‘Splendid take-down for that stuck-up, young brown doctor,’ the English officer exclaimed aside in a whisper to Edward. ‘Shake a little of the confounded conceit out of him, I should say. He wanted taking down a peg.—Screaming farce, isn’t he, the old father?’
‘I never saw a more pitiable or pitiful scene in my whole life,’ Edward answered earnestly. ‘Poor fellow, I’m profoundly sorry for him; he looks absolutely broken-hearted.’
The young officer gazed at him in mute astonishment. ‘Can’t see a joke, that fellow Hawthorn,’ he thought to himself. ‘Had all the fun worked out of him, I suppose, over there at Cambridge. Awful prig! Quite devoid of the sense of humour. Sorry for his poor wife; she’ll have a dull life of it.—Never saw such an amusing old fool in all my days as that ridiculous, fat old nigger fellow!’
Meanwhile, James Hawthorn had been standing on the wharf, waiting for the first crush of negroes and hangers-on to work itself off, and looking for an easy opportunity to come aboard in order to meet his son and daughter. By-and-by the crush subsided, and the old man stepped on to the gangway and made his way down upon the deck.
In a moment, Edward was wringing his hand fervently, and father and son had exchanged one single kiss of recognition in that half-shamefaced, hasty fashion in which men of our race usually get through that very un-English ceremony of greeting.
‘Father, father,’ Edward said, ‘I am so thankful to see you once more; so anxious to see my dear mother.’
There were tears standing in both their eyes as his father answered: ‘My boy, my boy! I’ve denied myself this pleasure for years; and now—now it’s come, it’s almost too much for me.’
There was a moment’s pause, and then Mr Hawthorn turned to Marian. ‘My daughter,’ he said, kissing her with a fatherly kiss, ‘we know you, and love you already, from Edward’s letters; and we’ll do our best, as far as we can, to make you happy.’
There was another pause, and then the father said again: ‘You didn’t get my telegram, Edward?’
‘Yes, father, I got it; but not till we were on the very point of starting. The steamer was actually under weigh, and we couldn’t have stopped even if we had wished to. There was nothing for it but to come on as we were, in spite of it.’