“I’d give it her!” remarked the Nipper, softly.
“Would you, do you think, my dear?” returned the Captain, with feeble admiration. “Well, my dear, it does you credit. But there ain’t no wild animal I wouldn’t sooner face myself. I only got my chest away by means of a friend as nobody’s a match for. It was no good sending any letter there. She wouldn’t take in any letter, bless you,” said the Captain, “under them circumstances! Why, you could hardly make it worth a man’s while to be the postman!”
“Then it’s pretty clear, Captain Cuttle, that all of us, and you and Uncle Sol especially,” said Walter, “may thank Mrs. MacStinger for no small anxiety.”
The general obligation in this wise to the determined relict of the late Mr. MacStinger, was so apparent, that the Captain did not contest the point; but being in some measure ashamed of his position, though nobody dwelt upon the subject, and Walter especially avoided it, remembering the last conversation he and the Captain had held together respecting it, he remained under a cloud for nearly five minutes—an extraordinary period for him when that sun, his face, broke out once more, shining on all beholders with extraordinary brilliancy; and he fell into a fit of shaking hands with everybody over and over again.
At an early hour, but not before Uncle Sol and Walter had questioned each other at some length about their voyages and dangers, they all, except Walter, vacated Florence’s room, and went down to the parlour. Here they were soon afterwards joined by Walter, who told them Florence was a little sorrowful and heavyhearted, and had gone to bed. Though they could not have disturbed her with their voices down there, they all spoke in a whisper after this: and each, in his different way, felt very lovingly and gently towards Walter’s fair young bride: and a long explanation there was of everything relating to her, for the satisfaction of Uncle Sol; and very sensible Mr. Toots was of the delicacy with which Walter made his name and services important, and his presence necessary to their little council.
“Mr. Toots,” said Walter, on parting with him at the house door, “we shall see each other tomorrow morning?”
“Lieutenant Walters,” returned Mr. Toots, grasping his hand fervently, “I shall certainly be present.”
“This is the last night we shall meet for a long time—the last night we may ever meet,” said Walter. “Such a noble heart as yours, must feel, I think, when another heart is bound to it. I hope you know that I am very grateful to you?”
“Walters,” replied Mr. Toots, quite touched, “I should be glad to feel that you had reason to be so.”
“Florence,” said Walter, “on this last night of her bearing her own name, has made me promise—it was only just now, when you left us together—that I would tell you—with her dear love—”
Mr. Toots laid his hand upon the doorpost, and his eyes upon his hand.
“—with her dear love,” said Walter, “that she can never have a friend whom she will value above you. That the recollection of your true consideration for her always, can never be forgotten by her. That she remembers you in her prayers tonight, and hopes that you will think of her when she is far away. Shall I say anything for you?”
“Say, Walter,” replied Mr. Toots indistinctly, “that I shall think of her every day, but never without feeling happy to know that she is married to the man she loves, and who loves her. Say, if you please, that I am sure her husband deserves her—even her!—and that I am glad of her choice.”
Mr. Toots got more distinct as he came to these last words, and raising his eyes from the doorpost, said them stoutly. He then shook Walter’s hand again with a fervour that Walter was not slow to return and started homeward.
Mr. Toots was accompanied by the Chicken, whom he had of late brought with him every evening, and left in the shop, with an idea that unforeseen circumstances might arise from without, in which the prowess of that distinguished character would be of service to the Midshipman. The Chicken did not appear to be in a particularly good humour on this occasion. Either the gas-lamps were treacherous, or he cocked his eye in a hideous manner, and likewise distorted his nose, when Mr. Toots, crossing the road, looked back over his shoulder at the room where Florence slept. On the road home, he was more demonstrative of aggressive intentions against the other foot-passengers, than comported with a professor of the peaceful art of self-defence. Arrived at home, instead of leaving Mr. Toots in his apartments when he had escorted him thither, he remained before him weighing his white hat in both hands by the brim, and twitching his head and nose (both of which had been many times broken, and but indifferently repaired), with an air of decided disrespect.
His patron being much engaged with his own thoughts, did not observe this for some time, nor indeed until the Chicken, determined not to be overlooked, had made divers clicking sounds with his tongue and teeth, to attract attention.
“Now, Master,” said the Chicken, doggedly, when he, at length, caught Mr. Toots’s eye, “I want to know whether this here gammon is to finish it, or whether you’re a going in to win?”
“Chicken,” returned Mr. Toots, “explain yourself.”
“Why then, here’s all about it, Master,” said the Chicken. “I ain’t a cove to chuck a word away. Here’s wot it is. Are any on ’em to be doubled up?”
When the Chicken put this question he dropped his hat, made a dodge and a feint with his left hand, hit a supposed enemy a violent blow with his right, shook his head smartly, and recovered himself.
“Come,
