The Astonishing History of Troy Town | Page 7

man found extra vent.
"Look here, Caleb Trotter," he concluded, after a full minute of
profanity, "how do you think I'm to get my living and pay a set of
lubberly dolts like you?"
Caleb paused with his hand on the windlass, and suggested
retrenchment of the halfpenny a week hitherto spent in manners. "'Cos,
you see, all this po-liteness of yourn es a'runnin' to waste," he explained
with fine irony.
But before the next load was more than three-parts hoisted, Caleb's
patience was exhausted. What he did was simple but decisive. He
removed his hold; the handle whizzed violently round, and the bucket
of bricks descended to the hold with a crash.
"Now I tell 'ee straight. Enough's enough; an' I han't got time, at my
time o' life, to be po-lite to ivery red-faced chap I meets. You can pay
me or no, as you likes; but I'm off to get a drink. An' that's all about et;
an' wen 'tes over, 'tes over, as Joan said by her weddin'."
With this Caleb stepped ashore, spat good-naturedly, put his hands in
his pockets, and went off whistling.
At this moment Mr. Fogo, who had been on the quay long enough to
hear this altercation, touched him softly by the arm.
"You said you were going to have a drink, I believe. May I go with you?
I wish to ask you a few questions."

[Illustration: "You said you were going to have a drink, I believe. May
I go with you?"]
"Sutt'nly, sir," said Caleb with a stifled grin, as he recognised the hero
of the morning. "I generally patronises the 'King o' Prooshia' for beer. It
won't make your hair curl, nor yet prevent your seein' a hole dro' a
ladder: but perhaps neither o' these is your objec'."
Mr. Fogo, a little bewildered, replied modestly that he pursued neither
of these aims. Caleb led the way across the quay, and they ascended the
steps of the "King of Prussia" together.
"My object," said Mr. Fogo timidly, as they were seated together in the
low-roofed parlour before two foaming mugs--"My object was this. In
the first place, I like your look."
"Same to you, sir," said Caleb, and acknowledged the compliment with
a draught, "though 'tes what my gal said afore she desarted me for a
Rooshan."
"Are you a single man, then?"
"To be sure, sir."
"So much the better--but I will talk of that presently. I, too, am a single
man, with rather peculiar tastes. One of these is solitude. I had heard of
Troy as a place where I was likely to find this, though my experience of
this morning--"
"Never mind, sir. Accidents will happen even in the best reggylated
families. You was took for another, which has happened even to Bible
characters afore this--though Jacob's the only one I can call to mind just
now."
"Still, I should be sorry to go back with the knowledge that my journey
has been in vain. But I must have solitude at any price, and the reason
why I am consulting you is that you might possibly know of a house to
let in this neighbourhood, where I could be alone and secure against

visitors."
Caleb scratched his head.
"I'm sure, sir, 'tes hard to say. Troy's a powerful place for knowin' what
your neighbour's got for dinner, and they do say as the Admiral's
telescope will carry dro' a brick wall."
Mr. Fogo's face fell.
"Stop a bit," said Caleb more brightly. "About livin' inside o' the town,
now--es that a shiny cannon?"
"A what?"
"A shiny cannon--which es the same as to say, won't et do elst?"
"Oh, a sine-qua-non," said Mr. Fogo; "no, I am not particularly anxious
to live in the town itself."
"Wud the matter of a mile up the river be out o' the way?"
"Not at all."
"An' about rent?"
"Within reasonable limits, that would not matter."
"Then my advice to you, sir, es to see the Twins about et."
Mr. Fogo's mild face looked more puzzled than ever. He removed his
spectacles, wiped and resumed them.
"For any reasonable object," he said, "I am ready to see any number of
twins--much as I dislike babies--"
But here Caleb interrupted him by bursting into a roar of laughter
which lasted for half a minute.

"Babbies! Well I--ho! ho!--'scuse me, sir--but aw dear, aw dear!
Babbies! Bab--" Here he slapped his thigh and broke into another roar,
at the end of which he grew fairly black in the face.
"Bless yer innocent heart, sir! They'm a matter o' six foot high, the
both--and risin' forty. Dearlove's their name--and lives up the river
'long wi' their sister--Peter an' Paul an' Tamsin (which es short for
Thom-a-si-na), an' I've heerd tell as the boys