"I am not near enough to see any changes yet, Crump," I answered him. "The changes, if any, show most, I dare say, in myself."
"So they do, sir; so they do," he assented heartily. "My wife used to say you were a pretty boy, and had the makings of a fine, personable man. First thing I thought, when I clapped eyes on you to-day, was: 'Well, this here's a lesson to Sarah not to be hasty in her judgments!' 'Tain't often I get the better o' Sarah, you know, sir. They tell me you've been in Italy and learned to paint?"
"I'm afraid I haven't quite learned all the art yet, Crump. It takes more than two or three years."
"Depends on the person, I shouldn't wonder," he said, wagging his head. "Some people are slow by nature. Could a man make his living by it, d'ye think, sir?"
I answered this devious inquiry as to my own financial standing by assuring him that I had
contrived so far to make mine. "I'm not riding in my coach-and-four yet, as you see, Crump, but the time may come."
"I'm sure I hope it will, Mr. Nick," he said rather dubiously. "But it's kind o' tempting Providence, seems to me. You might 'a' been walking your own quarter-deck, captain o' some tall East Indiaman by this, like your father and grandfather before you, making a safe, easy living, and looked up to by everybody."
I interrupted his moralizing to ask, as, indeed, I had already done more than once, without being able to get his attention: "How does my grandfather seem?"
Momentary gravity fell upon him. "He—he don't always answer the helm, Mr. Nicol," he said, and touched his forehead with a meaning look. "Barring that, I'd rate him seaworthy, for all he's cruised so long—nigh eighty year, ain't it?"
"I'm glad I came home," I said, concerned. "The old man should not be alone."