'Jimson?' repeated Julia, and interrogated her memory in vain. But
indeed our rising school of English music boasts so many professors that
we rarely hear of one till he is made a baronet. 'Are you sure you have
it right?'
'Made him spell it to me,' replied the landlord. 'J-I-M-S-O-N--Jimson;
and his op'ra's called--some kind of tea.'
'SOME KIND OF TEA!' cried the girl. 'What a very singular name for an
opera! What can it be about?' And Gideon heard her pretty laughter flow
abroad. 'We must try to get acquainted with this Mr Jimson; I feel sure
he must be nice.'
'Well, miss, I'm afraid I must be going on. I've got to be at Haverham,
you see.'
'O, don't let me keep you, you kind man!' said Julia. 'Good afternoon.'
'Good afternoon to you, miss.'
Gideon sat in the cabin a prey to the most harrowing thoughts. Here he
was anchored to a rotting houseboat, soon to be anchored to it still
more emphatically by the presence of the corpse, and here was the
country buzzing about him, and young ladies already proposing pleasure
parties to surround his house at night. Well, that meant the gallows;
and much he cared for that.
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