found and missing people in all the newspapers and handbills, and went forth on expeditions at all hours of the day to identify Solomon Gills, in poor little ship-boys who had fallen overboard, and in tall foreigners with dark beards who had taken poison—"to make sure,’ Captain Cuttle said, "that it warn’t him.’ It is a sure thing that it never was, and that the good Captain had no other satisfaction.
Captain Cuttle at last abandoned these attempts as hopeless, and set himself to consider what was to be done next. After several new perusals of his poor friend’s letter, he considered that the maintenance of "a home in the old place for Walter" was the primary duty imposed upon him. Therefore, the Captain’s decision was, that he would keep house on the premises of Solomon Gills himself, and would go into the instrument-business, and see what came of it.
But as this step involved the relinquishment of his apartments at Mrs. Mac Stinger’s, and he knew that resolute woman would never hear of his deserting them, the Captain took the desperate determination of running away.
"Now, look ye here, my lad," said the Captain to Rob, when he had matured this notable scheme, "to-morrow, I shan’t be found in this here roadstead till night—not till arter midnight p’rhaps. But you keep watch till you hear me knock, and the moment you do, turn-to, and open the door."
"Very good, Captain," said Rob.
"You ’ll continue to be rated on these here books," pursued the Captain condescendingly, "and I don’t say but what you may get promotion, if you and me should pull together with a will. But the moment you hear me knock to-morrow night, whatever time it is, turn-to and show yourself smart with the door."
"I ’ll be sure to do it, Captain," replied Rob.
"Because you understand," resumed the Captain, coming back again to enforce this charge upon his mind, "there may be, for anything I can say, a chase; and I might be took while I was waiting, if you didn’t show yourself smart with the door."
Rob again assured the Captain that he would be prompt and wakeful; and the Captain having made this prudent arrangement, went home to Mrs. MacStinger’s for the last time.
The sense the Captain had of its being the last time, and of the awful purpose hidden beneath his blue waistcoat, inspired him with such a mortal dread of Mrs. Mac Stinger, that the sound of that lady’s foot downstairs at any time of the day, was sufficient to throw him into a fit of trembling. It fell out, too, that Mrs. Mac Stinger was in a charming temper—mild and placid as a house—lamb; and Captain Cuttle’s conscience suffered terrible twinges, when she came up to inquire if she could cook him nothing for his dinner.
"A nice small kidney-pudding now, Cap’en Cuttle," said his landlady: "or a sheep’s heart. Don’t mind my trouble."
"No thank ’ee, Ma’am," returned the Captain.
"Have a roast fowl," said Mrs. Mac Stinger, "with a bit of weal stuffing and some egg sauce. Come, Cap’en Cuttle! Give yourself a little treat!'
"No thank ’ee, Ma’am," returned the Captain very humbly.
