“Och! He’s bin sayin’ somethin’ about it now an’ again, but he’s such a man for blarney that I never belave more nor half he says.”
“Sure ain’t that the very raison I tell ye always at laste twice as much as I know?” said Rooney, lighting his pipe.
“Well, my dear,” continued Joe, “the short an’ the long of it is, that about the year 1588, the Spaniards sent off a huge fleet of big ships to take Great Britain and Ireland by storm—once for all—and have done with it, but Providence had work for Britain to do, and sent a series o’ storms that wrecked nearly the whole Spanish fleet on our shores. Many of these vessels had plenty of gold dubloons on board, so when divin’ bells and dresses were invented, men began to try their hands at fishin’ it up, and, sure enough, some of it was actually found and brought up—especially off the shores of the island of Mull, in Scotland. They even went the length of forming companies in this country, and in Holland, for the purpose of recovering treasure from wrecks. Well, ever since then, up to the present time, there have been speculative men among divers, who have kept on tryin’ their hands at it. Some have succeeded; others have failed. David Maxwell is one of the lucky ones for the most part, and even when luck fails, he never comes by any loss, for he’s a hard-workin’ man, an’ keeps a tight hold of whatever he makes, whether by luck or by labour.”
“But what about the bad-smellin’ job he’s got on hand just now?” asked Rooney.
“Why, he’s repairin’ the bottom of a gas tank. He got the job through recoverin’ some gold watches that were thrown into the Thames by some thieves, as they were bein’ chased over London Bridge. David found ten of ’em—one bein’ worth fifty pounds. Well, just at that time an experienced and hardy fellow was wanted for the gas-work business, so David was recommended. You know a gas tank, as to look an’ smell, is horrible enough to frighten a hippopotamus, but David went up to the edge of this tank by a ladder, and jumped in as cool as if he’d bin jumpin’ into a bed with clean sheets. He stopped down five hours. Of course, in such filthy water, a light would have been useless. He had to do it all by feelin’, nevertheless, they say, he made a splendid job of it,—the bed of clay and puddle, at the bottom, bein’ smoothed as flat a’most as a billiard table,—besides fixin’ sixteen iron-plates for the gas-holder to rest on. He was to finish the job this afternoon, I believe.” (See Note 1.)
“Ah, he’s a cute feller is David,” observed Rooney, reflectively, as he watched a ring of smoke that rose from his pipe towards the ceiling. “What d’ee intind to turn your hand to if you give up divin’, Joe?”
“If!” said Mrs Baldwin, with a peculiar intonation.
“Well, when you give it up,” said Rooney, with a bland smile.
“I’m not rightly sure,” replied Joe. “In the first place, I’ll watch for the leadings of Providence, for without that, I cannot expect success. Then I’ll go and see Mr Berrington, who has just returned, they say, from his wedding trip. My own wish is to become a sort of missionary among the poor people hereabouts.”
“Why, Joe,” said his friend, “you’ve bin that, more or less, for years past.”