An
examination revealed everything. She was a married
woman. The lines were solemnly produced. Her husband
was a seaman. She had passed as a miss, because she
thought I was more likely to take a housekeeper without
encumbrances. Her husband had come home unexpectedly
from a long voyage, and had returned last night. And
then--plot within plot--the other woman was not her
sister, but a friend, whose name was Miss Williams.
She thought I was more likely to take two sisters than
two friends. So we all came to know who the other was;
and I, having given Jack permission to remain, assigned
the other top room to Miss Williams. From absolute
solitude I seemed to be rapidly developing into the
keeper of a casual ward.
It was a never-failing source of joy to us to see the
procession pass on the way to their rooms at night.
First came a dog; then Miss Williams, with a candle; then
Jack; then another dog; and finally, Mrs. Wotton, with
her candle in one hand and another dog under her arm.
Jack was with us for three weeks; and as I made him
holystone the whole place down twice a week until the
boards were like a quarter deck, we got something out of
him in return for his lodging.
About this time, finding a few shillings over and no
expense imminent, I laid down a cellar, in the shape of
a four and a half gallon cask of beer, with a firm
resolution that it should never be touched save on high
days and holidays, or when guests had to be entertained.
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