The room above was charged with memories of the late lamented. His
portrait in oils hung above the mantel-piece, smaller portraits--
specimens of the photographer's want of art--were scattered about the
room, while various personal effects, including a mammoth pair of sea-
boots, stood in a corner. On all these articles the eye of Jackson
Pepper dwelt with an air of chastened regret.
"It 'ud be a rum go if he did turn up after all," he said to himself
softly, as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I've heard of such things in
books. I dessay she'd be disappointed if she did see him now. Thirty
years makes a bit of difference in a man."
"Jackson!" cried his wife from below, "I'm going out. If you want any
dinner you can get it; if not, you can go without it!"
The front door slammed violently, and Jackson, advancing cautiously to
the window, saw the form of his wife sailing majestically up the
passage. Then he sat down again and resumed his meditations.
"If it wasn't for leaving all my property I'd go," he said gloomily.
"There's not a bit of comfort in the place! Nag, nag, nag, from morn
till night! Ah, Cap'n Budd, you let me in for a nice thing when you went
down with that boat of yours. Come back and fill them boots again;
they're too big for me.
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