There was the deep-voiced Davie,
almost out of sight in the darkest corner, who chose his food carefully,
pretending the while to be considerate of the others, and growled amiably
about his hard lot. Also there was Kipping, mild and evasive, yet amply
able to look out for his own interests, as I, who so often brought down the
kids, well knew.
When, that evening, Bill Hayden had scraped up the last poor slivers of
meat, he sat down beside me on my chest.
"If I didn't have my little wee girl at Newburyport," he said, "I might
be as gloomy as Neddie Benson. Do you suppose if I went to see a
fortune-teller I'd be as gloomy as Neddie is? I never used to be gloomy,
even before I married, and I married late. I was older than Neddie is
now when I married. Neddie ought to get a wife and stop going to see
fortune-tellers, and then he wouldn't be so gloomy."
Bill would run on indefinitely in his stupid, kindly way, for I was almost
the only person aboard ship who listened to him at all, and, to tell the
truth, even I seldom more than half listened. But already he had given me
valuable information that day, and now something in the tone of his
rambling words caught my attention.
"Has Neddie Benson been talking about the fortuneteller again?" I asked.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62