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496 "Captain Cuttle," returned Walter, "I don’t know what to make of it. I suppose he never has written! There is no doubt about that?"

"If so be as Sol Gills wrote, my lad," replied the Captain, argumentatively, "where’s his dispatch?"

"Say that he entrusted it to some private hand," suggested Walter, "and that it has been forgotten, or carelessly thrown aside, or lost. Even that is more probable to me, than the other event. In short, I not only cannot bear to contemplate that other event, Captain Cuttle, but I can’t, and won’t."

"Hope, you see, Wal’r," said the Captain, sagely, "Hope. It’s that as animates you. Hope is a buoy, for which you overhaul your Little Warbler, sentimental diwision, but Lord, my lad, like any other buoy, it only floats; it can’t be steered nowhere. Along with the figure-head of Hope," said the Captain, "there’s a anchor; but what’s the good of my having a anchor, if I can’t find no bottom to let it go in?"

Captain Cuttle said this rather in his character of a sagacious citizen and householder, bound to impart a morsel from his stores of wisdom to an inexperienced youth, than in his own proper person. Indeed, his face was quite luminous as he spoke, with new hope, caught from Walter; and he appropriately concluded by slapping him on the back; and saying, with enthusiasm, "Hooroar, my lad! Indiwidually, I’m o’ your opinion."

Walter, with his cheerful laugh, returned the salutation, and said:

"Only one word more about my uncle at present, Captain Cuttle. I suppose it is impossible that he can have written in the ordinary course—by mail packet, or ship letter, you understand—"

"Aye, aye, my lad," said the Captain approvingly.

"—And that you have missed the letter, anyhow?"

"Why, Wal’r," said the Captain, turning his eyes upon him with a faint approach to a severe expression, "an’t I been on the look-out for any tidings of that man o’ science, old Sol Gills, your uncle, day and night, ever since I lost him? An’t my heart been heavy and watchful always, along of him and you? Sleeping and waking, ain’t I been upon my post, and wouldn’t I scorn to quit it while this here Midshipman held together!"

"Yes, Captain Cuttle," replied Walter, grasping his hand, "I know you would, and I know how faithful and earnest all you say and feel is. I am sure of it. You don’t doubt that I am as sure of it as I am that my foot is again upon this door-step, or that I again have hold of this true hand. Do you?"

"No, no, Wal’r," returned the Captain, with his beaming face.

"I ’ll hazard no more conjectures," said Walter, fervently shaking the hard hand of the Captain, who shook his with no less goodwill. "All I will add is, Heaven forbid that I should touch my uncle’s possessions, Captain Cuttle! Everything that he left here, shall remain in the care of the truest of stewards and kindest of men—and if his name is not Cuttle, he has no name! Now, best of friends, about—Miss Dombey."

There was a change in Walter’s manner, as he came to these two words; and when he uttered them, all his confidence and cheerfulness appeared to have deserted him.