The Young Trawler | Page 8

sisters, on recovering, was to double the amount on
Ruth's list of poor people, and to work out another sum in short division
on the back of an old letter.
"Why did you deceive me, dear?" said Mrs Dotropy, on reaching the
street after her visit. "You said you were going with me to see poor
people, in place of which you have taken me to hear a consultation

about poor people with two ladies, and now you propose to return
home."
"The two ladies are themselves very poor."
"No doubt they are, child, but you cannot for a moment class them with
those whom we usually style `the poor.'"
"No, mother, I cannot, for they are far worse off than these. Having
been reared in affluence, with tenderer feelings and weaker muscles, as
well as more delicate health, they are much less able to fight the battle
of adversity than the lower poor, and I happen to know that the dear
Misses Seaward are reduced just now to the very last extreme of
poverty. But you have relieved them, mother."
"I, child! How?"
"The nursery screen that you bought yesterday by my advice was
decorated by Jessie and Kate Seaward, so I thought it would be nice to
let you see for yourself how sweet and `deserving' are the poor people
whom you have befriended!"
CHAPTER THREE.
INTRODUCES CONSTERNATION TO A DELICATE
HOUSEHOLD.
The day following that on which Mrs Dotropy and Ruth had gone out
to visit "the poor," Jessie and Kate Seaward received a visit from a man
who caused them no little anxiety--we might almost say alarm. He was
a sea-captain of the name of Bream.
As this gentleman was rather eccentric, it may interest the reader to
follow him, from the commencement of the day on which we introduce
him.
But first let it be stated that Captain Bream was a fine-looking man,
though large and rugged. His upper lip and chin were bare, for he was

in the habit of mowing those regions every morning with a blunt razor.
To see Captain Bream go through this operation of mowing when at sea
in a gale of wind was a sight that might have charmed the humorous,
and horrified the nervous. The captain's shoulders were broad, and his
bones big; his waistcoat, also, was large, his height six feet two, his
voice a profound bass, and his manner boisterous but hearty. He was
apt to roar in conversation, but it was in a gale of wind that you should
have heard him! In such circumstances, the celebrated bull of Bashan
would have been constrained to retire from his presence with its tail
between its legs. When we say that Captain Bream's eyes were kind
eyes, and that the smile of his large mouth was a winning smile, we
have sketched a full-length portrait of him,--or, as painters might put it,
an "extra-full-length."
Well, when Captain Bream, having mown his chin, presented himself
in public, on the morning of the particular day of which we write, he
appeared to be in a meditative mood, and sauntered slowly, with the
professional gait of a sailor, through several narrow streets near London
Bridge. His hands were thrust into his coat-pockets, and a half
humorous, half perplexed expression rested on his face. Evidently
something troubled him, and he gave vent to a little of that something
in deep tones, being apt to think aloud as he went along in disjointed
sentences.
"Very odd," he murmured, "but that girl is always after some queer--
well, no matter. It's my business to--but it does puzzle me to guess why
she should want me to live in such an out-o'-the-way--however, I
suppose she knows, and that's enough for me."
"Shine yer boots, sir?" said a small voice cutting short these broken
remarks.
"What?"
"Shine yer boots, sir, an' p'raps I can 'elp yer to clear up yer mind w'en
I'm a doin' of it."
It was the voice of a small shoeblack, whose eyes looked wistful.

The captain glanced at his boots; they wanted "shining" sadly, for the
nautical valet who should have attended to such matters had neglected
his duty that morning.
"Where d'ee live, my lad?" asked the captain, who, being large-hearted
and having spent most of his life at sea, felt unusual interest in all
things terrestrial when he chanced to be on shore.
"I live nowheres in par-tickler," answered the boy.
"But where d'ee sleep of a night?"
"Vell, that depends. Mostly anywheres."
"Got any father?"
"No, sir, I hain't; nor yet no mother--never had no fathers nor mothers,
as I knows on, an' wot's more, I don't want any. They're a chancey lot,
is fathers an' mothers--most of 'em. Better without 'em altogether, to my
mind. Tother foot, sir."
Looking