"The wind, sir--the rain, sir--and the wind and the rain together, sir. Oh, dear! It isn't a night to turn out a dog in, not that I like dogs,
but I beg, sir, you won't think of it. Only listen, sir. How it does
blow, to be sure!" "Madam!" said Todd, putting on a solemn look, "I must go. It is my duty
to go." "Your duty, sir?" "Yes. Whenever the wind blows and the rain comes down, I put a quantity
of small change in my pocket, and I go out to see what objects of
distress in the streets I can relieve. It is then that I feel myself
called upon in the sacred name of heavenly charity to see to the wants
of my poorer fellow-creatures. It is then that I can find many a one
whom I can make happy and comfortable for a brief space, at all events;
and that's the way that I am always, you see, madam, with a bad cold." "Generous man!" said Mrs. Hardman, wiping her eyes with the corner of
her apron. "Not at all, madam, not at all. It is one's duty, and nothing else. I
feel bound to do it. But I shall want a little something for supper. A
nice boiled chicken, if you please, and you will be so good as to get it
for me, madam. Take this guinea, if you please, and we can talk about
the change, you know, when I want anything else, my good madam." "My word!" thought Mrs. Hardman. "He is a wonderful lodger, for he
forgets all about his change. I feel that it would only vex the poor old
gentleman to remind him of it, and that I do not feel justified in
doing. A-hem! yes, sir. Oh, certainly, I will get the finest chicken,
sir, that can be had." "Do so, madam, do so. Now I'm going." "Oh, Lord! there's a gust of wind!" "I like it--I like it." "And there's a dash of rain!" "So much the better. Delightful, delightful, my dear madam, I shall find
plenty of poor objects to relieve to-night. Under gateways, I shall find
them, crouching upon door-steps, and shivering on spots where a little
shelter can be found from the inclemency of the weather. This is my time
to try and do a little good with that superfluous wealth which
Providence has given me." Mrs. Hardman made no further opposition to the benevolent intentions of
a lodger who continually forgot his change, and Todd fairly left the
house. Little did the landlady think, while she was grasping at the guineas,
that there was a reward of a thousand pounds for the apprehension of her
lodger, and that it would every penny-piece of it have been duly paid to
her at the Treasury, if she could but have managed to lock him in a room
until the officers of justice could be sent for, to pounce upon him and
load him with irons, and take him off to prison. But poor Mrs. Hardman had really no idea of how near she was to fortune;
and when the street-door closed upon Todd, she little suspected that she
shut out such a sum as one thousand pounds sterling along with him. "That is managed so far," said Todd, as he shrank and cowed before the
storm-laden gale that dashed in his face the rain, as he reached the
corner of the street. There Todd paused, for a new fear came across him. It was that no
waterman would venture upon the river with him on such a night; and yet
after reasoning with himself a little time, he said--

"Watermen are human, and they love gold as much as any one else. After
all, it only resolves itself into a question of how much I will pay." Full of this idea, which, in its way, was a tolerably just one, he
sneaked down the Strand until he got right to Charing Cross. He had
thought of going down one of the quiet streets near that place, and
taking a boat there; but now he considered that he would have a much
better chance by going as far as Westminster Bridge; and, accordingly,
despite the rain and the wind, he made his way along Whitehall, and
reached the bridge. A few watermen were lounging about at the head of the stairs. They had
little enough expectation of getting a fare at such a time, and upon
such a day. One of them, however, seeing Todd pause, went up to him, and
spoke--

"You didn't want a boat, did you, sir?" "Why, yes," said Todd, "I did; but, I suppose, you are all afraid to
earn a couple of guineas?" "A couple of guineas?" "Yes, or three, for the matter of that; one more or less don't matter to
me; but it may to you." "Indeed, it does, sir. You are right enough there. But where do you want
to go to sir? Up or down?" "To Greenwich." Todd thought if he mentioned Gravesend, he might frighten the man at
once. "Greenwich? Whew!" The waterman perpetrated a long whistle; and then,
shaking his head, he said--"I'm very much afraid, sir, that it isn't a
question of guineas that will settle that; but I will speak to my mate. Halloa Jack!--Jack! I say, old boy, where are you?" "Here you are," said an old weather-beaten man coming up the steps. "I've only been making the little craft fast. What is the row now,
Harry--eh?" "No row, old mate; but this here gentleman offers a matter of three
guineas for a cruise to Greenwich." "Ay, and why not, Harry?" "Why not? Don't you hear how it's blowing?" "Yes, I do, Harry; but it won't blow long. I've seen more gales than you
have, lad, and I tell you that this one is all but over. The rain, in
another quarter of an hour, will beat it all down. It's fast going now. It will be a wet night, and a dark night; but it won't blow, nor it
won't be cold." "If you say as much as that, Jack," said the younger waterman, "I will
swear to it." The old man smiled, as he added--

"Ah, dear me, yes, and so you may, Harry. I haven't been so long out of
doors that I don't know the fancies of the weather. I can tell you
a'most what it's a going to do beforehand, better than it knows itself. There, don't you hear how it's coming in puffs, now, the wind, and each
one is a bit fainter nor the one as comed afore it? Lord bless you, it's
nothing! We shall get a wet jacket, that's all; and if so be, sir, as
you really do want a cruise down to Greenwich, come on, and Harry and me
will soon manage it for you." These words were very satisfactory to Todd. He had no objection in the
world to its being rather a bad night on the river; but he certainly had
a great objection to risking his life. Discomfort was a thing that gave
him no concern. He knew well that that would pass away. "If you are willing," he said, "let us, then, start at once, and I will
not hold you to your bargain if the weather should happen to turn very
bad. We can, in such a case, easily, I dare say, put in at some of the
numerous stairs on one side or other of the river." "There will be no need of that, sir," said the old waterman. "If you go,
and if you choose to go all the way, we will put you on shore at
Greenwich." "How about London Bridge?" said the younger man, in a tone of some
anxiety. "Better than usual," said Jack. "It is just the time to shoot it nicely,
for the tide will be at a point, and won't know exactly whether to go
one way or the other." "It's all right, then?" "It is."