CHAPTER XLII
In Which the Tale Comes to a Good End: Archie and Billy Make Ready for Dinner, Toby Farr is Taken for Good and All by Sir Archibald, and Billy Topsail, Having Been Declared Wrong by Archie's Father, Takes the Path That Leads to a New Shingle, After Which the Author Asks a Small Favour of the Reader
Well, now, we have come to the end of the tale of Billy Topsail. I need not describe the grief of the Colony when the tragedy of the ice-floes was disclosed. Newfoundlanders are warm-hearted folk; they are easily touched to sympathy – they grieved, indeed, even to the remotest harbours, when news of the death of the men of the Rough and Tumble was spread forth. It was a catastrophe that impended every sealing season – rare, perhaps, in its degree, but forever a thing to be expected. Yet you are not to think of Newfoundland in visions wholly of wind and snow and ice. Newfoundland is not an Arctic country by any means. Nor does the wind blow all the while; nor is the sea all the while in a turmoil. It is a lovely coast after all; and the folk who live there are simple, self-respecting, cheerful – a lovable, admirable folk. To be sure they have summer weather. What is written in this book is of the spring of the year – the tempestuous season, with the ice breaking up. As a matter of fact, Newfoundland seems to me, in retrospect, to be far less a land of tempest and frost than of sunlit hills and a rippling blue sea.
Ashore, at last, and making ready for dinner, in Sir Archibald Armstrong's great house, while Archie's mother mothered little Toby Farr, who was to live in the great house thereafter, and be reared by Sir Archibald, like a brother of Archie's own – alone in Archie's rooms, Billy and Archie talked a little while.
"Somehow, Archie," said Billy, with a puzzled frown, "it didn't seem nothin' much t' do at the time."
"What, Billy?"
"What Jonathan done."
"No," Archie agreed.
"Somehow," Billy went on, "it jus' seemed as if everybody was dyin', or goin' t' die, an' one more wouldn't make no very great difference. Didn't it seem that way t' you, Archie?"
"Just that way, Billy."
"Queer, isn't it?"
"I didn't care very much, Billy, what happened to me."
"Nor I what happened t' me."
"Sometimes I wanted to die. I just wanted to lie down and – "
"Me too, Archie."
"Looking back, though, it isn't the same. I'm glad I'm alive."
There was a silence.
"Archie," said Billy, "that was a pretty fine thing that Jonathan done."
"It was, Billy."
"An' the way he done it was fine. It was a man's way t' do a thing like that. No fuss about it. Jus' a quiet way – jus' goin' ahead an' doin' what he thought he ought t' do, an' sayin' nothin' about it."
"That was the best of it, Billy."
"It was a great thing, Archie. I can't get over it. I thinks of it again an' again an' again. I'd like t' be big enough t' do a thing like that in jus' that way."
"And I, Billy."
"I bet you, Archie, Jonathan was glad t' be able t' do it."
"I think he was."
"Yes," Billy repeated; "a big thing like that in a big way like that. I'd like t' be man enough. An' I knows only one other man in the world who could do it – in jus' that quiet way."
"Who's that, Billy?"
"Doctor Luke."
"Yes," Archie agreed; "he's big enough for anything."
"I'd like t' be like he!" Billy sighed.
Then the boys went down to dinner. Archie had something in mind of which Billy Topsail was not aware.
After dinner, Toby Farr was put to bed. He was a soft little fellow, perhaps, and Archie's mother, too, was tender. At any rate, she was calling Toby "Son" by that time; and Toby didn't mind, and Archie was delighted, and Sir Archibald was smiling as though he enjoyed it. Toby was not happy – not by any means; no prospect of luxury, no new love, could ease the wish for his grandfather's voice and presence. Yet he was as happy as he very well could be – and as safe as any lad ever was. When he said good-night, he said it gravely, in the mannerly way he had – a courteous voice, a serious air, a little bow. Sir Archibald smiled, and Archie clapped him on the back, and Archie's mother put her arms around the lad, smiling, too, and led him off to stow him away.
Archie and Billy were then left alone with Sir Archibald.
"Dad," Archie began, "Billy and I have been talking."
"Well, well!" said Sir Archibald.
Billy chuckled.
"I mean really talking, dad."
"What about, son?"
"Well, quite a number of things."
"You surprise me!" said Sir Archibald.
Archie ignored the banter.
"Look here, dad," he said, "I want Billy to do something that he won't do."
"Then," said Sir Archibald, "I should recommend you to ask him to do something else."
"But that won't do."
"Must he do this thing?"
"If it's right."
"Is it right?"
"I think so."
"What is it?"
Archie explained the matter in dispute, with all its provisions for guarding Billy Topsail's self-respect, and Sir Archibald listened.
"I agree with you," said Sir Archibald, promptly, when Archie came to the end. "I think it right."
And that is how Billy Topsail found a proper way to study medicine – that is how it came about that a new shingle declares to the world of the north Newfoundland Coast the whereabouts of —
William Topsail, M. D
You may find Billy Topsail in the surgery (when he happens to be at home) if you land from the mail-boat and follow the road over Tinkle-Tinkle Hill to Broad Cove – a hearty, smiling, rather quiet chap, of a scientific turn, who goes where he is called, and has the reputation of being the most promising physician and surgeon in Newfoundland. He has been advised to go to St. John's, of course; but that he will not do – for reasons of his own, which have to do with the obligations of service. Well, then, there he is – in the surgery, when he is at home; and if you should happen to go ashore from the mail-boat, and if you should take Tinkle-Tinkle Road to Broad Cove, and if your seeking eye should alight upon a new shingle, inscribed William Topsail, M. D., and if you should knock on the door, and if a stalwart, fine-looking, rather quiet chap, with a twinkling smile, should open the door, and if you should tell him that you know me, and that I had invited you to call —
He'll laugh. And he'll say:
"Come in! Glad t' see you!"
And you go in – don't fail to. You'll have a good time. And give Billy my compliments and tell him I'll be up to see him one of these summers. Thanks. I'm much obliged.