And Joe
himself was not quite the 'prentice lad I had known. His legs
indeed were no less bowed than of yore; nor was his hair less red;
but the round face appeared rounder than ever by reason of a thick
fringe of whiskers. His body had filled out, and he moved with a
rolling gait that caused him to usurp more than one man's share of
the narrow street.
When we had laid the two ruffians safely in ward, the captain said
to Joe:
"Now we'll go visit Nelly, and 'gad, my limbs yearn for bed, Joe.
This fellow can still carry the bag; 'tis worth a groat."
I grinned, and stepping alongside of Joe, whose head did not reach
much above my elbow, I looked down on him, and said:
"Don't you know me, Joe?"
His start of surprise set me a-smiling. His round face, somewhat
more weatherbeaten than when I saw it last, expressed amazement,
incredulity, and half a dozen more emotions in turn.
"Bless my soul!" he cried. "Sure 'tis little Humphrey Bold, growed
mountain high. Give me the bag, sir; God forbid you should bear a
load for Joe Punchard."
"No, no," I replied. "I'll earn my groat, now I've begun. And right
glad I am to see you, Joe; I had thought never to look on your face
again."
"And would not, but for my dear captain," says he.
"Captain, 'tis Master Bold, the boy I told ye of. 'Twas him I saved
from the hands of Cyrus Vetch the last day I was at home, and sure
'tis a wonderful thing that the very night of homecoming we save
him again.
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