you went to a mad-house. You was clean
off your head an' didn' know me from Adam; an' I never let on that I
knew you or the ship you'd sailed in. 'Seemed to me the hand o' God
was in it, an' I saw my way to cry quits wi' Naomi."

"I don't see."

"I don't suppose you do. But 'twas this way:--Naomi (thinks I) 'll be
givin' this man up afore long. She's a takeable woman, an' by-'n-bye,
some new man'll set eyes on her. Then, thinks I, her banns'll be
called in Church, an' I'll be there an' forbid 'em. Do 'ee see now?"

"That was very clever o' you," replied the simple seaman, and added
with obvious sincerity, "I'm sure I should never ha' thought 'pon
anything so clever as that. But why didn' you carry it out?"

"Because God Almighty was cleverer. Times an' times I'd pictured it up
in my head how 'twould all work out; an' the parson in his surplice
stuck all of a heap; an' the heads turnin' to look; an' the women
faintin'. An' when the moment came for a man to claim her, what d'ye
think she did? But there, a head like yours 'd never guess--_why she
went to a Registry Office, an' there weren't no banns at all_. That
overcame me. I seed the wisdom o' Providence from that hour. I be a
converted man. An' I'm damned if I'll let you come along an' upset the
apple-cart after all these years. Can 'ee write?"

"Tolerable, though I'm no hand at spellin'."

"Very well. We'll have a drink together at St. Austell, an' while
we're there you shall do up Geake's notes in an envelope with a note
sayin' your compliments, but on second thoughts you couldn't think o'
takin' his money."

Bricknell's face fell somewhat.

"You gowk! You'll have twenty-five pound' o' mine in exchange: solid
money, an' my own earnin's. I've more 'n that in my pocket here."

"But I don't see why _you_ should want to give me money."

"An' you'm too mad to see if I explained. 'Tis a matter o' conscience,
an' you may take it at that. When the letter's wrote--best not sign
it, by the way, for fear of accidents--you give it to me an' I'll see
Geake gets it to-night. After that's written I'll pay your fare to
Liverpool, an' then you'll get a vessel easy. Now I see your mouth
openin' and makin' ready to argue--"

"I was goin' to say, Long Oliver, that you seem to be actin' very
noble, now: but 'twas a bit hard on _me_, your holdin' your tongue as
you did."

"So 'twas, so 'twas. I reckon some folks is by nature easy forgotten,
an' you'm one. If that's your cha