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"And what are you going to please?" "I shall go to Claridge's until I can look about me." He moved uneasily. "But have you no relations no one who will take care of you?" "I believe none. My mother was nobody particular, you know a Miss Tonkins by name." "But your father?" He sat down now on the sofa beside me; there was a puzzled, amused look in his face; perhaps I was amazing him. "Papa?
There was a general rush to the window; but Wilkeson, Overtop, Maltboy, and Quigg ran for the street at once, surmising the source of the cry. There stood Captain Tonkins, in the sleigh, leaning against the dashboard, holding in one hand an empty jug, and in the other his whip.
"My mother was called Miss Tonkins," I said. "Called Miss Tonkins?" "Yes." "Then it was not her name. What do you mean?" I hated these questions. "I suppose it was her name. I never heard she had another." "Tonkins," he said "Tonkins," and he looked searchingly at me with his monk-of-the-Inquisition air.
Slapman, still laughing at the window, and walked smartly home. Mr. Quigg, deriving much comfort from the thought that Captain Tonkins had not been paid for his sleigh, and would not be, hastened to a neighboring stable, hired the only remaining team, and continued his round of calls, giving one minute to each. Marcus Wilkeson's new acquaintance throve rapidly. Mr.
About this time, it was observed of Captain Tonkins that he began to show signs of fatigue, rocking heavily in his seat with every oscillation of the sleigh, and talking thick like a jaded man. These phenomena seeming to require some explanation, the Captain stated that he had been up late the past three nights, and could keep himself awake only by taking occasional draughts of Quigg's brandy.
Tommy Tonkins was keen on baseball and particularly ambitious to make his mark as a catcher. Any hint, however small, was welcomed if it helped on his advance in his department of the game. When he began to have trouble with his hands, and somebody suggested soaking them in salt water to harden the skin, he quickly followed the advice. Alas! a few days later Tommy had a misfortune.
Even the driver, Captain Tonkins, in the spirit of invitation peculiar to his mental state, steadied himself on the seat, poked his right arm and his long whip toward Marcus, and said: "Hu-hullo there come along?" Having done this, Captain Tonkins furtively poured a gill of brandy into the tin cup, and drank it under cover of the buffalo robe.
"A nice, fat little feller," rapturously exclaimed Captain Tonkins, taking the proffered jug. Placing it in the bottom of the sleigh, where such of the public as were stirring in that vicinity could not see the operation, he half filled the tin dipper, and, raising it suddenly to his mouth, drank the contents with a double gulp. "Prime stuff, that," said the Captain, smacking his lips.
"It's this-a-way," he said, addressing the Parson. "Eli Tonkin his name is, or was; and, as he said, of this parish." "Tonkin?" queried the Parson. "There are no Tonkins surviving in Botusfleming parish. The last of them was a poor old widow I laid to rest the week after Christmas." "Belay there! . . . Dead, is she?" Mr. Jope's face exhibited the liveliest disappointment.
Captain Tonkins cracked his whip with professional sonority over the heads of his lively horses, and they started off at a slapping pace, which brought them to the house of the three friends before the bells had fairly begun to jingle in unison. The door was instantly opened, and Overtop and Maltboy presented themselves, dressed in the most elaborate and captivating style.
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