On this same day, and about this very hour, Mr Willet the elder
sat smoking his pipe in a chamber at the Black Lion. Although it was hot summer
weather, Mr Willet sat close to the fire. He was in a state of profound
cogitation, with his own thoughts, and it was his custom at such times to stew
himself slowly, under the impression that that process of cookery was favourable
to the melting out of his ideas, which, when he began to simmer, sometimes oozed
forth so copiously as to astonish even himself.
Mr Willet had been several thousand times comforted by his friends and
acquaintance, with the assurance that for the loss he had sustained in the
damage done to the Maypole, he could 'come upon the county.' But as this phrase
happened to bear an unfortunate resemblance to the popular expression of 'coming
on the parish,' it suggested to Mr Willet's mind no more consolatory visions
than pauperism on an extensive scale, and ruin in a capacious aspect.
Consequently, he had never failed to receive the intelligence with a rueful
shake of the head, or a dreary stare, and had been always observed to appear
much more melancholy after a visit of condolence than at any other time in the
whole four-and-twenty hours.
It chanced, however, that sitting over the fire on this particular
occasion--perhaps because he was, as it were, done to a turn; perhaps because he
was in an unusually bright state of mind; perhaps because he had considered the
subject so long; perhaps because of all these favouring circumstances, taken
together--it chanced that, sitting over the fire on this particular occasion, Mr
Willet did, afar off and in the remotest depths of his intellect, perceive a
kind of lurking hint or faint suggestion, that out of the public purse there
might issue funds for the restoration of the Maypole to its former high place
among the taverns of the earth. And this dim ray of light did so diffuse itself
within him, and did so kindle up and shine, that at last he had it as plainly
and visibly before him as the blaze by which he sat; and, fully persuaded that
he was the first to make the discovery, and that he had started, hunted down,
fallen upon, and knocked on the head, a perfectly original idea which had never
presented itself to any other man, alive or dead, he laid down his pipe, rubbed
his hands, and chuckled audibly.
'Why, father!' cried Joe, entering at the moment, 'you're in spirits to-day!'
'It's nothing partickler,' said Mr Willet, chuckling again. 'It's nothing at
all partickler, Joseph. Tell me something about the Salwanners.' Having
preferred this request, Mr Willet chuckled a third time, and after these unusual
demonstrations of levity, he put his pipe in his mouth again.
'What shall I tell you, father?' asked Joe, laying his hand upon his sire's
shoulder, and looking down into his face. 'That I have come back, poorer than a
church mouse? You know that. That I have come back, maimed and crippled? You
know that.'
'It was took off,' muttered Mr Willet,with his eyes upon the fire, 'at the
defence of the Salwanners, in America, where the war is.'
'Quite right,' returned Joe, smiling, and leaning with his remaining elbow on
the back of his father's chair; 'the very subject I came to speak to you about.
A man with one arm, father, is not of much use in the busy world.'
This was one of those vast propositions which Mr Willet had never considered
for an instant, and required time to 'tackle.' Wherefore he made no answer.
'At all events,' said Joe, 'he can't pick and choose his means of earning a
livelihood, as another man may. He can't say "I will turn my hand to this," or
"I won't turn my hand to that," but must take what he can do, and be thankful
it's no worse.--What did you say?'
Mr Willet had been softly repeating to himself, in a musing tone, the words
'defence of the Salwanners:' but he seemed embarrassed at having been overheard,
and answered 'Nothing.'
'Now look here, father.--Mr Edward has come to England from the West Indies.
When he was lost sight of (I ran away on the same day, father), he made a voyage
to one of the islands, where a school-friend of his had settled; and, finding
him, wasn't too proud to be employed on his estate, and--and in short, got on
well, and is prospering, and has come over here on business of his own, and is
going back again speedily. Our returning nearly at the same time, and meeting in
the course of the late troubles, has been a good thing every way; for it has not
only enabled us to do old friends some service, but has opened a path in life
for me which I may tread without being a burden upon you. To be plain, father,
he can employ me; I have satisfied myself that I can be of real use to him; and
I am going to carry my one arm away with him, and to make the most of it.
In the mind's eye of Mr Willet, the West Indies, and indeed all foreign
countries, were inhabited by savage nations, who were perpetually burying pipes
of peace, flourishing tomahawks, and puncturing strange patterns in their
bodies. He no sooner heard this announcement, therefore, than he leaned back in
his chair, took his pipe from his lips, and stared at his son with as much
dismay as if he already beheld him tied to a stake, and tortured for the
entertainment of a lively population. In what form of expression his feelings
would have found a vent, it is impossible to say. Nor is it necessary: for,
before a syllable occurred to him, Dolly Varden came running into the room, in
tears, threw herself on Joe's breast without a word of explanation, and clasped
her white arms round his neck.
'Dolly!' cried Joe. 'Dolly!'
'Ay, call me that; call me that always,' exclaimed the locksmith's little
daughter; 'never speak coldly to me, never be distant, never again reprove me
for the follies I have long repented, or I shall die, Joe.'
'I reprove you!' said Joe.
