The Golden Dream | Page 7

perhaps for a grin. "Why, that's the most you could say of it. No hand is good, sir, if it is not legible, and no hand can possibly be bad that is legible. Have you studied law?"
"No, sir, I have not."
"Umph! you're too old to begin. Have you been used to sit at the desk?"
"Yes; I have been accustomed to study the greater part of the day."
"Well, you may come here on Monday, and I'll speak to you again, and see what you can do. I'm too busy just now. Good-morning."
Ned turned to go, but paused on the threshold, and stood holding the door-handle.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, hesitatingly, "may I ask what room I shall occupy, if--if--I come to work here?"
Mr. Moxton looked a little surprised at the question, but pointed to the outer office where the dishevelled clerk sat, and said, "There." Ned fell to twenty below the freezing-point.
"And pray, sir," he continued, "may I ask what are office-hours?"
"From nine AM till nine PM, with an interval for meals," said Mr. Moxton, sharply; "but we usually continue at work till eleven at night, sometimes later. Good-morning."
Ned fell to zero, and found himself in the street, with an indistinct impression of having heard the dishevelled clerk chuckling vociferously as he passed through the office.
It was a hard struggle, a very hard struggle, but he recalled to mind all that his uncle had ever done for him, and the love he bore him, and manfully resolved to cast California behind his back for ever, and become a lawyer.
Meanwhile Mr. Shirley received a visit from a very peculiar personage. He was still seated in his arm-chair pondering his nephew's prospects when this personage entered the room, hat in hand--the hat was a round straw one--and cried heartily, "Good day, kinsman."
"Ha! Captain Bunting, how are ye? Glad to see you, old fellow," exclaimed Mr. Shirley, rising and seizing the sailor by the hand. "Sit down, sit down, and let's hear your news. Why, I believe it's six months since I saw you."
"Longer, Shirley, longer than that," replied the captain, seating himself in the chair which Ned Sinton had vacated a short time before. "I hope your memory is not giving way. I have been half round the world, and it's a year and six months to-day since I sat here last."
"Is it?" cried Mr. Shirley, in surprise. "Now, that is very remarkable. But do you know, captain, I have often thought upon that subject, and wondered why it is that, as we get older, time seems to fly faster, and events which happened a month ago seem as if they only occurred yesterday. But let me hear all about it. Where have you been, and where are you going next?"
"I've been," replied the captain, who was a big, broad man with a rough over-all coat, rough pilot-cloth trousers, rough red whiskers, a shaggy head of hair, and a rough-skinned face; the only part of him, in fact, which wasn't rough was his heart; that was soft and warm--
"I've been, as I remarked before, half round the world, and I'm goin' next to America. That's a short but comprehensive answer to your question. If you have time and patience, kinsman, I'll open the log-book of my memory and give you some details of my doings since we last met. But first tell me, how is my young friend, Ned?"
"Oh, he's well--excellently well--besides being tall and strong. You would hardly know him, captain. He's full six feet high, I believe, and the scamp has something like a white wreath of smoke over his upper lip already! I wish him to become an engineer or a lawyer, but the boy is in love with California just now, and dreams about nothing but wild adventures and gold-dust."
The captain gave a grunt, and a peculiar smile crossed his rugged visage as he gazed earnestly and contemplatively into the fire.
Captain Bunting was a philosopher, and was deeply impressed with the belief that the smallest possible hint upon any subject whatever was sufficient to enable him to dive into the marrow of it, and prognosticate the probable issue of it, with much greater certainty than any one else. On the present occasion, however, the grunt above referred to was all he said.
It is not necessary to trouble the reader with the lengthened discourse that the captain delivered to his kinsman. When he concluded, Mr. Shirley pushed his spectacles up on his bald head, gazed at the fire, and said, "Odd, very odd; and interesting too--very interesting." After a short pause, he pulled his spectacles down on his nose, and looking over them at the captain, said, "And what part of America are you bound for now?"
"California," answered the captain, slowly.
Mr. Shirley started, as if some prophetic vision had been