"And you have now returned to your native country. Longing to see home brought you from New South Wales."
"There you are mistaken," said the man. "Wish to see England again would never have brought me so far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England was a hard mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see another kind of mother--a poor old woman whose son I am--has brought me back."
"You have a mother, then?" said I. "Does she reside in London?"
"She used to live in London," said the man; "but I am afraid she is long since dead."
"How did she support herself?" said I.
"Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to keep a small stall on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am afraid she is dead, and that she died perhaps in misery. She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved her, and she loved me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of seeing her."
"Did you ever write to her," said I, "or cause others to write to her?"
"I wrote to her myself," said the man, "about two years ago; but I never received an answer. I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the a.s.sistance of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do that very well before I went--my poor mother taught me to read, out of a book that she was very fond of; a strange book it was, I remember. Poor dear!--what I would give only to know that she is alive."
"Life is very uncertain," said I.
"That is true," said the man, with a sigh.
"We are here one moment, and gone the next," I continued. "As I pa.s.sed through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman drop down, and people said she was dead. Who knows but that she too had a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very time."
"Who knows, indeed," said the man. "Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead.
Well, G.o.d"s will be done."
"However," said I, "I should not wonder at your finding your mother alive."
"You wouldn"t?" said the man, looking at me wistfully.
"I should not wonder at all," said I; "indeed, something within me seems to tell me you will; I should not much mind betting five shillings to five pence that you will see your mother within a week. Now, friend, five shillings to five pence--"
"Is very considerable odds," said the man, rubbing his hands; "sure you must have good reason to hope, when you are willing to give such odds."
"After all," said I, "it not unfrequently happens that those who lay the long odds lose. Let us hope, however. What do you mean to do in the event of finding your mother alive?"
"I scarcely know," said the man; "I have frequently thought that if I found my mother alive I would attempt to persuade her to accompany me to the country which I have left--it is a better country for a man--that is a free man--to live in than this; however, let me first find my mother--if I could only find my mother--"
"Farewell," said I, rising. "Go your way, and G.o.d go with you--I will go mine." "I have but one thing to ask you," said the man. "What is that?"
I inquired. "That you would drink with me before we part--you have done me so much good." "How should we drink?" said I; "we are on the top of a hill where there is nothing to drink." "But there is a village below,"
said the man; "do let us drink before we part." "I have been through that village already," said I, "and I do not like turning back." "Ah,"
said the man, sorrowfully, "you will not drink with me because I told you I was--" "You are quite mistaken," said I, "I would as soon drink with a convict as with a judge. I am by no means certain that, under the same circ.u.mstances, the judge would be one whit better than the convict. Come along! I will go back to oblige you. I have an odd sixpence in my pocket, which I will change, that I may drink with you." So we went down the hill together to the village through which I had already pa.s.sed, where, finding a public-house, we drank together in true English fashion, after which we parted, the sailor-looking man going his way and I mine.
After walking about a dozen miles, I came to a town, where I rested for the night. The next morning I set out again in the direction of the north-west. I continued journeying for four days, my daily journeys varying from twenty to twenty-five miles. During this time nothing occurred to me worthy of any especial notice. The weather was brilliant, and I rapidly improved both in strength and spirits. On the fifth day, about two o"clock, I arrived at a small town. Feeling hungry, I entered a decent-looking inn--within a kind of bar I saw a huge, fat, landlord- looking person, with a very pretty, smartly-dressed maiden. Addressing myself to the fat man, "House!" said I, "House! Can I have dinner, House?"
CHAPTER LXIII
Primitive Habits--Rosy-faced Damsel--A Pleasant Moment--Suit of Black--The Furtive Glance--The Mighty Round--Degenerate Times--The Newspaper--The Evil Chance--I Congratulate You.
"Young gentleman," said the huge fat landlord, "you are come at the right time; dinner will be taken up in a few minutes; and such a dinner," he continued, rubbing his hands, "as you will not see every day in these times."
