Punch (61.1871)

September 16, 1871.] PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

109

MY HEALTH.

or the purpose of trying
to catch some details
about our projected
voyage (for I suppose
it will be a " voyage,"
and has been "pro-
jected"), I go for-
ward and overhear a
part of their conver-
sation. "Wetherby
(who has a large chart
rolled up in his hand)
is saying, "Hey,
what ? " to the Cap-
tain, who, having
probably made the
same answer once
before, replies, " Yes,
Sir, Tom 's still very
bad, in hospital; "
then he adds, in a sort
of bashful way, "He
told me to say as
he's very thankful
for your kindness,
Sir, and—-." Here
Wetherby puts his
glass in his eye, and
interrupts him almost
roughly. '' Ah—urn
—well." Then, very
quickly, "Tell him
he's to have what-
ever he wants ; I 've
ordered 'em to send
the bill in to me . . .
and — and " — as if

with an air of thought—" give his wife that:"1—What ? The Captain touches his cap, \ Am I at her beck and call? No. Yet
and Btjntee's Eye seems to be aware of a haziness coming over it, which it tries to wink : Bah! I am too serious, too much en philosophe.
away, while Wethekby continues —" that '11 buy something for the children—and— Puggaree would not be angry with himself for
Lady Wetherby says she can come up and do some work for her—and tell her that the
doctor says he '11 be all right very soon . . ." Here he breaks off and asks sharply enough,
"Where's Cripp?" The Captain replies by looking down into the men's cabin below,
and calling " Cripp !" whereupon a small boy in sailor's dress and a round rough cap
tumbles up and stands before Wetherby, looking about as startled as if his master and
the Captain were " going to kill and eat him," being short of provisions. Bunter's Eye,
being once more clear, is regarding the boy severely, but always humorously, so as to
convey the meaning that Wetherby and the Captain were " only purtendin'," and that
he (Bunter) knew it, and could quite enter into the spirit of the thing.

" Well," says Wetherby, frowning, " What are you doing, hey ? " The boy fumbles
with his cap, and looks up at the Captain, then down at his boots, then (he is a bright
little fellow) up again, and replies, "Helping, Sir," with a touch of his forelock.

" Hey ? What r " asks Wetherby, who never seems to catch a reply the first time.

" He's lending a hand," says the Captain, good-naturedly; " and if he only keeps out
o' mischief, we '11 make something of him."

" D 'ye hear that, hey ? " asks Wetherby, of the boy.

The boy replies that his present intention is to avoid mischief, and to allow himself
to be made something of.

Wetherby surveys the lad for a minute with such a severe frown as suggests to a
looker-on that he is debating whether he shall flog him and try him once more, or throw
him overboard and have done with him forever. I conclude that the boy has been (as
Bttdd would say) guilty of some enormity, and am anxiously awaiting his sentence, when
Wetherby turns away from him abruptly, looks out to sea, and asks the Captain,
" Wind East by South-East, eh?" The Captain returns that "he should say there is a
little East in it," and goes to the helm. The boy disappears. Bhnter's Eye is lighted

lin ii r l +-Vi -msi n 1 si*r» -I -rrt v-> 4- n .i , 1 1-1,1 si w> n 4-n /in tt 4-si -m .1 ' ' A -t ti ' +■ \A/ "nTTI 1 Mt Jt \r n r.^ a,1 t\1-i <i -n *i2

Good Sign for my Health.—I am getting
hungry—very hungry. I notice that, with
me, hunger seems to show itself in my
chest; perhaps where the chest notes and the
ut de poitrine come from. Note this in my
Health Diary, because odd.

While noting, it occurs to me that this is not
one of my Fat Days. I should call it with me
a Thin Day. On a Fat Day I feel as if I'd
been _ dining for years on dumplings, and
occasional cannon-balls. At these times I
love solitude, and such an easy freedom in
dress as we see in the pictures of South Ameri-
can planters. Then Buttons are tyranny.
That there should be this difference between
one day and another, is clearly not a good con-
dition of existence.

