Rivers of Ice

“A thousand pounds, more or less,” said the Captain, with discreet allowance for latitude.

“Ha! a goodish lump, no doubt.”

“I’ve half a mind to buy it,” continued the Captain, looking round with a satisfied smile. “It would be an amoosin’ sort o’ thing, now, to bring old Mrs Roby here. The air would be fresher for her old lungs, wouldn’t it?”

Gillie nodded, but was otherwise reticent.

“The stair, too, wouldn’t be too high to get her down now and again, and a boat could be handy to shove her into without much exertion. For the matter of that,” said the Captain, looking out, “we might have a slide made, like a Swiss couloir, you know, and she could glissade comfortably into the boat out o’ the winder. Then, there’s a beam to hang her ship an’ Chinee lanterns from, an’ a place over the fireplace to stick her knick-knacks. What d’ee think, my lad?”

Gillie, who had begun to allow a ray of light to enter his mind, gave, as his answer, an emphatic nod and a broad grin.

The Captain replied with a nod and a wink, whereupon the other retired behind his patron, for the purpose of giving himself a quiet hug of delight, in which act, however, he was caught; the Captain being one who always, according to his own showing, kept his weather-eye open.

“W’y, what’s the matter with you, boy?”

“Pains in the stummick is aggrawatin’ sometimes,” answered Gillie.

“You haven’t got ’em, have you?”

“Well, I can’t exactly go for to say as I has,” answered Gillie, with another grin.

“Now, look ’ee here, youngster,” said the Captain, suddenly seizing the spider by his collar and trousers, and swinging him as though about to hurl him through the window into the river, “if you go an’ let your tongue wag in regard to this matter, out you go, right through the port-hole—d’ee see?”

He set the spider quietly on his legs again, who replied, with unruffled coolness—

“Mum’s the word, Cappen.”

Gillie had been shorn of his blue tights and brass buttons, poor Mrs Stoutley having found it absolutely necessary, on her return home, to dismiss all her servants, dispose of all her belongings, and retire into the privacy of a poor lodging in a back street. Thus the spider had come to be suddenly thrown on the world again, but Captain Wopper had retained him, he said, as a mixture of errand-boy, cabin-boy, and powder-monkey, in which capacity he dwelt with his mother during the night and revolved like a satellite round the Captain during the day. A suit of much more appropriate pepper-and-salt had replaced the blue tights and buttons. Altogether, his tout-ensemble was what the Captain styled “more ship-shape.”

We have said that Mrs Stoutley and her family had made a descent in life. As poor Lewis remarked, with a sad smile, they had quitted the gay and glittering heights, and gone, like a magnificent avalanche, down into the moraine. Social, not less than physical, avalanches multiply their parts and widen their course during descent. The Stoutleys did not fall alone. A green-grocer, a shoemaker, and a baker, who had long been trembling, like human boulders, on the precipice of bankruptcy, went tumbling down along with them, and found rest in a lower part of the moraine than they had previously occupied.

“It’s a sad business,” said Lewis to Dr Lawrence one morning; “and if you continue to attend me, you must do so without the most distant prospect of a fee.”

“My dear fellow,” returned Lawrence, “have you no such thing as gratitude in your composition?”

“Not much, and, if I had ever so much, it would be poor pay.”

“Poor, indeed, if regarded as one’s only source of livelihood,” rejoined Lawrence, “but it is ample remuneration from a friend, whether rich or poor, and, happily, capable of being mixed with pounds, shillings and pence without deterioration. In the present case, I shall be more than rejoiced to take the fee unmixed, but, whether fee’d or not fee’d, I insist on continuing attendance on a case which I have a right to consider peculiarly my own.”

“It would have been a bad case, indeed, but for you,” returned Lewis, a flush for a moment suffusing his pale cheek as he took his friend’s hand and squeezed it. “I am thoroughly convinced, Lawrence, that God’s blessing on your skill and unwearied care of me at the time of the accident is the cause of my being alive to thank you to-day. But sit down, my dear fellow, and pray postpone your professional inquiries for a little, as I have something on my mind which I wish to ask you about.”

Lawrence shook his head. “Business first, pleasure afterwards,” he said; “professional duties must not be postponed.”

“Now,” said Lewis when he had finished, “are you satisfied? Do you admit that even an unprofessional man might have seen at a glance that I am much better, and that your present draft on my gratitude is a mere swindle?”

“I admit nothing,” retorted the other; “but now, what have you got to say to me?”

“I am going to make a confidant of you. Are you to be trusted?”

“Perhaps; I dare not say yes unconditionally, because I’m rather sociable and communicative, and apt to talk in my sleep.”

