Chapter 2: John Silver; a taste of his allies, and the beginning of turning points
The doctor, the man of whom we have only spoken of once in the prologue, and whose name, the reader must remember, is Isaiah Welling, maintained his covenant to John's father, and opened himself to any needs the man and his little son—who, after applying fingers to mouth and timid refusals to speak anything in his presence for four years before, was intensely friendly towards him—might find wanting. He was a pale man with snow-white skin, which emphasized the aquatic green eyes that glowed from within his great, old head, and he was thin from his own ailments he suffered in these later years of his life. Doctor Welling, we will call him, was a man wont of his own chivalry toward others; so humane was this man and so compassionate was his nature that he blessed every man he met and kissed the forehead of every child he passed on the street, and cared for every friend he acquired, which was never less than abundant, with such a zeal that he was the most heavily that slept at night in the old town that ever lived there before him.
Doctor Welling, in all his benevolence, proved of inestimable value to the Silver family after the tragic events that occurred the day John was born, not only as an uplifting monument of moral strength and comfort, but as a financial aid in Jonas's perils.
The old man was not wealthy, despite his exalted stature as town physician, but he lived in moderate comfort as best he could with the money he had. Doctor Welling lived to the north of the little town of poverty, which was a house of old brick and dismal, surrounded by, ironically, little iron bars. The windows all were kept closed and fastened, but were neatly lined from within by white lace on either side that kept the house looking bright. There was a little court-yard in front, also barred around the perimeter, in which a little girl could often be seen playing in. This little girl was Doctor Welling's young, shining granddaughter, Abigail, who lived with him and her parents in the same little house.
Doctor Welling was usually employed mostly by the poor when taken ill—which provided plentiful employers who lived miserably in their miserable homes—and he being a man of such opulent sympathy for his fellows, Doctor Welling was a lenient physician, and, when no money could be paid for his services when he aided some of the poorest of employers, he pushed the matter of the debt aside and never brought it up again; nor would he have if the family struck oil and became rich the following day.
Even so, Doctor Welling found loaning money to his fellows just as easily achievable as erasing their debts to him. The money lent, however, was a scanty sum, and could only support a one-room home with the addition of other financial assistances obtained elsewhere. The old man, however, could only afford to loan scanty sums and still have enough to keep himself afloat, so his money was loaned to only the most in need, and the most graciously unwilling to accept it. Jonas Silver, with his little son, fell comfortably into both these categories.
Therefore, the doctor and Jonas Silver kept up a familiar intercourse with each other, seeded by money, and then sprouting into the mutual adoration of Jonas's departed wife and John's mother, and then blooming into a mutual enchantment with the affable little boy that was now in Jonas's care. Doctor Welling visited the Silver family regularly, sometimes with a small piece of candy for John, other times with a few dollars for Jonas—which was relentlessly declined until finally, by the end of the visit, accepted—and then other times with nothing more but his glowing green eyes and a breath of new conversation on his lips.
One day, while stepping delicately along the stone path, which had become gray with the rain that had washed it just a quarter of an hour ago, Doctor Welling drew himself toward the Silver property on one of his many visits. As he neared the small, wooden dwelling, he noticed soon enough that the little boy, John, now grown to the age of eleven, sat upon the porch, counting three small coins in the palm of his hand, which was cradled close to his face, and he appeared quite proud of this currency.
John, hearing the doctor's steady approach, raised his eyes and smiled at him, his face still very close to the coins in his hands, and they twinkled in the emerging sunlight as John's face lifted slightly toward the advancing Welling.
"Ah," Welling greeted, still making his way toward the boy, "a murky afternoon it certainly is, isn't it, John? But one no better received, I believe, considering how much my daughter-in-law's flowers were in need of such a good drink as this!"
John brought his hand and the coins behind his back and sat up as the doctor finally came to the porch and stood before him. John, as a way of politeness, which he had forever been strictly taught to show, and was fast to learn, rejoined with, "Oh, yes? And tell me: How is she and your son, sir?"
"Nathan and Elizabeth are doing well. Elizabeth is a woman with strength inside her, to say the least, and can best the most unsavory of weather."
"And your granddaughter, sir? Is she doing okay?"
