"Well, young Denville," said Dick Miggles, the great swarthy fisherman,
whose black hair, dark eyes, and aquiline features told that his name
was a corruption of Miguel, and that he was a descendant of one of the
unfortunates who had been wrecked and imprisoned when the Spanish Armada
came to grief, and had finally resolved to "remain an Englishman."
Dick Miggles rarely did anything in the daytime but doze and smoke. Of
course, he ate and drank, and, as on the present occasion, nursed the
little girl that Mrs Miggles, who was as round and snub and English of
aspect as her lord was Spanish, had placed in his arms. At night
matters were different, and people did say--but never mind.
"Well, young Denville," said Fisherman Dick, as he sat on the bench
outside his whitewashed cottage with the whelk-shell path, bordered with
marigold beds, one of which flowers he picked from time to time to give
the child.
"Well, Dick, where are my dabs?"
"Haw-haw," said the fisherman, laughing. "I say, missus, where's them
dabs?"
Mrs Miggles was washing up the dinner things, and she came out with a
dish on which were a number of fried heads and tails, with a variety of
spinal and other bones.
"What a shame!" cried Morton, with a look of disgust. "I do call that
shabby, Dick."
"How was I to know that you would come after 'em, lad? I'd ha' brote
'em, but I don't like to come to your house now."
"I say, Dick, don't be a fool," cried the lad. "What's the good of
raking up that horrid affair, now it's all dead and buried?"
"Nay," said Dick, shaking his head. "That ar'n't all dead and buried,
like the old woman, my lad. There's more trouble to come out o' that
business yet."
"Oh, stuff and nonsense!"
"Nay, it isn't, my lad. Anyhow, I don't like coming to your place now,
and there's other reasons as well, ar'n't there, missus?"
"Now, I do call that shabby, Dick. Just because there's a bill owing
for fish. I've told you I'll pay it some day, if papa does not; I mean,
when I have some money."
"Ay, so you did, lad, and so you will, I know; but I didn't mean that,
did I, missus?"
"No," came from within.
"What did you mean, then?"
"Never mind. You wait and see. I say, the old gentleman looks as if
he'd got over the trouble, Master Morton. He was quite spry to-day."
"No, he hasn't," said Morton. "It's quite horrible at home. He's ill,
and never hardly speaks, and my sister frets all day long."
"Do she though! Poor gal! Ah, she wants it found out, my lad. It
wherrits her, because you see it's just as if them jools of the old
lady's hung like to your folk, and you'd got to account for 'em."
"Get out! Why, what nonsense, Dick."
"What, dropped it agen, my pretty?" said the great fisherman, stooping
to pick up a flower, and place it in the little fat hand that was
playing with his big rough finger. "Ah, well, perhaps it be, but never
mind. I say, though, the old gentleman looked quite hisself agen. My!
he do go dandy-jacking along the cliff, more'n the best of 'em. He do
make me laugh, he do. Why, hello, Master Morton, lad, what's matter?"
"If you dare to laugh at my father, Dick," cried the boy, whose face was
flushed and eyes flashing, "big as you are, I'll punch your head."
"Naw, naw, naw, don't do that, my lad," said the fisherman, growing
solemn directly. "I were not laughing at him. I were laughing at his
clothes."
"And if my father dresses like the Prince and the Duke and all the
fashionable gentlemen, what is there to laugh at then? Suppose I were
to laugh at you for living in that great pair of trousers that come
right up under your arms?"
"Well, you might, lad, and welcome; they're very comf'table. P'r'aps
you'd like to laugh at my boots. Haw, haw, haw, Master Morton, what
d'yer think I did yes'day? I took little flower here, after missus had
washed her, and put her right into one o' my boots, and she stood up in
it with her head and arms out, laughing and crowing a good 'un. Ar'n't
she a little beauty?"
"Yes," said Morton, looking down and playing with the child. "Whose is
she?"
"Dunno. Ask the missus."
"And she won't tell me, Dick."
"That's so. But look here, lad. I'm sorry I laughed at Master
Denville, for he's a nice gentleman, and always has a kind word and a
smile, if he doesn't pay his bill."
"Dick!"
"All right, my lad, all right. You'll pay that when you're rich. I
say: chaps sez as you'll marry Lady Drelincourt, now, after saving her
dog, and--"
"Don't be a fool, Dick. Here, what were you going to say?" said the
lad, reddening.
"You won't want a bit of fishing then, I suppose?"
"Look here; are you going to speak, Dick, or am I to go?"
"All right, my lad. Look here; we eat your dabs, but never mind them.
I shall just quietly leave a basket at your door to-night. You needn't
know anything about it, and you needn't be too proud to take it, for a
drop in the house is worth a deal sometimes, case o' sickness. It's
real French sperit, and a drop would warm the old gentleman sometimes
when he is cold."
"Smuggling again, Dick?"
"Never you mind about that, Master Morton, and don't call things by ugly
names. But that ar'n't all I've got to say. You lost your dabs, but if
you'll slip out to-night and come down the pier, the tide'll be just
right, and I'll have the bait and lines ready, and I'll give you as good
a bit of fishing as you'd wish to have."
"Will you, Dick?"
"Ay, that I will. They were on last night, but they'll be wonderful
to-night, and I shouldn't wonder if we ketches more than we expex."
"Oh, but I couldn't go, Dick."
"Why not, lad?"
"You see, I should have to slip out in the old way--through the
drawing-room, and down the balcony pillar."
"Same as you and Master Fred used, eh?"
"Don't talk about him," said the lad.
"Well, he's your own brother."
"Yes, but father won't have his name mentioned," said the boy sadly.
"He's to be dead to us. Here, what a fool I am, talking so to you!"
"Oh, I don't know, my lad; we was always friends, since you was quite a
little chap, and I used to give you rides in my boat."
"Yes; you always were a friend, Dick, and I like you."
"On'y you do get a bit prouder now you're growing such a strapping chap,
Master Morton."
"I shan't change to you, Dick."
"Then come down to-night, say at half arter 'leven."
Morton shook his head.
"Why, you ar'n't afraid o' seeing the old woman's ghost, are you?"
"Absurd! No. But it seems so horrible to come down that balcony pillar
to get out on the sly."
"Why, you never used to think so, my lad."
"No, but I do now. Do you know, Dick," he said in a whisper, "I often
think that the old lady was killed by some one who had watched me go in
and out that way."
"Eh?" cried the fisherman, giving a peculiar stare.
"Yes, I do," said the lad, laying his hand on the big fellow's
shoulders. "I feel sure of it, for that murder must have been done by
some one who knew how easy it was to get up there and open the window."
"Did you ever see anyone watching of you?" said the fisherman in a
hoarse whisper.
"N-no, I'm not sure. I fancy I did see some one watching one night."
"Phew!" whistled the fisherman; "it's rather hot, my lad, sitting here
in the sun."
"Perhaps some day I shall find out who did it, Dick."
"Hah--yes," said the man, staring at him hard. "Then you won't come?"
"Yes, I will," cried Morton. "It's so cowardly not to come. I shall be
there;" and, stopping to pick up the flower the child had again dropped,
the pretty little thing smiled in his face, and he bent down and kissed
it before striding away.
"Think o' that, now," said Mrs Miggles, coming to the door.
"Think o' what?" growled her lord, breaking off an old sea-ditty he was
singing to the child.
"Why, him taking to the little one and kissing it. How strange things
is!"
Volume One, Chapter XII.