It struck me as I looked at him that he was just the sort of man that you would expect to hear of as having been in queer places—­a sort of gnarled and stubbly man, with a wealth of seams and wrinkles about his face and what could be seen of his neck, and much grizzled hair, and an eye—­only one being visible—­that looked as if it had been on the watch ever since he was born.  He was a fellow of evident great strength and stout muscle, and his hands, which he had clasped in front of him as he sat talking to me, were big enough to go round another man’s throat, or to fell a bullock.  And as for the rest of his appearance, he had gold rings in his ears, and he wore a great, heavy gold chain across his waistcoat, and was dressed in a new suit of blue serge, somewhat large for him, that he had evidently purchased at a ready-made-clothing shop, not so long before.

My mother came quietly in upon us before I could reply to the stranger’s last remark, and I saw at once that he was a man of some politeness and manners, for he got himself up out of his chair and made her a sort of bow, in an old-fashioned way.  And without waiting for me, he let his tongue loose on her.

“Servant, ma’am,” said he.  “You’ll be the lady of the house—­Mrs. Moneylaws.  I’m seeking lodgings, Mrs. Moneylaws, and seeing your paper at the door-light, and your son’s face at the window, I came in.  Nice, quiet lodgings for a few weeks is what I’m wanting—­a bit of plain cooking—­no fal-lals.  And as for money—­no object!  Charge me what you like, and I’ll pay beforehand, any hand, whatever’s convenient.”

My mother, a shrewd little woman, who had had a good deal to do since my father died, smiled at the corners of her mouth as she looked the would-be lodger up and down.

“Why, sir,” said she.  “I like to know who I’m taking in.  You’re a stranger in the place, I’m thinking.”

“Fifty years since I last clapped eyes on it, ma’am,” he answered.  “And I was then a youngster of no more than twelve years or so.  But as to who and what I am—­name of James Gilverthwaite.  Late master of as good a ship as ever a man sailed.  A quiet, respectable man.  No swearer.  No drinker—­saving in reason and sobriety.  And as I say—­money no object, and cash down whenever it’s wanted.  Look here!”

He plunged one of the big hands into a trousers’ pocket, and pulled it out again running over with gold.  And opening his fingers he extended the gold-laden palm towards us.  We were poor folk at that time, and it was a strange sight to us, all that money lying in the man’s hand, and he apparently thinking no more of it than if it had been a heap of six-penny pieces.

“Help yourself to whatever’ll pay you for a month,” he exclaimed.  “And don’t be afraid—­there’s a lot more where that came from.”

But my mother laughed, and motioned him to put up his money.

“Nay, nay, sir!” said she.  “There’s no need.  And all I’m asking at you is just to know who it is I’m taking in.  You’ll be having business in the town for a while?”