Mr Tappertit, nothing loath, began again; and so the three wentstaggering on, arm-in-arm, shouting like madmen, and defying thewatch with great valour. Indeed this did not require any unusualbravery or boldness, as the watchmen of that time, being selectedfor the office on account of excessive age and extraordinaryinfirmity, had a custom of shutting themselves up tight in theirboxes on the first symptoms of disturbance, and remaining thereuntil they disappeared. In these proceedings, Mr Dennis, who had agruff voice and lungs of considerable power, distinguished himselfvery much, and acquired great credit with his two companions.
"What a queer fellow you are!" said Mr Tappertit. "You"re soprecious sly and close. Why don"t you ever tell what trade you"reof?"
"Answer the captain instantly," cried Hugh, beating his hat down onhis head; "why don"t you ever tell what trade you"re of?"
"I"m of as gen-teel a calling, brother, as any man in England--aslight a business as any gentleman could desire."
"Was you "prenticed to it?" asked Mr Tappertit.
"No. Natural genius," said Mr Dennis. "No "prenticing. It comeby natur". Muster Gashford knows my calling. Look at that hand ofmine--many and many a job that hand has done, with a neatness anddex-terity, never known afore. When I look at that hand," said MrDennis, shaking it in the air, "and remember the helegant bits ofwork it has turned off, I feel quite molloncholy to think it shouldever grow old and feeble. But sich is life!"
He heaved a deep sigh as he indulged in these reflections, andputting his fingers with an absent air on Hugh"s throat, andparticularly under his left ear, as if he were studying theanatomical development of that part of his frame, shook his head ina despondent manner and actually shed tears.
"You"re a kind of artist, I suppose--eh!" said Mr Tappertit.
"Yes," rejoined Dennis; "yes--I may call myself a artist--a fancyworkman--art improves natur"--that"s my motto."
"And what do you call this?" said Mr Tappertit taking his stick outof his hand.
"That"s my portrait atop," Dennis replied; "d"ye think it"s like?"
"Why--it"s a little too handsome," said Mr Tappertit. "Who did it?
You?"
"I!" repeated Dennis, gazing fondly on his image. "I wish I hadthe talent. That was carved by a friend of mine, as is now nomore. The very day afore he died, he cut that with his pocketknifefrom memory! "I"ll die game," says my friend, "and my lastmoments shall be dewoted to making Dennis"s picter." That"s it."
"That was a queer fancy, wasn"t it?" said Mr Tappertit.
"It WAS a queer fancy," rejoined the other, breathing on hisfictitious nose, and polishing it with the cuff of his coat, "buthe was a queer subject altogether--a kind of gipsy--one of thefinest, stand-up men, you ever see. Ah! He told me some thingsthat would startle you a bit, did that friend of mine, on themorning when he died."
"You were with him at the time, were you?" said Mr Tappertit.
"Yes," he answered with a curious look, "I was there. Oh! yescertainly, I was there. He wouldn"t have gone off half ascomfortable without me. I had been with three or four of hisfamily under the same circumstances. They were all fine fellows."
"They must have been fond of you," remarked Mr Tappertit, lookingat him sideways.
"I don"t know that they was exactly fond of me," said Dennis, witha little hesitation, "but they all had me near "em when theydeparted. I come in for their wardrobes too. This very handkecherthat you see round my neck, belonged to him that I"ve been speakingof--him as did that likeness."