"Ah!" Welling cried again, which was his custom to begin a sentence with an outburst, "My little Abigail! She grows before my very eyes, much like you; although, as you know, she grows two years in your senior; but what about you, John? How are you nowadays?"
Without thinking, John's smile broadened with a kind of intricate and well-kept secret behind it that wanted nothing more than to be shown. The boy shrugged, averting his eyes a while. "I can't say, sir. I'm rather hungry, to be plain. But I couldn't be happier at the moment."
Doctor Welling smiled down at the boy, who still sat on the porch, and at length proceeded to take a seat next to him. "And what makes you so happy, John?"
John's eyes rose to meet the doctor's in eagerness, but he replied readily, "my deepest regrets, sir, but I cannot tell you!"
Doctor Welling drew his face close to the boy's in a playful manner, and whispered confidentially, "Oh? And what secret is this? Why can't you tell a poor old man what you smile about, and make him feel young again! What secret is more important than giving an old man an instance's youth with your gladness?"
John laughed, and replied steadily, "Well, I don't want to give an old man such a gift as that because such an instance could go to his head, and he might run too fast for his age and hurt himself."
This answer rendered the old man a peal of gentle chortling. "You're a smart boy, John Silver, in the way of wits and humor the most! Come, boy, though: speak! I promise your secret is safe in this old man's head. What makes you grin so broadly?" Welling brought his gray hand to John's chin and tapped it with his index finger.
John slid his eyes high to the left. "Sir," he stated lengthily, "it is but your presence that lightens my mood. Nothing more."
"Hist! Hist! Such lies, you silly child!" Welling hissed at him, laughing. "Tell me quickly what it is you hide so well from me, or I shall cease to ask any more times!"
John twisted his little head fully toward the doctor, his eyes big and bright. "You promise my secret is safe, sir?" He asked, grinning.
"Yes, John."
John brought forth his little gross of coins. They twinkled together in the soft sunlight, now coming down in rays through the clouds. The boy's eyes were radiant. "Copperpeices!" he whispered excitedly, "and three of them, too! It was a wonder, sir—my very first wages. I worked a whole hour to earn these at Mrs. Thatcher's, and look how wonderful they are in my hand!"
Doctor Welling, it can be inferred, had seen much more money than what John displayed to him now, and instantly thought little of Harriet Thatcher for putting the boy to an hour's labor and paying him nothing but three coins, but nevertheless, he proved quite excited about John's small amount of earnings to a high magnitude.
"Ah!" Welling cried, "This is a remarkable surprise, John! But, do tell me—why do you keep these coins a secret? I think your father would be most pleased to know you—"
"No, no, sir!" John interrupted, clasping his fingers around the coins and thrusting them back behind him, looking at the doctor with insistent eyes. "My father would not be pleased in the least! He doesn't want me to work. He wants me to stay with my studies, and he keeps promising me that I'll soon attend a school, but, sir, I think it's a false hope."
"How do you mean, my boy?"
"Because it seems as though Father can't even afford bread anymore! Last night, we visited Mrs. Bailiff's shop to buy some, and we left empty-handed because father didn't bring enough money to pay for some." At this, Doctor Welling's brow must have knitted itself with obvious discontent, for John added, in an even softer voice, "but it's all right, sir, for I'm going to make my father and me rich as kings!"
Doctor Welling started slightly at this last statement, even more so than when he had heard the preceding information. Welling, in his vast education, had never heard of creatures in any world of the Etherium rise in ranks so exorbitantly as from paupers to kings by the acts of one mere child behind his father's watchful eye. Although, in Welling's vast experience, his hair had turned white with seeing what would be termed as miracles, marvels, and anomalies, and seen life at its most merciful and unexpected. Doctor Welling, however, as he looked at the child, grew increasingly more nettled, for the child had only three coins, which was not even an acceptable quantity for Jonas's tangibly dwindling money for food. Welling, although frowning deeply inwardly, found a smile somewhere to pluck up to his face.
"Then here," he handed John a little piece of candy wrapped in a handkerchief as he rose from his place on the porch, "eat that, your majesty. And... here, I've got something else for you..."
"What is it?" John asked, taking the candy and placing it tactfully in his pocket.
Doctor Welling, in his own pocket, revealed two silver coins. "These; so you can add to your profit."
