seemed to say, "Now he’s coming out. This is what I meant when I brought him."
"Whereby," proceeded the voice, "why not? If so, what odds? Can any man say otherwise? No. Awast then!"
When it had pursued its train of argument to this point, the voice stopped, and rested. It then proceeded very slowly, thus:
"Do I believe that this here Son and Heir’s gone down, my lads? Mayhap. Do I say so? Which? If a skipper stands out by Sen’ George’s Channel, making for the Downs, what’s right ahead of him? The Goodwins. He is 'nt forced to run upon the Goodwins, but he may. The bearings of this observation lays in the application on it. That an’t no part of my duty. Awast then, keep a bright look-out for’ard, and good luck to you!"
The voice here went out of the back parlour and into the street, taking the Commander of the Cautious Clara with it, and accompanying him on board again with all convenient expedition, where he immediately turned in, and refreshed his mind with a nap.
The students of the sage’s precepts, left to their own application of his wisdom—upon a principle which was the main leg of the Bunsby tripod, as it is perchance of some other oracular stools—looked upon one another in a little uncertainty; while Rob the Grinder, who had taken the innocent freedom of peering in, and listening, through the skylight in the roof, came softly down from the leads, in a state of very dense confusion. Captain Cuttle, however, whose admiration of Bunsby was, if possible, enhanced by the splendid manner in which he had justified his reputation and come through this solemn reference, proceeded to explain that Bunsby meant nothing but confidence; that Bunsby had no misgivings; and that such an opinion as that man had given, coming from such a mind as his, was Hope’s own anchor, with good roads to cast it in. Florence endeavoured to believe that the Captain was right; but the Nipper, with her arms tight folded, shook her head in resolute denial, and had no more trust in Bunsby than in Mr. Perch himself.
The philosopher seemed to have left Uncle Sol pretty much where he had found him, for he still went roaming about the watery world, compasses in hand, and discovering no rest for them. It was in pursuance of a whisper in his ear from Florence, while the old man was absorbed in this pursuit, that Captain Cuttle laid his heavy hand upon his shoulder.
"What cheer, Sol Gills?" cried the Captain, heartily.
"But so-so, Ned," returned the Instrument-maker. "I have been remembering, all this afternoon, that on the very day when my boy entered Dombey’s House, and came home late to dinner, sitting just there where you stand, we talked of storm and shipwreck, and I could hardly turn him from the subject."
But meeting the eyes of Florence, which were fixed with earnest scrutiny upon his face, the old man stopped and smiled.
"Stand by, old friend!" cried the Captain. "Look alive! I tell you what, Sol Gills; arter I ’ve convoyed Heart’s-delight safe home," here the Captain kissed his hook to Florence, "I ’ll come back and take you in tow for the rest of this blessed day. You ’ll come and eat your dinner along with me, Sol, somewheres or another.’
