CHAPTER XXVI
THE RETURN
Arthur Jollyboy, Esquire, of the Old Hulk, sat on the top of a tallthree-legged stool in his own snug little office in the sea-port town ofBilton, with his legs swinging to and fro; his socks displayed aconsiderable way above the tops of his gaiters; his hands thrust deepinto his breeches pockets; his spectacles high on his bald forehead, andhis eyes looking through the open letter that lay before him; through thedesk underneath it; through the plank floor, cellars and foundations ofthe edifice; and through the entire world into the distant future beyond.
"Four thousand pair of socks," he murmured, pulling down his spectaclesand consulting the open letter for the tenth time; "four thousand pair ofsocks, with the hitch, same as last bale, but a very little coarser inmaterial."
"Four thousand pair! and who's to make them, I wonder. If poor Mrs.Dorothy Grumbit were here--ah! well, she's gone, so it can't be helped.Four thousand!--dear me who _will_ make them. Do _you_ know?"
This question was addressed to his youngest clerk, who sat on theopposite side of the desk staring at Mr. Jollyboy with that openimpudence of expression peculiar to young puppy-dogs whose masters areunusually indulgent.
"No, sir, I don't," said the clerk with a broad grin.
Before the perplexed merchant could come at any conclusion on this knottysubject the door opened and Martin Rattler entered the room, followed byhis friend Barney O'Flannagan.
"You've come to the wrong room, friends," said Mr. Jollyboy with abenignant smile. "My principal clerk engages men and pays wages. Hisoffice is just opposite; first door in the passage."
"We don't want to engage," said Martin; "we wish to speak with you, sir."
"Oh, beg pardon!" cried Mr. Jollyboy, leaping off the stool withsurprising agility for a man of his years. "Come in this way. Pray beseated--Eh! ah, surely I've seen you before, my good fellow?"
"Yis, sir, that ye have. I've sailed aboard your ships many a time. Myname's Barney O'Flannagan, at yer sarvice."
"Ah! I recollect; and a good man you are, I've been told, Barney; but Ihave lost sight of you for some years. Been on a long voyage, I suppose?"
"Well, not 'xactly; but I've been on a long cruise, an' no mistake, inthe woods o' Brazil. I wos wrecked on the coast there, in the _Firefly_."
"Ah! to be sure. I remember. And your young messmate here, was hewith you?"
"Yes, sir, I was," said Martin, answering for himself; "and I had oncethe pleasure of your acquaintance. Perhaps if you look steadily in myface you may--"
"Ah, then! don't try to bamboozle him. He might as well look at a bit o'mahogany as at your faygurhead. Tell him at wance, Martin dear."
"Martin?" exclaimed the puzzled old gentleman, seizing the young sailorby the shoulders and gazing intently into his face. "Martin! Martin!Surely not--yes! eh? Martin Rattler?"
"Ay that am I, dear Mr. Jollyboy, safe and sound, and--"
Martin's speech was cut short in consequence of his being violentlythrottled by Mr. Jollyboy, who flung his arms round his neck andstaggered recklessly about the office with him! This was the great pointwhich Barney had expected; it was the climax to which he had been lookingforward all the morning: and it did not come short of his anticipations;for Mr. Jollyboy danced round Martin and embraced him for at least tenminutes, asking him at the same time a shower of questions which he gavehim no time to answer. In the excess of his delight Barney smote histhigh with his broad hand so forcibly that it burst upon the startledclerk like a pistol-shot, and caused him to spring off his stool!
"Don't be afeared, young un," said Barney, winking and poking the smallclerk jocosely in the ribs with his thumb. "Isn't it beautiful to seethem. Arrah, now! isn't it purty?"
"Keep your thumbs to yourself, you sea monster," said the small clerk,angrily, and laying his hand on the ruler. But Barney minded him not, andcontinued to smite his thigh and rub his hands, while he performed a sortof gigantic war-dance round Mr. Jollyboy and Martin.
In a few minutes the old gentleman subsided sufficiently to understandquestions.
"But, my aunt," said Martin, anxiously; "you have said nothing about AuntDorothy. How is she? where is she? is she well?"
To these questions Mr. Jollyboy returned no answer, but sitting suddenlydown on a chair, he covered his face with his hands.
"She is not ill?" inquired Martin in a husky voice, while his heart beatviolently. "Speak, Mr. Jollyboy, is she--is she--"
"No, she's not ill," returned the old gentleman; "but she's--"
"She is dead!" said Martin, in a tone so deep and sorrowful that the oldgentleman started up.
"No, no, not dead, my dear boy; I did not mean that. Forgive mystupidity, Martin. Aunt Dorothy is gone,--left the village a year ago;and I have never seen or heard of her since."
Terrible though this news was, Martin felt a slight degree of relief toknow that she was not dead;--at least there was reason to hope that shemight be still alive.
"But when did she go? and why? and where?"
"She went about twelve months ago," replied Mr. Jollyboy. "You see,Martin, after she lost you she seemed to lose all hope and all spirit;and at last she gave up making socks for me, and did little but moan inher seat in the window and look out towards the sea. So I got a pleasantyoung girl to take care of her; and she did not want for any of thecomforts of life. One day the little girl came to me here, having run allthe way from the village, to say that Mrs. Grumbit had packed up a bundleof clothes and gone off to Liverpool by the coach. She took theopportunity of the girl's absence on some errand to escape; and we shouldnever have known it, had not some boys of the village seen her get intothe coach and tell the guard that she was going to make inquiries afterMartin. I instantly set out for Liverpool; but long before I arrived thecoach had discharged its passengers, and the coachman, not suspectingthat anything was wrong, had taken no notice of her after arriving. Fromthat day to this I have not ceased to advertise and make all possibleinquiries, but without success."
Martin heard the narrative in silence, and when it was finished he sat afew minutes gazing vacantly before him, like one in a dream. Thenstarting up suddenly, he wrung Mr. Jollyboy's hand, "Good-bye, my dearfriend; good-bye. I shall go to Liverpool. We shall meet again."
"Stay, Martin, stay--"
But Martin had rushed from the room, followed by his faithful friend, andin less than half an hour they were in the village of Ashford. The coachwas to pass in twenty minutes, so, bidding Barney engage two outsideseats, he hastened round by the road towards the cottage. There it stood,quaint, time-worn, and old-fashioned, as when he had last seen it,--thelittle garden in which he had so often played,--the bower in which, onfine weather, Aunt Dorothy used to sit, and the door-step on which thewhite kitten used to gambol. But the shutters were closed, and the doorwas locked, and there was an air of desolation and a deep silencebrooding over the place, that sank more poignantly into Martin's heartthan if he had come and found every vestige of the home of his childhoodswept away. It was like the body without the soul. The flowers, andstones, and well-known forms were there; but she who had given animationto the whole was gone. Sitting down on the door-step, Martin buried hisface in his hands and wept.
He was quickly aroused by the bugle of the approaching coach. Springingup, he dashed the tears away and hurried towards the high-road. In a fewminutes Barney and he were seated on the top of the coach, and dashing,at the rate of ten miles an hour, along the road to Liverpool.
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