Part 3 (1/2)
”But he don't mind a word I say,” cried the little woman, wringing her hands. ”Wringing wet! just look at him!”
”Been fis.h.i.+ng, my la.s.s; and they brought home a fair haul,” said the purser, throwing back his head, and shooting smoke at a fly on the ceiling.
”What's the use of his bringing home fair hauls if he destroys his clothes as he does; and the holes he makes in his stockings are shameful.”
”Can't help getting wet at sea,” said the ex-purser, solemnly spreading a good mouthful of smoke in a semicircle. ”Water's wet, specially salt-water. Here, you, sir! how dare you make holes in your stockings for your aunt to mend? I don't believe your father ever dared to do such a thing in his life.”
”It don't matter, Abram,” said the old lady in a lachrymose whine; ”it's my fate to toil, and I'm not long for this world, so it don't matter.
It was my fate to be a toiler; and those clothes of his will be too small for him to wear when they're dry. I don't know what I'm to do.”
”Stretch 'em,” said the old gentleman, sending a cloud into his waistcoat.
”But they won't stretch,” cried the old lady peevishly.
”Put 'em away and save 'em,” said the old man. ”I may adopt another nevvy--smaller size,”--and here there was a veil spread over his face by his projecting his lower lip and sending the smoke up into his eyes.
”If you ever did such a thing again, I'd have a divorce,” cried the old lady sharply. ”You go and change your things, sir, and then get a book till dinner's ready.”
The old lady stepped into the parlour, and the old purser was in the act of winking solemnly at his nephew when Mrs Marion reappeared.
”Ah, I saw!” she cried. ”You are encouraging this boy, Abram. Here; Betsey, bring your flannel and wipe up this mess. And you, go in directly and change your things.”
The old lady disappeared again, and the wrinkles stood all over the old purser's face as he growled softly between fancy puffs of smoke.
”Woman's words in house, Will, is like cap'en's orders 'board s.h.i.+p, with the articles over at the back. Must be minded, or it's rank mutiny, and a disrate. _Puff_. Go and get a dry rig.”
”Yes, uncle,” said Will quietly.
”And--_puff_--you--_puff_--must be more careful of your clothes--_puff_, boy. _Puff, puff, puff_. We all sail through life--_puff_--under orders. _Puff_.--Few of us is cap'ens--_puff_. Very few of us is admirals--_puff_; and what with admiralty and the gov'ment--_puff, puff_, and the people's opinion--_puff_, and the queen--_puff_; they can't do so much as they like, as a regular tar. _Puff, puff_.”
The way in which the ex-purser distributed his tobacco smoke during this oracular lecture to his brother's orphan son was something astounding; and he had smoked so heavily that it seemed at last as if he were trying to veil himself from the lad's gaze lest he should see the weakness exhibited with regard to Mrs Marion's rule; while he kept glancing uneasily at the lad, as if feeling that he was read by heart.
”All right, uncle, I understand,” said Will, turning to go.
”That's right--_puff_, Will. Good lad. Your aunt means well, and if she pitches into us both--rams us, as you may say, Will, why, we know, eh?”
”Oh yes, uncle, we know.”
”It don't hurt us, lad. She says lots about what you cost for food, and what an expense you've been to her, and she calls you lazy.”
”Yes, uncle,” said Will, sadly.
”But what do it amount to, eh? Only tongue, and tongue's only tongue after all.”
”No, uncle.”
The last puff of smoke had been sucked out of the pipe, and the old gentleman kept on gesticulating with it as he spoke.
”Only tongue, lad. Your aunt's one o' the finest and best and truest women under the sun. See how clean she's always kept you ever since you first come to us.”
”No, uncle, since you came and fetched me from that miserable school, and said, 'don't cry, my man; you're my own brother's boy, and as long as I live I'll be a father to you.'”