Nautilus | Page 9

shook his head from time to time. This old gentleman was clad in nankeen trousers of ancient cut, a velvet waistcoat and a blue swallow-tail coat, all greatly too large for him. His scant locks were crowned by a cheap straw hat of the newest make, his shoes and gaiters were of a twenty-year-old pattern. Altogether, he was not an ordinary-looking old gentleman, nor was his appearance agreeable; but the village people took no special notice of him, being well used to Mr. Endymion Scraper and his little ways. They knew that he was wearing out the clothes that his extravagant uncle had left behind him at his death, twenty years ago. They had seen three velvet waistcoats worn out, and one of brocade; there were sixteen left, as any woman in the village could tell you. As for the nankeen trousers, some people said there were ten dozen of them in the great oak chest, but that might be an exaggeration.
Walking just behind this pleasant old person, with feet that tried to go sedately, and not betray by hopping and skippings the joy that was in them, came the boy John; brought along in case there should be a parcel to carry. Mr. Scraper had brought, too, his supple bamboo cane, in case of need; it was a cane of singular parts, and had a way that was all its own of curling about the legs and coming up "rap" against the tender part of the calf. The boy John was intimately acquainted with the cane; therefore, when his legs refused to go steadily, but danced in spite of him, he had dropped behind Mr. Endymion, and kept well out of reach of the searching snake of polished cane.
The Skipper greeted the new-comer with his loftiest courtesy, which was quite thrown away on the old gentleman.
"Hey! hey!" said Mr. Scraper, nodding his head, and fumbling in his waistcoat pocket, "got some shells, I hear! Got some shells, eh? Nothing but rubbish, I'll swear; nothing but rubbish. Seen 'em all before you were born; not worth looking at, I'll bet a pumpkin."
"Why, Deacon Scraper, how you do talk!" exclaimed pretty Lena Brown, who was standing near by. "The shells are just elegant, I think; too handsome for anything."
"All rubbish! all rubbish!" the old gentleman repeated, hastily. "Children's nonsense, every bit of it. Have you got anything out of the common, though? have you, hey?"
He looked up suddenly at the Skipper, screwing his little eyes at him like animated corkscrews; but he read nothing in the large, calm gaze that met his.
"The gentleman please to step down in the cabin," the Skipper said, with a stately gesture. "At liberty in a moment, I shall take the pleasure to exhibit my collection. The gentleman is a collector?" he added, quietly; but this Mr. Scraper would not hear of.
"Nothing of the sort!" he cried, testily, "nothing of the sort! Just came down here with this fool boy, to keep him from falling into the water. Don't know one shell from another when I see 'em."
This astounding statement brought a low cry from John, who had been standing on one foot with joy and on the other with fear, the grave dignity of his new friend filling him with awe. Perhaps he would not be noticed now, when all the grown people were here; perhaps--but his thoughts were put to flight by Mr. Scraper's words. John was a truthful boy, and he could not have the Spanish man think he had lied in saying that the old man was a collector. He was stepping forward, his face alight with eager protest, when Mr. Endymion Scraper brought his cane round with a backward sweep, catching John on the legs with spiteful emphasis. The Skipper saw it, and a dark red flushed through the bronze of his cheek. His glance caught the child's and held it, speaking anger, cheer, and the promise of better things; the boy dropped back and rubbed his smarting shins, well content, with a warm feeling about the heart.
"The gentleman will step down to the cabin," said the deep, quiet voice. "I will attend him, the ladies also."
He led the way, and pretty Lena Brown came next; she glanced up at him as he held out his strong hand to help her down the ladder. Her blue eyes were very sweet as she met his gaze, and the faint wild-rose blush became her well. Certainly, Lena was a very pretty girl. Franci nearly tumbled over the companion-rail in his endeavours to look after her, and Laurentus Woodcock, catching one glimpse of her face, retreated to the farthest corner of the after-deck, and sold a Triton for ten cents, when the lowest price was thirty.
Several other persons came down into the cabin at