In the same preoccupied fashion he got on a Bayswater omnibus, and waited patiently for it to reach Poplar. Strange changes in the landscape, not to be accounted for by the mere lapse of time, led to explanations, and the conductor—a humane man, who said he had got an idiot boy at home—personally laid down the lines of his tour. Two hours later he stood in front of a small house painted in many colours, and, ringing the bell, inquired for Cap’n Crippen.
In response to his inquiry, a big man, with light blue eyes and a long grey beard, appeared, and, recognising his visitor with a grunt of surprise, drew him heartily into the passage and thrust him into the parlour. He then shook hands with him, and, clapping him on the back, bawled lustily for the small boy who had opened the door.
“Pot o’ stout, bottle o’ gin, and two long pipes,” said he, as the boy came to the door and eyed the ex-pilot curiously.
At all these honest preparations for his welcome the heart of Jackson grew faint within him.
“Well, I call it good of you to come all this way to see me,” said the captain, after the boy had disappeared; “but you always was warm-hearted, Pepper. And how’s the missis?”
“Shocking!” said Pepper, with a groan.
“Ill?” inquired the captain.
“Ill-tempered,” said Pepper. “In fact, cap’n, I don’t mind telling you, she’s killing me—slowly killing me!”
“Pooh!” said Crippen. “Nonsense! You don’t know how to manage her!”
“I thought perhaps you could advise me,” said the artful Pepper. “I said to myself yesterday, ‘Pepper, go and see Cap’n Crippen. What he don’t know about wimmen and their management ain’t worth knowing! If there’s anybody can get you out of a hole, it’s him. He’s got the power, and, what’s more, he’s got the will!’”