The Astonishing History of Troy Town Part 35

"WAPSHOTT AND SONS', CHICAGO, PATENT COMPRESSED TEA, TEN PRIZE MEDALS"--

stamped here and there about it. "I suppose," she said, turning to Mr. Moggridge, "I can have it weighed here, and pay you the duty, and then Captain Potter can send it straight to 'The Bower'?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Moggridge; "we won't be long opening it, and then--"

"Opening it!"

"Why, yes; as a matter of form, you know. It won't take a minute."

"But how foolish," said Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, "when you know very well by the invoice that it's tea!"

"Oh, of course it's foolish: only it's the rule, you understand, before allowing goods to be landed."

"But I don't understand. It is tea, and I am ready to pay the duty.

I never thought you would be so unreasonable."

"Geraldine!"

At the utterance of Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys' Christian name the two minions turned aside to conceal their smiles. The red-faced man's appreciation even led him to dive behind the packing-case.

The Collector pulled himself up and looked confused.

"It was so small a thing I asked," said she, almost to herself, and with a heart-rending break in her voice, "so small a test!" And with a sigh she half-turned to go.

The Collector's hand arrested her.

"Do you mean--?"

She looked at him with reproach in her eyes. "Let me pa.s.s," said she, and seeing the conflict between love and duty on his face, "So small a test!"

"d.a.m.n the tea!" said Mr. Moggridge.

"I am feeling so faint," said Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys.

"Let me lead you up to the fresh air."

"No; go and open the tea."

"I am not going to open it."

"Do!"

"I won't. Here, Sam," he called to one of the minions, "put down that chisel and weigh the chest at once. You needn't open it.

Come, don't stand staring, but look alive. I know what's inside.

Are you satisfied?" he added, bending over her.

"It frightened me so," she answered, looking up with swimming eyes.

"And I thought--I was planning it so nicely. Take me up on deck, please."

"Come, be careful o' that chest," said Captain Uriah T. Potter to the minions, as they moved it up to be weighed.

"Heaviest tea that iver _I_ handled," groaned the first minion.

"All the more duty for you sharks. O' course it's heavy, being compressed: an' strong, too. Guess you don't oft'n get tea o' this strength in your country, anyway. Give a man two pinches o'

Wapshott's best, properly cooked, an' I reckon it'll last _him_.

You won't find him coming to complain."

"No?"

"No. But I ain't sayin' nuthin'," added Captain Potter, "about his widder."

And his smile, as he regarded his hearers, was both engaging and expansive.

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW ONE THAT WAS DISSATISFIED WITH HIS PAST SAW A VISION, BUT DOUBTED.

Caleb Trotter watched his master's behaviour during the next few days with a growing impatience.

"I reckon," he said, "'tes wi' love, as Sally Bennett said when her old man got cotched i' the dres.h.i.+n'-machine,' you'm in, my dear, an'

you may so well go dro'.'"

Nevertheless, he would look up from his work at times with anxiety.

"Forty-sax. That's the forty-saxth time he've a-trotted up that blessed beach an' back; an' five times he've a-pulled up to stare at the watter. I've a-kep' count wi' these bits o' chip. An' at night 'tes all round the house, like Aaron's dresser, wi' a face, too, like as ef he'd a-lost a s.h.i.+llin' an' found a thruppeny-bit. This 'ere p.u.s.s.ivantin' [1] may be relievin' to the mind, but I'm darned ef et can be good for shoe-leather. 'Tes the wear an' tear, that's what 'tes, as Aunt Lovey said arter killin' her boy wi' whackin'."

The fact is that Mr. Fogo was solving his problem, though the process was painful enough. He was concerned, too, for Caleb, whose rest was often broken by his master's restlessness. In consequence he determined to fit up a room for his own use. Caleb opposed the scheme at first; but, finding that the business of changing diverted Mr. Fogo's melancholy, gave way at last, on a promise that "no May-games" should be indulged in--a festival term which was found to include somnambulism, suicide, and smoking in bed.

The room chosen lay on the upper storey at the extreme east of the house, and looked out, between two tall elms, upon the creek and the lepers' burial-ground. It was chosen as being directly over the room occupied by Caleb, so that, by stamping his foot, Mr. Fogo could summon his servant at any time. The floor was bare of carpet, and the chamber of decoration. But Mr. Fogo hated decoration, and, after slinging his hammock and pus.h.i.+ng the window open for air, gazed around on the blistered ceiling and tattered wall-paper, rubbed his hands, and announced that he should be very comfortable.

"Well, sir," said Caleb, as he turned to leave him for the night, "arter all, comfort's a matter o' comparison, as St. La'rence said when he turned round 'pon the gridiron. But the room's clane as watter an' scourin' 'll make et--reminds me," he continued, with a glance round, "o' what the contented clerk said by hes office-stool: 'Chairs es good,' said he, 'and sofies es better; but 'tes a great thing to harbour no dust.' Any orders, sir?"

"No, I fancy--stop! Is my writing-case here?"

Caleb's anxiety took alarm.

"You bain't a-goin' to do et in writin' sir, surely!"

Mr. Fogo stared.

"Don't 'ee, sir--don't 'ee!"

"Really, Caleb, your behaviour is most extraordinary. What is it that I am not to do?"

"Why, put et in writin', sir: they don't like et. Go up an' ax her like a man--'Will 'ee ha' me? Iss or no?' That was ould d.i.c.k Jago's way, an' I reckon _he_ knowed, havin' married sax wifes, wan time an'