The Young Trawler | Page 9

one of the river steamers, was soon deposited at Pimlico. Thence, traversing St. George's Square, he soon found himself in the little street in which dwelt the Misses Seaward. He looked about him for some minutes and then entered a green-grocer's shop, crushing his hat against the top of the door-way.
Wishing the green-grocer good-morning he asked if lodgings were to be had in that neighbourhood.
"Well, yes, sir," he replied, "but I fear that you'd find most of 'em rather small for a man of your size."
"No fear o' that," replied the captain with a loud guffaw, which roused the grocer's cat a little, "I'm used to small cabins, an' smaller bunks, d'ee see, an' can stow myself away easy in any sort of hole. Why, I've managed to snooze in a bunk only five foot four, by clewin' up my legs-- though it wasn't comfortable. But it's not the size I care about so much as the character o' the landlady. I like tidy respectable people, you see--havin' bin always used to a well-kept ship."
"Ah! I know one who'll just suit you. Up at the other end o' the street. Two rooms kept by a young widow who--"
"Hold hard there," interrupted the captain; "none o' your young widows for me. They're dangerous. Besides, big as I am, I don't want two rooms to sleep in. If you know of any old maid, now, with one room-- that's what would suit me to a tee; an easy-going sort o' woman, who--"
"I know of two elderly ladies," interrupted the green-grocer, thoughtfully; "they're sisters, and have got a small room to let; but-- but--they're delicate sort o' creeters, you know; have seen better days, an' are raither timid, an' might want a female lodger, or a man who-- who--"
"Out with it," interrupted the captain, "a man who is soft-spoken and well-mannered--not a big noisy old sea-horse like me! Is that what you would say?"
"Just so," answered the green-grocer with an amiable nod.
"What's the name of the sisters?"
"Seaward."
"Seaward! eh!" exclaimed the captain in surprise. "That's odd, now, that a seafarin' man should be sent to seaward for his lodgin's, even when he gets on shore. Ha! ha! I've always had a leanin' to seaward. I'll try the sisters. They can only tell me to 'bout ship, you know, and be off on the other tack."
And again the captain gave such boisterous vent to his mirth that the green-grocer's cat got up and walked indignantly away, for, albeit well used to the assaults of small boys, it apparently could not stand the noise of this new and bass disturber of the peace.
Having ascertained that the Misses Seaward dwelt above the shop in which he stood, Captain Bream went straight up-stairs and rapped heavily at their door.
Now, although the sisters had been gradually reduced to the extreme of poverty, they had hitherto struggled successfully against the necessity of performing what is known as the "dirty work" of a house. By stinting themselves in food, working hard at anything they succeeded in getting to do, and mending and re-mending their garments until it became miraculous, even to themselves, how these managed to hang together, they had, up to that period in their history, managed to pay to a slender little girl, out of their slender means, a still more slender salary for coming night and morning to clean their grate, light their fire, carry out their ashes, brush their boots, wash their door-steps, and otherwise perform work for which the sisters were peculiarly unfitted by age, training, and taste. This girl's name was Liffie Lee. She was good as far as she went but she did not go far. Her goodness was not the result of principle. She had no principle; did not know what the word meant, but she had a nature, and that nature was soft, unselfish, self-oblivious,--the last a blessing of incalculable price!
It was Liffie Lee who responded to Captain Bream's knock. She was at the time about to leave the house in undisturbed possession of its owners--or rather, occupiers.
"Does a Miss Seaward live here?"
It was a dark passage, and Liffie Lee almost quaked at the depth and metallic solemnity of the voice, as she glanced up at the spot where it appeared to come from.
"Yes, sir."
"May I see her?"
"I--I'll see, sir, if you'll wait outside, sir."
She gently yet quickly shut the door in the captain's face, and next moment appeared in the little parlour with a flushed face and widely open eyes.
The biggest man she had ever seen, or heard, she said, wanted to see Miss Seaward.
Why did he want to see her and what was his name?
She didn't know, and had omitted to ask his name, having been so frightened that she had left him at the door, which she had shut