Part 7 (1/2)
”I am _sure_ it is, Jeff.”
Again they were silent, and thus they remained while the natural light faded, until the western sky and sea were dyed in crimson.
The first thing that diverted their thoughts was a quick step outside, then a thunderous knock at the door, and next moment the captain stood before them, beaming with excitement, panting heavily, and quite unable for some minutes to talk coherently.
”Sister,” said he at last, ”sit down an' listen. Jeff, open your ears.”
He drew a crumpled letter from his pocket, spread it on his knee, put on his gla.s.ses, and read as follows:--
”`My DEAR CAPTAIN MILLET,--
”`You will, I know, be grieved, though not surprised, to hear that your old friend Nibsworth is dead. Poor fellow! his end came much as you and I had antic.i.p.ated when we last parted. He followed his dear Clara about two months after her death. I suppose you know that she died three days after you left their house.
”`My object in writing just now, however, is to convey to you a piece of good news; namely, that Nibsworth has left you the whole of his property, which, altogether, cannot amount to less, I should think, than eighty thousand pounds.'”
At this point the captain paused and looked over his gla.s.ses at his sister, who, with wide-open eyes, exclaimed--
”Brother! he must be joking!”
”Sister,” returned the captain, ”my friend _never_ jokes, except when in extremely congenial society, and then his jokes are bad--so bad as to be unworthy of repet.i.tion.”
”Wonderful!” exclaimed Miss Millet.
”Singular,” murmured Jeff, whose thoughts seemed to be engaged with some far-off prospect.
”He goes on,” continued the captain, reading: ”`I am left the sole executor of his affairs. Pray, therefore, write as to what you wish done. I am not at present conversant with the precise duties of an executor, but of course I will get the best advice possible in the circ.u.mstances, and do the best I can. I would recommend you to do the same at your end of the world, and let me have your instructions as soon as possible. The enclosed statement will show you the nature of your property. The greater part, you will observe, is in hard cash. I may add that the house and grounds here would sell well at present, if you feel inclined to dispose of them.
”`In conclusion, allow me to congratulate you on this piece of good fortune--perhaps, knowing your character so well, I should have written, this good gift from G.o.d.'”
”Ay, my friend,” said the captain, folding the letter, ”you might have written, `this unexpected and undeserved gift from G.o.d.' But now, Molly, what think ye of it all?”
”Wonderful!” exclaimed the good lady in reply; and beyond this word she seemed unable to go for a time, save that, after a strong mental effort, she varied it to ”amazing!” Suddenly she seemed to recover, and said with a quick, earnest look--
”d.i.c.k, what are you going to do?”
”Do?” exclaimed Captain Millet, smiting his knee and looking from his sister to Jeff with a broad smile. ”I'll run up to London, an' take a mansion in the West End, call at Long Acre in pa.s.sing, and buy a carriage and four. Then I'll run down to Folkestone an' buy a villa there, or a castle if they have one in stock; if not, I'll order one o'
the newest pattern, with gas, water, electricity, and steam laid on.
After that I'll buy a steam-yacht and take a trip round the world, so as to calm my brain and think over it. Of course I'll drop in at Hong Kong, in pa.s.sing, to have a look at my property; and then--”
”Hush, brother! don't run on with such nonsense when we ought to be only filled with serious thoughts.”
”How can a man be filled with serious thoughts, Molly, when a sort of Arabian Nights' affair has tumbled on him all of a sudden--took him aback like a white squall, and thrown him on his beam-ends?”
”And what a selfish fellow you are, too!” said Jeff; ”not one word in all you propose to do about anybody except yourself--no mention even of Rosebud.”
”Pooh! Jeff, are you so green as not to know that a wise man never puts his best foot foremost? Don't you know that it is usual, when a man makes a speech, to keep tumblin' out one point after another--clinkin'
'em all as he goes along--until he comes to the `last but not _least_'
point? If you had let me alone, Molly, I was comin' to Rosebud and yourself too; but as you've been so unmannerly, I'll keep these points till another time. By the way, when you write to Rosebud, not a word about all this. It might unsettle the darlin' with her lessons. An'