“That will do. Your answer is sufficiently modest. I will venture. You know Captain Wopper, I mean, you are well acquainted with his character; well, that kind and eccentric man has made a proposal to my dear mother, which we do not like to accept, and which at the same time we do not quite see our way to refuse. My mother, when in great distress in Switzerland, was forced to borrow a small sum of money from him, and thought it right to justify her doing so by letting him know—what everybody, alas! may know now—that we were ruined. With that ready kindness which is his chief characteristic he at once complied. Since our return home he has, with great delicacy but much determination, insisted that we shall accept from him a regular weekly allowance until we have had time to correspond with our uncle Stout in California. ‘You mustn’t starve,’ he said to my mother—I give you his own words—‘and you’d be sure to starve if you was to try to wegitate for six months or so on atmospheric air. It’ll take that time before you could get a letter from Willum, an’ though your son Lewis could an’ would, work like a nigger to keep your pot bilin’ if he was well an’ hearty, it’s as plain as the nose on your own face, ma’am, that he can’t work while he’s as thin as a fathom of pump-water an’ as weak as a babby. Now, you know-at least I can tell ’ee—that my old chum Willum is as rich as a East Injin nabob. You wouldn’t believe, madam, what fortins some gold-diggers have made. W’y, I’ve seed men light their pipes with fi’-pun’ notes for a mere brag out there. I’ve made a goodish lump o’ money myself too,—a’most more than I know what to do with, an’ as to Willum, I may say he’s actooally rollin’ in gold. He’s also chockfull of regard for you and yours, ma’am. That bein’ so, he’s sure to send you somethin’ to tide you over yer difficulties, an’ he’s also sure to send somethin’ to Lewis to help him start fair when he gits well, and he’s surest of all to send somethin’ to Miss Emma for all the kind letters she’s writ to him doorin’ the last five or six years. Well, then, I’m Willum’s buzzum friend, and, knowin’ exactly what he’ll say an’ do in the circumstances, what more nat’ral an’ proper than that Willum’s chum should anticipate Willum’s wishes, and advance the money—some of it at least—say three thousand pounds to start with.’ Now, Lawrence,” continued Lewis, “what should we do? Should we accept this offer? The good fellow has evidently made a great deal of money at the gold-fields, and no doubt speaks truly when he says he can afford to advance that sum. And we know our uncle William’s character well enough, though we have never seen him, to be quite sure that he will assist my dear mother until I am able to support her. What say you?”

“Accept the offer at once,” said Lawrence. “From what I have seen of the Captain, I am convinced that he is a warm friend and a genuine man. No doubt he can well afford to do what he proposes, and his opinion of William Stout’s character is just, for, from what I know of him through Mrs Roby, who knew him when he was a lad, when his life was saved by my father, he must have a kind heart.”

“I have no doubt of it, Lawrence, and a grateful heart too, if I may judge from a few words that fell from Captain Wopper about your father and yourself.”

“Indeed! what did he say about us?”

“I have no right to repeat observations dropped inadvertently,” said Lewis, with a laugh.

“Nor to raise curiosity which you don’t mean to satisfy,” retorted his friend; “however, my advice is, that you accept the Captain’s offer, and trust to your uncle’s generosity.”

Chapter Twenty Three.

The Captain surprises his Friends in various Ways, and is himself Baffled

Time and Tide passed on—as they are proverbially said to do—without waiting for any one. Some people in the great city, aware of this cavalier style of proceeding on the part of Time and Tide, took advantage of both, and scaled the pinnacled heights of society. Others, neglecting their opportunities, or misusing them, produced a series of avalanches more or less noteworthy, and added a few more boulders to the vast accumulations in the great social moraine.

Several of the actors in this tale were among those who, having learnt a few sharp lessons in the avalanche school, began to note and avail themselves of Time and Tide—notably, Mrs Stoutley and her son and niece. A decided change had come over the spirit of Mrs Stoutley’s dream of life. She had at last visited the great London moraine, especially that part of it called Grubb’s Court, and had already dug up a few nuggets and diamonds, one of which latter she brought to her humble home in the back street, with the design of polishing it into a good servant-maid. Its name was Netta White. Mrs Stoutley had formerly been a spendthrift; now she was become covetous. She coveted the male diamond belonging to the same part of the moraine—once named the Spider, alias the Imp—but Captain Wopper had dug up that one for himself and would not part with it. Gradually the good lady conceived and carried out the idea of digging out and rescuing a number of diamonds, considerably lower in the scale than the Netta type, training them for service, and taking pains to get them into good situations. It was hard work no doubt, but Mrs Stoutley persevered, and was well repaid—for the Master of such labourers esteems them “worthy of their hire.” Emma assisted in the work most heartily. It was by no means new to her. She might have directed if she had chosen, but she preferred to follow.

Lewis recovered rapidly—so rapidly that he was soon able to resume his medical studies and prosecute them with vigour. No bad effects of the accident remained, yet he was an altered man—not altered in appearance or in character, but in spirit. He was still off-hand in manner, handsome in face and figure, hearty in society, but earnest and grave—very grave—in private. He pored over his books, and strove, successfully too, to master the difficulties of the healing art; but do what he would, and fight against it as he might, he was constantly distracted by a pretty face with bright sparkling eyes and a strangely sad expression coming between him and the page. He made continual inquiries after the owner of the sparkling eyes in every direction without success, and at last got into the habit when walking, of looking earnestly at people as if he expected to meet with some one. “If I had got into this state,” he sometimes said to himself, “because of being merely in love with a pretty face, I should consider myself a silly nincompoop; but it is such a terrible thing for so sweet and young a creature to be chained to a man who must in the nature of things, land her in beggary and break her heart.” Thus he deceived himself as to his main motive. Poor Lewis!