"I am hot and dusty," said I, "and should wish to cool my hands and face."
"Jenny!" said the huge landlord, with the utmost gravity, "show the gentleman into number seven, that he may wash his hands and face."
"By no means," said I, "I am a person of primitive habits, and there is nothing like the pump in weather like this."
"Jenny," said the landlord, with the same gravity as before, "go with the young gentleman to the pump in the back kitchen, and take a clean towel along with you."
Thereupon the rosy-faced clean-looking damsel went to a drawer, and producing a large, thick, but snowy white towel, she nodded to me to follow her; whereupon I followed Jenny through a long pa.s.sage into the back kitchen.
And at the end of the back kitchen there stood a pump; and going to it I placed my hands beneath the spout, and said, "Pump, Jenny;" and Jenny incontinently, without laying down the towel, pumped with one hand, and I washed and cooled my heated hands.
And, when my hands were washed and cooled, I took off my neckcloth, and, unb.u.t.toning my shirt collar, I placed my head beneath the spout of the pump, and I said unto Jenny, "Now, Jenny, lay down the towel, and pump for your life."
Thereupon Jenny, placing the towel on a linen-horse, took the handle of the pump with both hands and pumped over my head as handmaid had never pumped before; so that the water poured in torrents from my head, my face, and my hair down upon the brick floor.
And, after the lapse of somewhat more than a minute, I called out with a half-strangled voice, "Hold, Jenny!" and Jenny desisted. I stood for a few moments to recover my breath, then taking the towel which Jenny proffered, I dried composedly my hands and head, my face and hair; then, returning the towel to Jenny, I gave a deep sigh and said, "Surely this is one of the pleasant moments of life."
Then, having set my dress to rights, and combed my hair with a pocket- comb, I followed Jenny, who conducted me back through the long pa.s.sage, and showed me into a neat sanded parlour on the ground floor.
I sat down by a window which looked out upon the dusty street; presently in came the handmaid, and commenced laying the tablecloth. "Shall I spread the table for one, sir," said she, "or do you expect anybody to dine with you?"
"I can"t say that I expect anybody," said I, laughing inwardly to myself; "however, if you please you can lay for two, so that if any acquaintance of mine should chance to step in, he may find a knife and fork ready for him."
So I sat by the window, sometimes looking out upon the dusty street, and now glancing at certain old-fashioned prints which adorned the wall over against me. I fell into a kind of doze, from which I was almost instantly awakened by the opening of the door. Dinner, thought I; and I sat upright in my chair. No, a man of the middle age, and rather above the middle height, dressed in a plain suit of black, made his appearance, and sat down in a chair at some distance from me, but near to the table, and appeared to be lost in thought.
"The weather is very warm, sir," said I.
"Very," said the stranger, laconically, looking at me for the first time.
"Would you like to see the newspaper?" said I, taking up one which lay upon the window seat.
"I never read newspapers," said the stranger, "nor, indeed . . . "
Whatever it might be that he had intended to say he left unfinished.
Suddenly he walked to the mantelpiece at the farther end of the room, before which he placed himself with his back towards me. There he remained motionless for some time; at length, raising his hand, he touched the corner of the mantelpiece with his finger, advanced towards the chair which he had left, and again seated himself.
"Have you come far?" said he, suddenly looking towards me, and speaking in a frank and open manner, which denoted a wish to enter into conversation. "You do not seem to be of this place."
"I come from some distance," said I; "indeed, I am walking for exercise, which I find as necessary to the mind as the body. I believe that by exercise people would escape much mental misery."
Scarcely had I uttered these words when the stranger laid his hand, with seeming carelessness, upon the table, near one of the gla.s.ses; after a moment or two he touched the gla.s.s with his finger as if inadvertently, then, glancing furtively at me, he withdrew his hand and looked towards the window.
"Are you from these parts?" said I at last, with apparent carelessness.
"From this vicinity," replied the stranger. "You think, then, that it is as easy to walk off the bad humours of the mind as of the body?"