“No, sir,” said the Captain, “he did not—I am sorry for it—I think Jack must be in the wrong, for he said he had been too hasty, and yet he wouldn't ask me to come to you and make it up. But he is young, sir; young and proud. He said he couldn't move in it, his mind was made up; he was wretched enough over it, but the move must come from you. And so that's the favor I have to ask, that you will make it up with Jack. It isn't often a young man can do such a favor to an old one—to an old father with one son. You'll not feel the worse for having done it, if it's ever so hard to do, when you come to be my age.” And the old man looked wistfully across the table, the muscles about his mouth quivering as he ended.
Tom sprang from his chair, and grasped the old sailor's hand, as he felt the load pass out of his heart. “Favour, sir!” he said, “I have been a mad fool enough already in this business—I should have been a double-dyed scoundrel, like enough, by this time but for your son, and I've quarrelled with him for stopping me at the pit's mouth. Favor! If God will, I'll prove somehow where the favor lies, and what I owe to him; and to you, sir, for coming to me tonight. Stop here two minutes, sir, and I'll run down and bring him over.”
Tom tore away to Hardy's door and knocked. There was no pausing in the passage now. “Come in.” He opened the door but did not enter, and for a moment or two could not speak. The rush of associations which the sight of the well-known old rickety furniture, and the figure which was seated, book in hand, with its back to the door and its feet against one side of the mantel-piece, called up, choked him.
“May I come in?” he said at last.
He saw the figure give a start, and the book trembled a little, but then came the answer, slow but firm—
“I have not changed my opinion.”
“No; dear old boy, but I have,” and Tom rushed across to his friend, dearer than ever to him now, and threw his arm round his neck; and, if the un-English truth must out had three parts of a mind to kiss the rough face which was now working with strong emotion.
“Thank God!” said Hardy, as he grasped the hand which hung over his shoulder.
“And now come over to my room; your father is there waiting for us.”
“What, the dear old governor? That's what he has been after, is it? I couldn't think where he could have 'hove to,' as he would say.”