breeches-pocket, and endeavouring to drag something therefrom
with a series of wrenches that would have been terribly trying to the
bonnet, had its ruin not been already complete, "don't talk to me of
repayment. Ain't I your--your--husband's brother's buzzum friend--
Willum's old chum an' messmate? See here."

He jerked the chair (without rising) close to a table which stood at his
elbow, and placed thereon a large canvas bag, much soiled, and tied
round the neck with a piece of rope-yarn, which smelt of tar even at a
distance. This was the Captain's purse. He carried it always in his
right trouser-pocket, and it contained his gold. As for such trifling
metal as silver, he carried that loose, mixed with coppers, bits of
tobacco, broken pipes, and a clasp-knife, in the other pocket. He was
very fond of his purse. In California he had been wont to carry nuggets
in it, that simple species of exchange being the chief currency of the
country at the time he was there. Some of the Californian _debris_ had
stuck to it when he had filled it, at a place of exchange in London,
with Napoleons. Emptying its glittering contents upon the table, he
spread it out.

"There, madam," he said, with a hearty smile, "you're welcome to all
I've got about me just at this moment, and you shall have more when
that's done. Don't say `not so much,' cause it ain't much, fifty pound,
more or less, barrin' the nuggets, which I'll keep, as I dessay they
would only worry you, and there's plenty more shot in the locker where
that come from; an' don't talk about payin' back or thankin' me. You've
no occasion to thank me. It's only a loan, an' I'll hold Willum, your
brother-in-law, responsible. You wouldn't decline to take it from
Willum, would you?"

"Indeed no; William Stout has always been so kind to us--kinder than I
have deserved."

"Well, then, I'll write to Willum. I'll say to him, `Willum, my boy,
here's your brother's widdy bin caught in a squall, had her sails blown
to ribbons, bin throw'd on her beam-ends, and every stick torn out of
her. You've got more cash, Willum, than you knows what to do with, so,
hand over, send me a power of attorney (is that the thing?) or an
affydavy--whatever lawyer's dockiments is required--an' I'll stand by
and do the needful.' An' Willum 'll write back, with that power an'
brevity for which he is celebrated,--`Wopper, my lad, all right; fire
away. Anything short o' ten thousand, more or less.