“What? an’ ’im a’ older man than yourself?”
“Ah, but it ain’t the same Teddy. It’s his eldest son, named after himself; an’ so like what his father was when I last saw him, that I don’t think I’d be able to tell which was which.”
“Well, John, I’m glad to ’ear it; an’ be sure that ye git ’ome, next relief before the thirty-first of October, for that’s Tommy’s wedding day, an’ you know we fixed it a purpose to suit your time of being at ’ome. A sweet pair they’ll make. Nora was born to be a lady: nobody would think but she is one, with ’er pretty winsome ways; and Tommy, who was twenty-five ’is very last birthday, is one of the ’andsomest men in Plymouth. I’ve a settled conviction, John, that he’ll live to be a great man.”
“You once had a settled conviction that he would come to a bad end,” said Potter, with an arch smile.
“Go along with you, John!” retorted Mrs Potter.
“I’m just going,” said John, rising and kissing his wife as he put on his hat; “and you may depend on it that I’ll not miss dancing at our Tommy’s wedding, if I can help it.”
That night saw John Potter at his old post again—snuffing the candles on the Eddystone, and chatting with his old mate Dorkin beside the kitchen fire. One evening towards the end of October, John Potter and Isaac, having “lighted up,” sat down to a game of draughts. It was blowing hard outside, and heavy breakers were bursting on the rock and sending thin spray as high as the lantern, but all was peace and comfort inside; even Isaac’s grumpy spirit was calmer than usual.
“You seem dull to-night, mate,” observed John, as they re-arranged the pieces for another game.
“I don’t feel very well,” said Dorkin, passing his hand over his brow languidly.
“You’d better turn in, then; an’ I’ll take half of your watch as well as my own.”