Fighting the Whales | Page 2

employer, a blacksmith, had just died, and for more
than six weeks I had not been able to get employment or to earn a
farthing. This caused me great distress, for my father had died without
leaving a penny in the world, and my mother depended on me entirely.
The money I had saved out of my wages was soon spent, and one
morning when I sat down to breakfast, my mother looked across the
table and said, in a thoughtful voice:
"Robert, dear, this meal has cost us our last halfpenny."
My mother was old and frail, and her voice very gentle; she was the
most trustful, uncomplaining woman I ever knew.

I looked up quickly into her face as she spoke. "All the money gone,
Mother?"
"Aye, all. It will be hard for you to go without your dinner, Robert,
dear."
"It will be harder for you, Mother," I cried, striking the table with my
fist; then a lump rose in my throat and almost choked me. I could not
utter another word.
It was with difficulty I managed to eat the little food that was before me.
After breakfast I rose hastily and rushed out of the house, determined
that I would get my mother her dinner, even if I should have to beg for
it. But I must confess that a sick feeling came over me when I thought
of begging.
Hurrying along the crowded streets without knowing very well what I
meant to do, I at last came to an abrupt halt at the end of the pier. Here
I went up to several people and offered my services in a wild sort of
way. They must have thought that I was drunk, for nearly all of them
said gruffly that they did not want me.
Dinner-time drew near, but no one had given me a job, and no wonder,
for the way in which I tried to get one was not likely to be successful.
At last I resolved to beg. Observing a fat, red-faced old gentleman
coming along the pier, I made up to him boldly. He carried a cane with
a large gold knob on the top of it. That gave me hope, "for of course,"
thought I, "he must be rich." His nose, which was exactly the colour
and shape of the gold knob on his cane, was stuck in the centre of a
round, good-natured countenance, the mouth of which was large and
firm; the eyes bright and blue. He frowned as I went forward hat in
hand; but I was not to be driven back; the thought of my starving
mother gave me power to crush down my rising shame. Yet I had no
reason to be ashamed. I was willing to work, if only I could have got
employment.
Stopping in front of the old gentleman, I was about to speak when I
observed him quietly button up his breeches pocket. The blood rushed

to my face, and, turning quickly on my heel, I walked away without
uttering a word.
"Hallo!" shouted a gruff voice just as I was moving away.
I turned, and observed that the shout was uttered by a broad
rough-looking jack-tar, a man of about two or three and thirty, who had
been sitting all the forenoon on an old cask smoking his pipe and
basking in the sun.
"Hallo!" said he again.
"Well," said I.
"Wot d'ye mean, youngster, by goin' on in that there fashion all the
mornin', a-botherin' everybody, and makin' a fool o' yourself like that?
eh!"
"What's that to you?" said I savagely, for my heart was sore and heavy,
and I could not stand the interference of a stranger.
"Oh! it's nothin' to me of course," said the sailor, picking his pipe
quietly with his clasp-knife; "but come here, boy, I've somethin' to say
to ye."
"Well, what is it?" said I, going up to him somewhat sulkily.
The man looked at me gravely through the smoke of his pipe, and said,
"You're in a passion, my young buck, that's all; and, in case you didn't
know it, I thought I'd tell ye."
I burst into a fit of laughter. "Well, I believe you're not far wrong; but
I'm better now."
"Ah! that's right," said the sailor, with an approving nod of his head;
"always confess when you're in the wrong. Now, younker, let me give
you a bit of advice. Never get into a passion if you can help it, and if
you can't help it get out of it as fast as possible, and if you can't get out
of it, just give a great roar to let off the steam and turn about and run.

There's nothing like that. Passion han't got legs. It can't hold on to