I did before, by sticking my pipe under your nose. I was born in a little town in the north of England—”
“Oh, confound it,” cried I, “hadn’t you better begin at the beginning of the world at once? How do you think I am to get my pound’s worth of sleep, if you give me your history from the cradle to the grave?”
“Well now,” said he, “I should have liked to tell you something about my early life, for I was always considered a very remarkable child, but perhaps, upon consideration, I had better postpone that subject till some other night.”
“Yes, old fellow,” thought I, “you can tell me all that when you catch me in here again, but that won’t be for some time, I know.”
“When I was about thirty,” he continued (I made a gesture of impatience). “I must begin somewhere,” said he, angrily, “and if you don’t let me start at thirty, may I never smoke again if I won’t go back to my grandfather.”
“Thirty be it then, and now bowl along.”
“Well, as I said, when I was about thirty I came up to London, and went into business as a tobacconist; I had a snug little trade, and managed to scrape together a goodish bit of money. I wasn’t quite such a fool as to trouble myself with a wife, so I got along first rate. I had been in the business about twenty years—there’s a skip for you—when one fine morning I received a letter with the American post-mark on it. It was from my brother, the only relation I had to my knowledge, who had left England years before, and from whom I had never heard since his departure. It was short, for he had never been a man of many words.”
“I should have preferred his ghost to yours, then,” thought I.
“He told me that he was writing on his death-bed, and recommended to me his only son. As he hadn’t any money, he couldn’t leave me anything; but my nephew would bring me a valuable meerschaum pipe, which he himself had smoked for many years, and of which he begged my acceptance. This was all. A few days after, I received a note, informing me that my nephew had arrived at Liverpool. I went down and found a fine strapping youth of fifteen. I brought him up to London and put him in the shop, where he soon made himself uncommonly useful, so that I was pretty well contented with my bargain. The pipe was indeed a splendid one. Never had I seen one so perfectly coloured, never had I possessed one out of which the tobacco tasted so sweet. It was universally admired, and many a time have I been offered fabulous prices for it. But though I was by no means disinclined to turn a penny as a general rule, yet somehow I had an affection for that pipe, which increased every day. It seemed to me that ever since I had possessed it my food had tasted better, my sleep had been sounder, my health improved. Some one or another at the public I used once ventured to hint that the companionship of my nephew was the real cause of all this, but I knew better. The pipe did it, and the pipe alone. I don’t deny that I found it very pleasant to have some one to take a fancy to, but I don’t see how affection for one’s nephew could improve one’s appetite, do you? But, bless me, you are half asleep; allow me to waken you.”
With that he thrust the bowl of his pipe under my nose, causing me a fit of coughing and sneezing which lasted for five minutes.
“Confound you,” said I, when I at last managed to speak, “why can’t you come to the pith of your story, then? What on earth has all this nonsense about meerschaum pipes, and nephews, and appetites got to do with your being on board this ship?”
“Just you be a little patient, and then you’ll learn; and let me beg to inform you that it is exceedingly ill-bred on your part, after occupying my private cabin, to go to sleep when I am doing my best to entertain you.”
“Oh!” groaned I, “what cruel fate tempted me to leave England!”
“No cruel fate at all,” says he, “but the fear of the Queen’s Bench.”
“Allow me to say, sir, that that is a most impertinent observation.”
“None the less true for all that; you know as well as I do that your uncle wouldn’t pay anything more for you, and that you’d have been locked up if you had stayed. I don’t want to rake up unpleasant reminiscences, but if you won’t treat me with common politeness, why you can hardly expect it at my hands; but to proceed. I grew fonder of my pipe every day, till at last I think no price that could have been offered me, would have induced me to part with it. As I grew older I gradually handed the management of my business to my nephew, who understood it as well, or better than I did, and spent most of my time in talking and smoking. At last I was taken ill. The doctor was sent for, and found me in bed with my pipe in my mouth. ‘Put away that nasty thing,’ said he. ‘What nasty thing?’ said I. ‘Why, that pipe.’ ‘Put away my pipe? not if I know it.’ ‘Very good,’ said he, ‘only if you don’t give up smoking, it’ll give you up.’ ‘Oh, you mean I shall die?’ ‘Exactly,’ said he. ‘That’s your decided opinion?’ ‘Nothing can save you.’ ‘Oh,’ said I, ‘in that case, as I don’t mean to leave off smoking, I don’t see the necessity of incurring useless expense; so Jack,’ that was my nephew, ‘pay the doctor his fee, show him out, and mind you don’t let him in again.’ When Jack came upstairs, I said to him, ‘I feel that I shan’t last long: there isn’t much use in making a will, for you are my only relation, and of course, you’ll take all that belongs to me when I am dead; only one thing I don’t mean you to have, and that is this pipe.’ ‘Why?’ said he, ‘you don’t mean to give my father’s pipe away from me?’ ‘Not I, indeed, I mean to take it with me.’ ‘To take it with you, where?’ ‘Why, in my coffin to be sure.’ ‘And what shall you want with it; you don’t think you’re going to smoke after you are dead.’ ‘Now, look you here, Jack Simpson, it seems to me that you don’t seem to fancy parting with this pipe, and as I am determined you shan’t have it, just you go up to Mr. Smale’s, the lawyer’s and tell him to come down and make my will.’ ‘I thought you didn’t want your will making just now,’ says he. ‘Ah,