Part 40 (1/2)
”He certainly has,” replied the captain, who accepted the phrase literally.
”Wall, I reckon your property's riz since ye wor here; now, if you give me leave to make the alterations I want to, I'll give you 1000 dollars a month, payable in advance.”
”You'd better tell Captain Bunting what the alterations you refer to are,” suggested Tom Collins, who saw that the captain's state of mind rendered him totally incapable of transacting business.
”That's soon done. I'll give it ye slick off. I want to cut away the companion-hatch and run up a regular stair to the deck; then it's advisable to cut away at least half o' the main deck to heighten the gamin' saloon. But I guess the main point is to knock out half-a-dozen windows in the hold, for gas-light is plaguey dear, when it's goin' full blast day and night. Besides, I must cut the entrance-door down to the ground, for this tree-mendous flight o' stairs'll be the ruin o' the business. It's only a week since a man was shot by a comrade here in the cabin, an' as they rushed out after him, two customers fell down the stair and broke their arms. And I calc'late the gentlemen that's overtaken by liquor every night won't stand it much longer. There isn't a single man that quits this house after 12 p.m. but goes down that flight head-foremost. If you don't sanction that change, I guess I'll have to get 'em padded, and spread feather-beds at the foot. Now, cap'n, if you agrees to this right off, I'll give the sum named.”
Captain Bunting's astonishment had now reached that point at which extremes are supposed to meet, and a reaction began to take place.
”How much did you propose?” he inquired, taking out a pencil and an old letter, as if he were about to make notes, at the same time knitting his brows, and endeavouring to look intensely sagacious.
”One thousand dollars a month,” answered the Yankee; ”I railly can't stand more.”
”Let me see,” muttered the captain slowly, in an under tone, while he pressed his forehead with his fore-finger; ”one thousand dollars--200 pounds sterling--hum, equal to about 2400 pounds a year. Well,” he added, raising his voice, ”I don't mind if I do. I suppose, Tom, it's not _much_ below the thing, as rents go!”
”It's a fair offer,” said Tom, carelessly; ”we might, perhaps, get a higher, but Major Whitlaw is in possession, and is, besides, a good tenant.”
”Then I'll conclude the bargain--pray get pen, ink, and paper.”
While the major turned for a moment to procure writing materials, the captain looked at Tom and winked expressively. Then, a doc.u.ment was drawn up, signed, and witnessed, and then the captain, politely declining a brandy-smash, or any other smash whatever, left the _Roving Bess_ Tavern with his friends, and with 200 pounds--the first month's rent--in his pocket.
It is needless to remark, that his comrades congratulated him heartily, and that the worthy captain walked along the streets of San Francisco chuckling.
In a few minutes, Tom Collins stopped before a row of immense warehouses. There was one gap in the row, a s.p.a.ce of several yards square, that might have held two good-sized houses. Four wooden posts stood at the corners of the plot, and an old boat, turned keel up, lay in the middle of it.
”I know it!” cried Ned Sinton, laughing in gleeful surprise; ”it's my old boat, isn't it? Well, I can scarcely credit my eyes! I saw it last on the sea-sh.o.r.e, and now it's a quarter of a mile into the town!”
”More than that, Ned,” said Tom Collins, ”the plot of ground is worth ten thousand dollars at this moment. Had it been a little further south, it would have been worth ten times that sum. And more than that still, the Irish family you lent the boat to--you remember them--well, they dug up a bag from under the boat which contained five thousand dollars; the honest people at once gave it up, and Mr Thompson rewarded them well; but they did not live to enjoy it long, they're all dead now.
So you see, Ned, you're just 3000 pounds richer than you thought you were this morning.”
”It's a great day!” remarked Larry O'Neil, looking round upon his comrades, who received all this information with an expression of doubting surprise; ”a great day intirely! Faix, I'm only hopin' we won't waken up an' find it's all a dhrame!”
Larry's companions quite agreed with him. They did not indeed say so, but, as they returned home after that stroll, talking eagerly of future plans and prospects, the ever-recurring sentiment broke from their lips, in every style of phrase, ”It's a great day, intirely!”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
MORE UNEXPECTED DISCOVERIES--CAPTAIN BUNTING MAKES BILL JONES A FIRST MATE--LARRY O'NEIL MAKES HIMSELF A FIRST MATE--THE PARTING--NED SINTON PROVES HIMSELF, A SECOND TIME, TO BE A FRIEND IN NEED AND IN DEED.
”It never rains but it pours,” saith the proverb. We are fond of proverbs. We confess to a weakness that way. There is a depth of meaning in them which courts investigation from the strongest intellects. Even when they are nonsensical, which is not unfrequently the case, their nonsense is unfathomable, and, therefore, invested with all the zest which attaches, metaphysically speaking, to the incomprehensible.
Astonis.h.i.+ng circ.u.mstances had been raining for some time past around our bewildered adventurers, and, latterly, they had begun to pour. On the afternoon of the day, the events of which have been recorded in the last chapter, there was, metaphorically speaking, a regular thunder-plump.
No sooner had the party returned to old Mr Thompson's cottage, than down it came again, heavy as ever.
On entering the porch, Lizette ran up to Tom, in that pretty tripping style peculiar to herself, and whispered in his ear.
”Well, you baggage,” said he, ”I'll go with you; but I don't like secrets. Walk into the parlour, friends; I'll be with you in a minute.”
”Tom,” said Lizette, pursing up her little mouth and elevating her pert nose; ”you can't guess what an interesting discovery I've made.”
”Of course I can't,” replied Tom, with affected impatience; ”now, pray, don't ask me to try, else I shall leave you instantly.”