Part 46 (1/2)
Reginald's kidney, as the English cla.s.sics phrase it, he was almost in a state of frenzy at last, and flew his new kite with yells. But after a bit he missed a familiar incident; ”It doesn't tumble down; my other kites all tumble down.”
”More shame for them,” said David, with a dash of contempt, and explained to him that tumbling down is a flaw in a kite, just as foundering at sea is a vile habit in a s.h.i.+p, and that each of these descents, however picturesque to childhood's eye, implies a construction originally derective, or some little subsequent mismanagement. It appeared by Reginald's retort that when his kite tumbled he had the tumultuous joy of flying it again, but, by its keeping the air like this, monotony reigned; so he now proposed that his new friend should fasten the string to the pump-handle, and play at ball with him beneath the kite. The good-natured sailor consented, and thus the little voluptuary secured a terrestrial and ever-varying excitement, while occasional glances upward soothed him with the mild consciousness that there was his property still hovering in the empyrean; amid all which, poor love-sick David was seized with a desire to hear the name of her he loved, and her praise, even from these small lips. ”So you are very fond of Miss Lucy?” said he.
”Yes,” replied Reginald, dryly, and said no more; for it is a characteristic of the awfu' bairn to be mute where fluency is required, voluble where silence.
”I wonder why you love her so much,” said David, cunningly. Reginald's face, instead of brightening with the spirit of explanation, became instantly lack-l.u.s.ter and dough-like; for, be it known, to the everlasting discredit of human nature, that his affection and matrimonial intentions, as they were no secret, so they were the b.u.t.t of satire from grown-up persons of both s.e.xes in the house, and of various social grades; down to the very gardener, all had had a fling at him. But soon his natural cordiality gained the better of that momentary reserve. ”Well, I'll tell you,” said he, ”because you have behaved well all day.”
David was all expectation.
”I like her because she has got red cheeks, and does whatever one asks her.”
Oh, breadth of statement! Why was not David one of your repeaters? He would have gone and told Lucy. I should have liked her to know in what grand primitive colors peach-bloom and queenly courtesy strike what Mr. Tennyson is pleased to call ”the deep mind of dauntless infancy.”
But David Dodd was not a reporter, and so I don't get my way; and how few of us do! not even Mr. Reginald, whose joyous companions.h.i.+p with David was now blighted by a footman. At sight of the coming plush, ”There, now!” cried Reginald. He antic.i.p.ated evil, for messages from the ruling powers were nearly always adverse to his joys. The footman came to say that his master would feel obliged if Mr. Dodd would step into his study a minute.
David went immediately.
”There, now!” squeaked Reginald, rising an octave. ”I'm never happy for two hours together.” This was true. He omitted to add, ”Nor unhappy for one.” The dear child sought comfort in retaliation. He took stones and pelted the footman's retiring calves. His admirers, if any, will be glad to learn that this act of intelligent retribution soothed his deep mind a little.
Mr. Bazalgette had been much interested by David's conversation the last night, and, hearing he was not with the riding-party, had a mind to chat with him. David found him in a magnificent study, lined with books, and hung with beautiful maps that lurked in mahogany cylinders attached to the wall; and you pulled them out by inserting a bra.s.s-hooked stick into their rings, and hauling. Mr. Bazalgette began by putting him a question about a distant port to which he had just sent out some goods. David gave him full information. Began, seaman-like, with the entrance to the harbor, and told him what danger his captain should look out for in running in, and how to avoid it; and from that went to the character of the natives, their tricks upon the sailors, their habits, tastes, and fancies, and, entering with intelligence into his companion's business, gave him some very shrewd hints as to the sort of cargo that would tempt them to sell the very rings out of their ears. Succeeding so well in this, Mr. Bazalgette plied him on other points, and found him full of valuable matter, and, by a rare union of qualities, very modest and very frank. ”Now I like this,” said Mr. Bazalgette, cheerfully. ”This is a return to old customs. A century or two ago, you know, the merchant and the captain felt themselves parts of the same stick, and they used to sit and smoke together before a voyage, and sup together after one, and be always putting their heads together; but of late the stick has got so much longer, and so many knots between the handle and the point, that we have quite lost sight of one another. Here we merchants sit at home at ease, and send you fine fellows out among storms and waves, and think more of a bale of cotton spoiled than of a captain drowned.”
David. ”And we eat your bread, sir, as if it dropped from the clouds, and quite forget whose money and spirit of enterprise causes the s.h.i.+p to be laid on the stocks, and then built, and then rigged, and then launched, and then manned, and then sailed from port to port.”
”Well, well, if you eat our bread, we eat your labor, your skill, your courage, and sometimes your lives, I am sorry to say. Merchants and captains ought really to be better acquainted.”
”Well, sir,” said David, ”now you mention it, you are the first merchant of any consequence I ever had the advantage of talking with.”
”The advantage is mutual, sir; you have given me one or two hints I could not have got from fifty merchants. I mean to coin you, Captain Dodd.”
David laughed and blushed. ”I doubt it will be but copper coin if you do. But I am not a captain; I am only first mate.”
”You don't say so! Why, how comes that?”
”Well, sir, I went to sea very young, but I wasted a year or two in private ventures. When I say wasted, I picked up a heap of knowledge that I could not have gained on the China voyage, but it has lost me a little in length of standing; but, on the other hand, I have been very lucky; it is not every one that gets to be first mate at my age; and after next voyage, if I can only make a little bit of interest, I think I shall be a captain. No, sir, I wish I was a captain; I never wished it as now;” and David sighed deeply.
”Humph!” said Mr. Bazalgette, and took a note.
He then showed David his maps. David inspected them with almost boyish delight, and showed the merchant the courses of s.h.i.+ps on Eastern and Western voyages, and explained the winds and currents that compelled them to go one road and return another, and in both cases to go so wonderfully out of what seems the track as they do. _Bref,_ the two ends of the mercantile stick came nearer.
”My study is always open to you, Mr. Dodd, and I hope you will not let a day pa.s.s without obliging me by looking in upon me.”
David thanked him, and went out innocently unconscious that he had performed an unparalleled feat. In the hall he met Captain Kenealy, who, having received orders to amuse him, invited him to play at billiards. David consented, out of good-nature, to please Kenealy.
Thus the whole day pa.s.sed, and _les facheux_ would not let him get a word with Lucy.
At dinner he was separated from her, and so hotly and skillfully engaged by Mrs. Bazalgette that he had scarcely time to look at his idol. After dinner he had to contest her with Mr. Talboys and Mr.
Hardie, the latter of whom he found a very able and st.u.r.dy antagonist.
Mr. Hardie had also many advantages over him. First, the young lady was not the least shy of Mr. Hardie, but the parting scene beyond Royston had put her on her guard against David, and her instinct of defense made her reserved with him. Secondly, Mrs. Bazalgette was perpetually making diversions, whose double object was to get David to herself and leave Lucy to Mr. Hardie.
With all this David found, to his sorrow, that, though he now lived under the same roof with her, he was not so near her as at Font Abbey.