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Updated: May 2, 2025
Philosopher Jack also declared himself willing to remain, but added that he was equally willing to leave if the rest of the firm should decide to do so, as he was quite content with the fortune that had been sent him. Simon O'Rook, however, did not at first agree to the proposal. "It's rich enough that I am already, no doubt," he said, "but sure, there's no harm in bein' richer.
The weather, as O'Rook said, "was splendacious, almost equal to that of ould Ireland." Cocoa-nuts and other fruits were abundant. The lagoon swarmed with fish, including sharks, which rendered fishing an excitingly dangerous, as well as enjoyable, pastime.
"Mr who?" demanded O'Rook with a start. "Mr Luke. Did you know him?" "I've heard of such a man," replied O'Rook with assumed carelessness; "what about him?"
O'Rook forgot for a few minutes the subject of his curiosity, and compared the prospect to some of the beautiful scenery of Ireland, though there was no resemblance whatever between the two. He soon returned, however, to the previous subject of conversation, but Mr Luke had ceased to be communicative. "What is that lying on the beach there?" he said, pointing in the direction referred to.
I couldn't understand, however, what O'Rook meant by some wild remarks he made the other day about taking to the temperance line and going in for coffee and mutton chops up a holly-tree. I hope it hasn't unseated his reason, poor fellow."
Going straight off to the Holly Tree, of which a healthy shoot had been planted in the suburbs, O'Rook proceeded, according to use and wont, to "comfort the widdy." "It's a rich man I am, darlin', after all," he said, on sitting down beside her. "How so, Simon?" Simon explained. "An' would you consider yourself a poor man if you had only me?" asked the widow, with a hurt air.
Into this they were about to lift the skeleton, when they observed that its right hand covered a decayed remnant of rag, under which was seen a glittering substance. It turned out to be the clasp of a notebook, which, however, was so decayed and glued together that it could not be opened. O'Rook therefore wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
"I haven't a doubt of it, but we can settle that to-morrow by a visit to the writer of the letter." "That's true," said O'Rook; "which o' the boxes, now, that belonged to us d'ee think it is?" "It can only be one," replied the captain, "that box of mine in which you asked me to stuff the remnant of the gold-dust that you hadn't room for in your own boxes.
But when the Irishman called on the whalers for a ditty, a fine-looking youth sang a song of the "Homeward Bound," in a voice so sweet and true, that the spirit of the men was changed, and many a moistened eye told that deep chords of sympathy had been touched. "Can you play the fiddle?" asked one of the men of O'Rook, when the song was finished.
So now, I have to ask your forgiveness and your blessing father." Captain Samson stood there, bereft of speech, and O'Rook stood there, the picture of benignity, in a corner. What the former would have said it is impossible to tell, for at that moment there came an impatient rapping at the door.
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