One morning Captain Wopper got up a little earlier than usual, and began a series of performances which Mrs Roby had long ago styled “rampadgin” round his garret.

The reader may have discovered by this time that the Captain was no ordinary man. Whatever he did in connection with himself was done with almost superhuman energy and noise. Since the commencement of his residence in the garret he had unwittingly subjected the nerves of poor Mrs Roby to such a variety of shocks, that the mere fact of her reason remaining on its throne was an unquestionable proof of a more than usually powerful constitution. It could not well be otherwise. The Captain’s limbs resembled the limbs of oaks in regard to size and toughness. His spirits were far above “proof.” His organs were cathedral organs compared with the mere barrel-organs of ordinary men. On the other hand, the “cabin” in Grubb’s Court was but a flimsy tenement; its plank floorings were thin, and its beams and rafters slim and somewhat loose owing to age, so that when the captain snored, which he did regularly and continuously, it was as if a mastiff had got inside a double-bass and were growling hideously.

But Mrs Roby had now got pretty well accustomed to her lodger’s ways. Her nerves had become strung to the ordeal, and she even came to like the galvanic battery in which she dwelt, because of its being worked by the intimate friend of her dear William; such is the power of love—we might almost say, in this case, of reflected love! The good old lady had even become so acute in her perceptions, that, without seeing the “rampadger,” she knew precisely the part of his daily programme with which he happened to be engaged. Of course the snoring told its own tale with brazen-tongued clamour, and the whole tenement trembled all night long from top to bottom. Nothing but the regardless nature of the surrounding population prevented the Captain from being indicted as a nuisance; but there were other sounds that were not so easily recognised.

On the morning in question, Mrs Roby, lying placidly in her neat white little bed, and gazing with a sweet contented face through one of her cabin windows at the bright blue sky, heard a sound as though a compound animal—hog and whale—had aroused itself and rolled over on its other side. A low whistling followed. Mrs Roby knew that the Captain was pleasantly engaged with his thoughts—planning out the proceedings of the day. Suddenly the whistling ceased and was followed by a sonorous “how-ho!” terminating in a gasp worthy of an express locomotive. The Captain had stretched himself and Mrs Roby smiled at her own thoughts, as well she might for they embraced the idea that a twentieth part of the force employed in that stretch would have rent in twain every tendon, muscle, sinew, and filament in her, Mrs Roby’s, body. Next, there descended on the floor overhead a sixteen-stone cannon ball, which caused—not the neighbours, but the boards and rafters to complain. The Captain was up! and succeeding sounds proved that he had had another stretch, for there was a bump in the middle of it which showed that, forgetting his stature, the careless man had hit the ceiling with his head. That was evidently a matter of no consequence.

From this point the boards and rafters continued to make unceasing complaint, now creaking uneasily as if under great provocation, anon groaning or yelling as though under insufferable torment. From the ceiling of Mrs Roby’s room numerous small bits of plaster, unable to stand it longer, fell and powdered Mrs Roby’s floor. The curtains of her little bed saved her face. There was a slushing and swishing and gasping and blowing now, which might have done credit to a school of porpoises. The Captain was washing. Something between the flapping of a main top-sail in a shifting squall and the currying of a hippopotamus indicated that the Captain was drying himself. The process was interrupted by an unusual, though not quite unknown, crash and a howl; he had overturned the wash-hand basin, and a double thump, followed by heavy dabs, told that the Captain was on his knees swabbing it up.

Next instant the Captain’s head, with beard and hair in a tremendously rubbed-up condition, appeared upside down at the hatchway.

“Hallo! old girl, has she sprung a leak anywhere?”

“Nowhere,” replied Mrs Roby, with a quiet smile. She felt the question to be unnecessary. “She,” that is, the roof above her, never did leak in such circumstances. If the Thames had suddenly flooded the garret, the Captain’s energy was sufficient to have swabbed it up in time to prevent a drop reaching “the lower deck.”

Soon after this catastrophe there was a prolonged silence. The Captain was reading. Mrs Roby shut her eyes and joined him in spirit. Thereafter the Captain’s feet appeared at the trap where his head had been, and he descended with a final and tremendous crash to the floor.

“See here, mother,” he cried, with a look of delight, holding up a very soiled and crumpled letter, “that’s from Willum.”

“From William,” exclaimed the old woman, eagerly; “why, when did you get it? the postman can’t have been here this morning.”

“Of course he hasn’t; I got it last night from the limb-o’-the-law that looks after my little matters. I came in late, and you were asleep, so I kep’ it to whet yer appetite for breakfast. Now listen, you must take it first; I’ll get you breakfast afterwards.”

The Captain had by this time got into the way of giving the old woman her breakfast in bed every morning.