“How the wind blows to-night, Phillip! how fearfully it blows! I wonder how the sea is to-night? Is it rough weather, think you? How is it, stormy say you? Does the telegraph say so? The ‘Racehorse’ and ‘Eclipse’ must be fairly in the channel, or near it by this time, what think you? I hope they’ll get through safely, Phillip; if _they_ were to go——!” “What then?” asked Phillip, laughingly; “your prospects are not centred solely in them, surely?” “Ah, my son, you know nothing of business yet, I see. All my prospects _are_ in those ships, and if anything befalls them, I am ru—!” “Oh, the old story,” thought Phillip, and was so disgusted that he made his visit of very short duration, and, taking up his hat, left his father’s offices in profound disgust. “These old fogies never will learn wisdom,” thought he. “As if the ships aren’t fully insured—what stuff! If the old driveller don’t come up to taw, I’ll soon put him out of the way, and no mistake. His tune has always been the same for the past five years—_always_ on the point of bankruptcy, and yet always making no end of money! Well, well, I’m tired of it—he shan’t keep me like a beggar _much_ longer, _I_ know!” And he paced up and down the street for some time in profound reflection. * * * * * Mr. Redgill, senior, went to his offices on the following morning as hale and hearty as ever, and appeared on ’Change the same as he had already done for many years before. Telegrams from different parts of the coast, both north and south, confirmed previous rumours that the severe gale of the past few days had been unusually destructive, and that many vessels were reported wrecked or stranded. Several fast-sailing ships, which arrived the same morning, reported having passed the “Racehorse” and “Eclipse” off the Irish coast, “all well.” This news cheered the old man up so much that he consented to dine and go out with Phillip for an evening drive. On the following morning newspapers detailed “the sad and unexpected death of the famous merchant, Mr. Redgill, who was thrown from his vehicle and drowned the previous evening, while riding with his only son, Phillip, the pair of horses having taken fright and ran away.” The account added that “Mr. Redgill, jun., had a miraculous escape, but, with wonderful agility, he leaped from the conveyance and saved himself, the horses and carriage, with his father, having tumbled into the Thames, and were drowned!” CHAPTER XXVII. OLD NETTLES IS SHAVED BY TWO OF THE SKELETON CREW. A barber’s has been often, and very wisely, called a “gossiping shop.” If this is true of tonsorial establishments in town, it is particularly of such places in a village. In a hamlet, or small town, the barber knows all the news, the latest joke, and the newest scandal. There is nothing that he does not know, in fact. No item ever escapes the “professor” who cuts your hair, or shaves you.