Stimcoe's brazen doorplate or his lady's
front-window curtains. The careful mending of my linen, too--for
Mrs. Stimcoe with all her faults was a needlewoman--helped to disarm
suspicion. When we talked of my studies I sang the praises of
Captain Branscome, and told of his past heroism and his sword of
honour.
"Branscome? Branscome, of the _Londonderry?_" said my father.
"Ay, to be sure, I remember Branscome--a Godfearing fellow and a good
seaman. You may take him back my compliments, Harry--my compliments
and remembrances--and say that if Heaven permitted us to meet again
in this world, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to crack a
bottle with him."
I duly reported this to Captain Branscome, and was taken aback by his
reception of it. He began in a sudden flurry to ask a dozen
questions concerning my father.
"He keeps good health, I trust? It would be an honour to call and
chat with the Major. At what hour would he be most accessible to
visitors?"
I stared, for in truth he seemed ready to take me at my word and
start off at once, and at my patent surprise he grew yet more nervous
and confused.
"I have kept a regard for your father, Brooks--a veneration, I might
almost call it.
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