to sit in, so it don't matter much your givin' it up; it's a good enough sleepin' and smokin' cabin, an' we'll all live together in the kitchen. I'll throw the whole of my _tree_mendous income into the general purse, always exceptin' a few odd coppers, which I'll retain to keep me a-goin' in baccy. We'll sail under the same flag, an' sit round the same fire, an' sup at the same table, and sleep in the same—no, not exactly that, but under the same roof-tree, which'll be a more hoconomical way o' doin' business, you know; an' so, old girl, as the song says—
'Come an' let us be happy together,
For where there's a will there's a way,
An' we won't care a rap for the weather
So long as there's nothin' to pay'."
"Would it not be better to say, 'so long as there's something to pay?'" suggested Minnie.