Both he and his evident point of view were “funny” in the Lancashire sense, which does not imply humor, but strangeness and the unexplainable. Singular as the phrasing was, Tembarom knew what he meant, and that he was thinking of the oddity of chance. Tummas had obviously heard of “poor Jem” and had felt an interest in him.
“You’re talking about Jem Temple Barholm I guess,” he said. Perhaps the interest he himself had felt in the tragic story gave his voice a tone somewhat responsive to Tummas’s own mood, for Tummas, after one more boring glance, let himself go. His interest in this special subject was, it revealed itself, a sort of obsession. The history of Jem Temple Barholm had been the one drama of his short life.
“Aye, I was thinkin’ o’ him,” he said. “I should na ha’ cared for the Klondike so much but for him.”
“But he went away from England when you were a baby.”
“The last toime he coom to Temple Barholm wur when I wur just born. Foak said he coom to ax owd Temple Barholm if he’d help him to pay his debts, an’ the owd chap awmost kicked him out o’ doors. Mother had just had me, an’ she was weak an’ poorly an’ sittin’ at the door wi’ me in her arms, an’ he passed by an’ saw her. He stopped an’ axed her how she was doin’. An when he was goin’ away, he gave her a gold sovereign, an’ he says, ‘Put it in the savin’s-bank for him, an’ keep it theer till he’s a big lad an’ wants it.’ It’s been in the savin’s-bank ever sin’. I’ve got a whole pound o’ ma own out at interest. There’s not many lads ha’ got that.”
“He must have been a good-natured fellow,” commented Tembarom. “It was darned bad luck him going to the Klondike.”
“It was good luck for thee,” said Tummas, with resentment.
“Was it?” was Tembarom’s unbiased reply. “Well, I guess it was, one way or the other. I’m not kicking, anyhow.”
Tummas naturally did not know half he meant. He went on talking about Jem Temple Barholm, and as he talked his cheeks flushed and his eyes lighted.
“I would na spend that sovereign if I was starvin’. I’m going to leave it to Ann Hutchinson in ma will when I dee. I’ve axed questions about him reet and left ever sin’ I can remember, but theer’s nobody knows much. Mother says he was fine an’ handsome, an’ gentry through an’ through. If he’d coom into the property, he’d ha’ coom to see me again. I’ll lay a shillin’, because I’m a cripple an’ I cannot spend his sovereign. If he’d coom back from the Klondike, happen he’d ha’ towd me about it.” He pulled the atlas toward him, and laid his thin finger on the rubbed spot. “He mun ha’ been killed somewheer about here,” he sighed. “Somewheer here. Eh, it’s funny.”