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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Well, you are a queer codger," said Jarwin, laughing in spite of himself; "if ever there was a man as didn't feel up to singin', that's me at this moment. Howsomedever, I 'spose it must be done. Wot'll you 'ave? `Ben Bolt, `Black-eyed Susan, `The Jolly Young Waterman, `Jim Crow, `There is a Happy Land, or the `Old Hundred, eh? Only say the word, an' I'll turn on the steam."
Jarwin was singularly short and concise. Pine had never been a great speaker, and carried his reticence into his testamentary disposition. Five minutes was sufficient for the reading of the will, and those present learned that all real and personal property had been left unreservedly to Agnes Pine, the widow of the testator, on condition that she did not marry Noel Tamsworth Leighton Lambert.
He had suffered somewhat from the change of diet; and now that his third B was thus suddenly, unexpectedly, and hopelessly wrenched from him, he sat himself down on the beach beside Cuffy, and gazed out to sea in absolute despair. We must guard the reader at this point from supposing that John Jarwin had ever been what is called an intemperate man.
When Big Chief retired with his men for consultation, he called Jarwin aside. "Jarwin," he said, with unusual gravity, "you must not hear our palaver." "Why not, old feller?" "It is your business to obey, not to question," replied Big Chief, sternly. "Go when I want you I will find you. You may go and look at the Cookee missionary, but, remember, I have your promise."
They found the lean, dry solicitor waiting for them with a smiling face. "Oh!" said Agnes as she greeted him, "then it's not bad news?" "On the contrary," said Jarwin, with his cough, "it is the best of news." Noel looked at him hard. "The best of news to me at the present moment would be information about money," he said slowly. "I have a title, it is true, but the estate is much encumbered."
Jarwin hung about the door; sometimes he even ventured to peep in at the windows, in his intense desire to see and hear the long-lost forms and tones of his native land; and, as the natives generally were much addicted to such indications of curiosity, his doing so attracted no unusual attention. While he was standing near the door, Mrs Williams unexpectedly came out.
He remained dumb to the last, and did not even allow himself the small comfort of waving a piece of native cloth to the missionary, as he and his captors paddled from the Raratonga shore. At first John Jarwin could not quite realise his true position after leaving Raratonga.
Jarwin still wore, as we have said, his old canvas trousers, which had been patched and re-patched to such an extent with native cloth, that very little of the original fabric was visible. The same may be said of his old flannel shirt, to which he clung with affectionate regard long after it had ceased to be capable of clinging to him without patchwork strengthening.
"Though I don't see why Jarwin can't supply his own motors," he grumbled, "and ten to one he'll only put an advertisement in the newspapers." "As if Mother Cockleshell ever saw a newspaper," retorted his sister. "Oh, thank you, Freddy, you are good," she went on when he handed her the letter in a newly addressed envelope; "no, don't go, I want to speak to you about Mr. Silver."
On another occasion, a pair of English shoes, which had not been put in the usual place of safety, were totally devoured in a night, and the same fate befell the covering of a hair-trunk. No wonder, then, that they did not spare the bellows! Poor Jarwin sorrowed over this loss fully as much as did the missionary, but he was forced to conceal his grief.
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