weeks later, Capt. Bowling sailed for Liverpool.
"I hope we shall see you again sometime, captain," said Mrs. Harding.
"Whenever I come back to New York, I shall come here if you'll keep me," said the bluff sailor.
"Aunt Rachel will miss you, captain," said Jack, slyly.
Capt. Bowling turned to the confused spinster.
"I hope she will," said he, heartily. "Perhaps when I see her again, she'll have a husband."
"Oh, Capt. Bowling, how can you say such things?" gasped Rachel, who, as the time for the captain's departure approached, had been subsiding into her old melancholy. "There's other things to think of in this vale of tears."
"Are there? Well, if they're gloomy, I don't want to think of 'em. Jack, my lad, I wish you were going to sail with me."
"So do I," said Jack.
"He's my only boy, captain," said Mrs. Harding. "I couldn't part with him."
"I don't blame you, ma'am, not a particle; though there's the making of a sailor in Jack."
"If he went away, he'd never come back," said Rachel, lugubriously.
"I don't know about that, ma'am. I've been a sailor, man and boy, forty years, and here I am, well and hearty to-day."
"The captain is about your age, isn't he, Aunt Rachel?" said Jack, maliciously.
"I'm only thirty-nine," said Rachel, sharply.
"Then I must have been under a mistake all my life," said the cooper to himself. "Rachel's forty-seven, if she's a day."
This remark he prudently kept to himself, or a fit of hysterics would probably have been the result.
"I wouldn't have taken you for a day over thirty-five, ma'am," said the captain, gallantly.
Rachel actually smiled, but mildly disclaimed the compliment.
"If it hadn't been for my trials and troubles," she said, "I might have looked younger; but they are only to be expected. It's the common lot."
"Is it?" said the captain. "I can't say I've been troubled much that way. With a stout heart and a good conscience we ought to be jolly."
"Who of us has a good conscience?" asked Rachel, in a melancholy tone.
"I have, Aunt Rachel," answered Jack.
"You?" she exclaimed, indignantly. "You, that tied a tin kettle to a dog's tail yesterday, and chased the poor cat till she almost died of fright. I lie awake nights thinking of the bad end you're likely to come to unless you change your ways."
Jack shrugged his shoulders, but the captain came to his help.
"Boys will be boys, ma'am," he said. "I was up to no end of tricks myself when I was a boy."
"You weren't so bad as Jack, I know," said Rachel.
"Thank you for standing up for me, ma'am; but I'm afraid I was. I don't think Jack's so very bad, for my part."
"I didn't play the tricks Aunt Rachel mentioned," said Jack. "It was another boy in our block."
"You're all alike," said Rachel. "I don't know what you boys are all coming to."
Presently the captain announced that he must go. Jack accompanied him as far as the pier, but the rest of the family remained behind. Aunt Rachel became gloomier than ever.
"I don't know what you'll do, now you've lost your boarder," she said.
"He will be a loss to us, it is true," said Mrs. Harding; but we are fortunate in having had him with us so long."
"It's only puttin' off our misery a little longer," said Rachel. "We've got to go to the poorhouse, after all."
Rachel was in one of her moods, and there was no use in arguing with her, as it would only have intensified her gloom.
Meanwhile Jack was bidding good-by to the captain.
"I'm sorry you can't go with me, Jack," said the bluff sailor.
"So am I; but I can't leave mother."
"Right, my lad; I wouldn't take you away from her. But there—take that, and don't forget me."
"You are very kind," said Jack, as the captain pressed into his hand a five-dollar gold piece. "May I give it to my mother?"
"Certainly, my lad; you can't do better."
Jack stood on the wharf till the vessel was drawn out into the stream by a steam tug. Then he went home.
CHAPTER VI
THE LANDLORD'S VISIT
It was the night before the New Year. In many a household in the great city it was a night of happy anticipation. In the humble home of the Hardings it was an evening of anxious thought, for to-morrow the quarter's rent was due.
"I haven't got a dollar to meet the rent, Martha," said the cooper, in a depressed tone.
"Won't Mr. Colman wait?"
"I'm afraid not. You know what sort of a man he is, Martha. There isn't much feeling about him. He cares more for money than anything else."
"Perhaps you are doing him an injustice."
"I am afraid not. Did you never hear how he treated the Underhills?"
"How?"
"Underhill was laid up with rheumatic fever for three months. The consequence was that when quarter day came round he was in about the same situation with ourselves—a little worse, even, for his wife was sick also. But, though Colman was aware of the circumstances, he had no pity; he turned them out without ceremony."
"Is it possible?" asked Mrs. Harding, uneasily.
"And there's no reason for his being more lenient with us. I can't but feel anxious about to-morrow, Martha."
At this moment, verifying an old adage, which will perhaps occur to the reader, who should knock but Mr. Colman himself. Both the cooper and his wife had an instinctive foreboding as to his visit.
He came in, rubbing his hands in a social way, as was his custom. No one, to look at him, would have suspected the hardness of heart that lay veiled under his velvety softness of manner.
"Good-evening, Mr. Harding," he said, affably. "I trust you and your excellent wife are in good health."
"That blessing, at least, is continued to us," said the cooper, gravely.
"And how comfortable you're looking, too, eh! It makes an old bachelor like me feel lonesome when he contrasts his own solitary room with such a scene of comfort as this. You've got a comfortable home, and dog cheap, too. All my other tenants are grumbling to think you don't have to pay any more for such superior accommodations. I've about made up my mind that I must ask you twenty-five dollars a quarter hereafter."
All