'Yes--for every kind and honest word you uttered, went to my heart. For you,
who have borne so much from me--for you, who owe your sufferings and pain to my
caprice--for you to be so kind--so noble to me, Joe--'
He could say nothing to her. Not a syllable. There was an odd sort of
eloquence in his one arm, which had crept round her waist: but his lips were
mute.
'If you had reminded me by a word--only by one short word,' sobbed Dolly,
clinging yet closer to him, 'how little I deserved that you should treat me with
so much forbearance; if you had exulted only for one moment in your triumph, I
could have borne it better.'
'Triumph!' repeated Joe, with a smile which seemed to say, 'I am a pretty
figure for that.'
'Yes, triumph,' she cried, with her whole heart and soul in her earnest
voice, and gushing tears; 'for it is one. I am glad to think and know it is. I
wouldn't be less humbled, dear--I wouldn't be without the recollection of that
last time we spoke together in this place--no, not if I could recall the past,
and make our parting, yesterday.'
Did ever lover look as Joe looked now!
'Dear Joe,' said Dolly, 'I always loved you--in my own heart I always did,
although I was so vain and giddy. I hoped you would come back that night. I made
quite sure you would. I prayed for it on my knees. Through all these long, long
years, I have never once forgotten you, or left off hoping that this happy time
might come.'
The eloquence of Joe's arm surpassed the most impassioned language; and so
did that of his lips--yet he said nothing, either.
'And now, at last,' cried Dolly, trembling with the fervour of her speech,
'if you were sick, and shattered in your every limb; if you were ailing, weak,
and sorrowful; if, instead of being what you are, you were in everybody's eyes
but mine the wreck and ruin of a man; I would be your wife, dear love, with
greater pride and joy, than if you were the stateliest lord in England!'
'What have I done,' cried Joe, 'what have I done to meet with this reward?'
'You have taught me,' said Dolly, raising her pretty face to his, 'to know
myself, and your worth; to be something better than I was; to be more deserving
of your true and manly nature. In years to come, dear Joe, you shall find that
you have done so; for I will be, not only now, when we are young and full of
hope, but when we have grown old and weary, your patient, gentle, never-tiring
wife. I will never know a wish or care beyond our home and you, and I will
always study how to please you with my best affection and my most devoted love.
I will: indeed I will!'
Joe could only repeat his former eloquence--but it was very much to the
purpose.
'They know of this, at home,' said Dolly. 'For your sake, I would leave even
them; but they know it, and are glad of it, and are as proud of you as I am, and
as full of gratitude.--You'll not come and see me as a poor friend who knew me
when I was a girl, will you, dear Joe?'
Well, well! It don't matter what Joe said in answer, but he said a great
deal; and Dolly said a great deal too: and he folded Dolly in his one arm pretty
tight, considering that it was but one; and Dolly made no resistance: and if
ever two people were happy in this world--which is not an utterly miserable one,
with all its faults-- we may, with some appearance of certainty, conclude that
they were.
To say that during these proceedings Mr Willet the elder underwent the
greatest emotions of astonishment of which our common nature is susceptible--to
say that he was in a perfect paralysis of surprise, and that he wandered into
the most stupendous and theretofore unattainable heights of complicated
amazement--would be to shadow forth his state of mind in the feeblest and lamest
terms. If a roc, an eagle, a griffin, a flying elephant, a winged sea-horse, had
suddenly appeared, and, taking him on its back, carried him bodily into the
heart of the 'Salwanners,' it would have been to him as an everyday occurrence,
in comparison with what he now beheld. To be sitting quietly by, seeing and
hearing these things; to be completely overlooked, unnoticed, and disregarded,
while his son and a young lady were talking to each other in the most
impassioned manner, kissing each other, and making themselves in all respects
perfectly at home; was a position so tremendous, so inexplicable, so utterly
beyond the widest range of his capacity of comprehension, that he fell into a
lethargy of wonder, and could no more rouse himself than an enchanted sleeper in
the first year of his fairy lease, a century long.
'Father,' said Joe, presenting Dolly. 'You know who this is?'
Mr Willet looked first at her, then at his son, then back again at Dolly, and
then made an ineffectual effort to extract a whiff from his pipe, which had gone
out long ago.
'Say a word, father, if it's only "how d'ye do,"' urged Joe.
'Certainly, Joseph,' answered Mr Willet. 'Oh yes! Why not?'
'To be sure,' said Joe. 'Why not?'
'Ah!' replied his father. 'Why not?' and with this remark, which he uttered
in a low voice as though he were discussing some grave question with himself, he
used the little finger--if any of his fingers can be said to have come under
that denomination--of his right hand as a tobacco-stopper, and was silent again.
And so he sat for half an hour at least, although Dolly, in the most
endearing of manners, hoped, a dozen times, that he was not angry with her. So
he sat for half an hour, quite motionless, and looking all the while like
nothing so much as a great Dutch Pin or Skittle. At the expiration of that
period, he suddenly, and without the least notice, burst (to the great
consternation of the young people) into a very loud and very short laugh; and
repeating, 'Certainly, Joseph. Oh yes! Why not?' went out for a walk.
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