Part 5 (1/2)

Without waiting for a reply, Mr Jones went forward and called the crew.

The anchor was weighed, the sails were set, and the sloop Nora--bending over before the breeze, as if doing homage in pa.s.sing her friend the Gull-Light--put to sea, and directed her course for the ancient town and port of Yarmouth.

CHAPTER FIVE.

MORE NEW CHARACTERS INTRODUCED.

If it be true that time and tide wait for no man, it is equally true, we rejoice to know, that authors and readers have a corresponding immunity from shackles, and are in nowise bound to wait for time or tide.

We therefore propose to leave the Gull-stream light, and the Goodwin sands, and the sloop Nora, far behind us, and, skipping a little in advance of Time itself proceed at once to Yarmouth.

Here, in a snug parlour, in an easy chair, before a cheerful fire, with a newspaper in his hand, sat a bluff little elderly gentleman, with a bald head and a fat little countenance, in which benignity appeared to hold perpetual though amicable rivalry with fun.

That the fat little elderly gentleman was eccentric could scarcely be doubted, because he not only looked _over_ his spectacles instead of through them, but also, apparently, read his newspaper upside down. A closer inspection, however, would have shown that he was not reading the paper at all, but looking over the top of it at an object which accounted for much of the benignity, and some of the fun of his expression.

At the opposite side of the table sat a very beautiful girl, stooping over a book, and so earnestly intent thereon as to be evidently quite oblivious of all else around her. She was at that interesting age when romance and reality are supposed to be pretty equally balanced in a well-regulated female mind--about seventeen. Although not cla.s.sically beautiful--her nose being slightly turned upward--she was, nevertheless, uncommonly pretty, and, as one of her hopeless admirers expressed it, ”desperately love-able.” Jet black ringlets--then in vogue--cl.u.s.tered round an exceedingly fair face, on which there dwelt the hue of robust health. Poor Bob Queeker, the hopeless admirer above referred to, would have preferred that she had been somewhat paler and thinner, if that had been possible; but this is not to be wondered at, because Queeker was about sixteen years of age at that time, and wrote sonnets to the moon and other celestial bodies, and also indulged in ”lines” to various terrestrial bodies, such as the lily or the snowdrop, or something equally drooping or pale. Queeker never by any chance addressed the sun, or the red-rose, or anything else suggestive of health and vigour.

Yet his melancholy soul could not resist Katie,--which was this angel's name,--because, although she was energetic, and vigorous, and matter-of-fact, not to say slightly mischievous, she was intensely sympathetic and tender in her feelings, and romantic too. But her romance puzzled him. There was something too intense about it for his taste. If he had only once come upon her unawares, and caught her sitting with her hands clasped, gazing in speechless adoration at the moon, or even at a street-lamp, in the event of its being thick weather at the time, his love for her would have been without alloy.

As it was, Queeker thought her ”desperately love-able,” and in his perplexity continued to write sonnets without number to the moon, in which efforts, however, he was singularly unsuccessful, owing to the fact that, after he had gazed at it for a considerable length of time, the orb of night invariably adopted black ringlets and a bright sunny complexion.

George Durant--which was the name of the bald fat little elderly gentleman--was Katie's father. Looking at them, no one would have thought so, for Katie was tall and graceful in form; and her countenance, except when lighted up with varying emotion, was grave and serene.

As Mr Durant looked at it just then, the gravity had deepened into severity; the pretty eyebrows frowned darkly at the book over which they bent, and the rosy lips represented a compound of pursing and pouting as they moved and muttered something inaudibly.

”What is it that puzzles you, Katie?” asked her father, laying down the paper.

”'s.h.!.+” whispered Katie, without lifting her head; ”seventeen, twenty-two, twenty-nine, thirty-six,--one pound sixteen;--no, I _can't_ get it to balance. Did you ever know such a provoking thing?”

She flung down her pencil, and looked full in her father's face, where fun had, for the time, so thoroughly conquered and overthrown benignity, that the frown vanished from her brow, and the rosy lips expanded to join her sire in a hearty fit of laughter.

”If you could only see your own face, Katie, when you are puzzling over these accounts, you would devote yourself ever after to drawing _it_, instead of those chalk-heads of which you are so fond.”

”No, I wouldn't, papa,” said Katie, whose gravity quickly returned.

”It's all very well for you to joke about it, and laugh at me, but I can tell you that this account _won't_ balance; there is a two-and-sixpence wrong somewhere, and you know it has to be all copied out and sent off by the evening post to-morrow. I really can't understand why we are called upon to make so many copies of all the accounts and papers for that ridiculous Board of Trade; I'm sure they have plenty of idle clerks of their own, without requiring us to slave as we do--for such a wretched salary, too!”

Katie shook her curls indignantly, as she thought of the unjust demands and inadequate remuneration of Government, and resumed her work, the frowning brows and pursed coral lips giving evidence of her immediate and total absorption in the accounts.

Old Mr Durant, still holding the newspaper upside down, and looking over the top of it and of his spectacles at the fair accountant, thought in his heart that if the a.s.sembled Board, of which his daughter spoke in such contemptuous terms, could only behold her labouring at their books, in order to relieve her father of part of the toil, they would incontinently give orders that he should be thenceforth allowed a salary for a competent clerk, and that all the accounts sent up from Yarmouth should be bound in cloth of gold!

”Here it is, papa, I've got it!” exclaimed Katie, looking up with enthusiasm similar to that which might be expected in a youthful sportsman on the occasion of hooking his first salmon. ”It was the two-and-sixpence which you told me to give to--”

At that moment the outer door bell rang.

”There's cousin f.a.n.n.y, oh, I'm _so_ glad!” exclaimed Katie, shutting up her books and clearing away a mult.i.tude of papers with which the table was lumbered; ”she has promised to stay a week, and has come in time to go with me to the singing cla.s.s this afternoon. She's a darling girl, as fond of painting and drawing almost as I am, and hates cats. Oh, I do so love a girl that doesn't like cats. Eh, p.u.s.s.y, shall I tread on your tail?”

This question was put to a rec.u.mbent cat which lay coiled up in earthly bliss in front of the fire, and which Katie had to pa.s.s in carrying her armful of books and papers to the sideboard drawer in which they were wont to repose. She put out her foot as if to carry her threat into execution.

”Dare!” exclaimed Mr Durant, with whom the cat was a favourite.

”Well, then, promise that if Mr Queeker comes to-night you won't let him stay to spoil our fun,” said Katie, still holding her foot over the cat's unconscious tail.

As she spoke, one of the rather heavy account-books (which ought to have been bound in cloth of gold) slipped off the pile, and, as ill luck would have it, fell on the identical tail in question, the cat belonging to which sprang up with a fierce caterwaul in rampant indignation.

”Oh, papa, you _know_ I didn't mean it.”

Mr Durant's eyes twinkled with amus.e.m.e.nt as he beheld the sudden change of poor Katie's expression to intense earnestness, but before he could reply the door was thrown open; ”cousin f.a.n.n.y” rushed in, the cat rushed out, the two young ladies rushed into each other's arms, and went in a species of ecstatic waltz up-stairs to enjoy the delights of a private interview, leaving Mr Durant to sink into the arms of his easy chair and resume his paper--this time with the right side up!