A Flash of Memory.—I met a man in
some train, somewhere, who told me that it
had been ascertained scientifically or prophe-
sied problematically, I forget which, but hope
the latter, that there would be "an entirely
new illness in the autumn." I fancy I heard
this from some one in the carriage when I was
going to sleep, or just awaking, during my
journey from London to Torquay. Mustn't
think of it again, because nervousness might
. . . . No . . . Miss Steaithmere is turn-
ing towards me; she seems to say, '' Why so
unsociable ! why so mute ? I've had enough
of Puggaree. Come. _ Yours truly, Janie."

I respond to her tacit invitation with a slight
smile. If I was asked now what I meant by
that smile, I shouldn't know. It seems to
mean (this occurs to me as I approach her)
that I am pleased at being summoned. If
so, it is simply equivalent to a dog wagging
its tail when it catches its master's benevolent
eye.

up with real enjoyment, and seems to say to me, "Ain't Wetherby a good chap?
Eh ? Ain't it real fun seeing him purtendin' to be severe ? Ain't it all right! Ducks
and green peas below ! Hooray for Wetherby !" but he does not say a word, and has
apparently nothing whatever to do with the working of the ship. I have two things to
find out,—What has the boy done ? What are Btjnter's duties ?

"Boy?" exclaims Wetherby, in answer to the former of these inquiries, "0! Ah!
Yes ; sharp chap, ain't he ? Found him wandering about the quay, idle, so gave him some
work to do." And, dismissing the case, as if the boy were a sore subject with him,
he goes to the Captain, at the helm, probably to get a further opinion from him as to the
amount of East in the wind at that moment.

Note.—I subsequently ascertain from Laby Wetherby that the boy Cripp was found
by Wetherby, crying, having lost his way, and whatever money he had had in his
pocket: that Wetheeby, understanding from him that he was an orphan, without friends
in the world, or a soul to speak to (except a casual acquaintance, a travelling tinker,
I think, who had robbed bun of his few pence first, and beaten him afterwards), had
furnished him with clothes, and delivered him over to his Captain, to be educated for a
sailor, and that Cripp was up to this moment giving great promise of repaying his
benefactor by turning out quite a nautical Whittington, without the Cat: the Cat, by
the way, having been abolished in the Navy.

smiling feebly, for, as it were, wagging his
tail with pleasure at being noticed. He would
not writhe mentally, as I do, to find myself
(with aspirations) on an equality with a toy
terrier.

All this is unhealthy. I will be gay. I
approach her.

"Why don't you come and talk?" she
says lightly, lowering her sunshade for a
second, so as just to fire at me one glance
from under it, unseen by the Puggaree.

Talk! ! If I could talk as I like at this
moment, I would be an energetic ascetic, and
deliver a crushing sermon against flirting,
frivolity, and fools. Ah !

"You must come and amuse us," she
continues, in the same arch way, and adds,
with her usual inflexion of tone, " Won\
you ?"

I am bitter ; for a moment, I am bitter. I
feel that I don't want to be trifled with.
That Puggaree should look at me and smile,
seems to me to be a confounded liberty. I
shouldn't smile at a man (at least so I think at
this moment) unless I knew him.

Subsequent Note on considering Symptoms.
—Perhaps incipient or progressive biliousness.
So intimate is the connection between mind
and matter that a word, out of season(< like
fruit, also when out of season, produces bilious-
ness.

[Flash in Pocket-book.—Fix this flash of
ideas about Words and Fruit. Good simile or
parallel in futuro. Words drop; Fruit drops—
question of ripeness. A man of " ripe learning."
Conundrum in prospect—When ought a stu-
dent to be plucked? When he's a ripe scholar.
Keep this, and ask it when the opportunity
arrives. As conversation, now-a-days, turns
so much on education, I can, by joining in it,
diplomatically, lead it round to my conundrum.]

In answer to Miss Straithmere I can't say
" I won't amuse you," brusquely, but should
like to, adding, he (Puggaree) will do it well