John gazed down at the two glittering silverpieces in awe. The silver that caught in the light gleamed a slight discoloration on the child's face as he bent to look at them in the doctor's hand. "They're for me? But... sir, they're silverpieces! I... can't accept them."
"Yes you can, John—because I'm giving them to you."
John lowered his eyes. Welling's brow knitted further, and asked, slightly obdurately, "Why don't you take them, boy?"
A pause ensued between them, and, as Welling looked on, John tentatively revealed his other hand, and uncurled the little white fingers for Welling to behold two more silverpieces. "Because," John responded, "I already have two of your silverpieces. And if I were as good as Captain Flint, I would have taken the ones in your hand without stopping; but I don't have what Captain Flint had, I suppose. I'm sorry... but I'll never become as rich as him, and make my father happy, if I simply work for the money."
This was the most dauntingly portentous of news and occurrences that Welling had witnessed from the boy in the encompassment of their conversation, and, in a sudden irritation quite contrasting that of his usual nature, withdrew his hand in a snap of his wrist, placing his two silverpieces back in his pocket, and then recaptured his other two silverpieces from the boy's hand.
"Captain Flint! I've never heard of such a nonsensical thing as Captain Flint!" Welling shook the two stolen coins in front of John's little face angrily, and then—for anger was not a customary operation for Welling, after all, and therefore he found little knowledge of how to conduct himself with it now, since he was not familiar with a practiced method—he recollected himself, and allowed another pause, this time much more trying than the first, as he placed these silverpieces back with the others in his pocket.
"I'm very displeased with you, John," Welling continued, finding the boy easy to gaze severely at, for John's eyes were averted again, "I've never seen you act in such an unscrupulous manner as what I've seen you do today. Captain Flint! Where did you get an idea like that?"
"My... father told me the story of Treasure Planet. When I was younger... he said we didn't have that much money—he said we had very little money—and now it seems as though we have even less money than before, and I only thought that if I started getting money that... we'd be happier."
Welling scowled, for he found himself in a moment where he was at a loss for words. John's motive for his crime seemed as innocent enough; however, was it such a crime worthy of vindication as the crime committed when stealing bread for a starving family? Welling sighed, concluding to himself that John's crime was not to be encouraged, but not enough to be punished, and, like a man tip-toeing through a dark room and then finding his match, so did Welling retrieve the words to his lips again.
"John, Captain Flint was not a man to be emulated. It's also unrealistic, since his 'loot of a thousand worlds' and such is just a common myth, and that such an amount of money is unattainable. As for your not having something that man had—you should be proud! You have something we call a conscience, and a heart. It means you're above petty thievery!"
John's eyes had not lifted at this hearty statement, nor had they brightened by any means. Welling, after a moment's consideration, sat down next to him again on the porch, and patted his shoulder to hearten the child.
"Now... let's be friends again. With such an enormous wealth of life experience I have in my old head, I've learned that no one can be defined by one action, can they, John? Yes, that's right; they truly can't."
John's eyes quickly drew up and looked sadly into the doctor's. "I am sorry, sir! Please forgive me, I beg you..." and in another quick movement of the youth, he clasped Welling between his little arms.
Hereupon, such a passionate and penitent outburst from the contrite boy melted Welling's anger like the sun would melt a sliver of ice, which might have already been dematerializing under an overcast sky, and the doctor, his heart swelling with his sympathetic tenderness, returned the embrace and assured that all was forgiven.
"John," Welling asked presently, breaking from their endearment, "Is your father at home? Can I speak with him?"
"Yes! He's inside the house. I don't know what he's doing, but I'm sure he'd like to see you."
"Thank you, my boy. Now," Welling added, looking expectantly at John, "There'll be no more of this 'Captain Flint' business, am I not mistaken?"
"...No sir."
"There's a good boy! I'm going to go speak with your father now."
"Yes, sir."
As Welling proceeded to lift himself from his place next to him on the porch, with a grunt or two as he straightened, and neared the door, John watched with apprehension until the old man had disappeared into the entrance of the house, where he could hear murmurs of him and his father begin to talk. John turned back around as the door swung back into place, and looked out onto the old town that he had lived in for so long, now wet with rainwater, and clouds collecting again over the gray earth. John sat quietly there for a long time, and the new rain slowly and invisibly began to drop down onto the stone streets, and puddles cracked silently as tiny raindrops fell inside them, and rippled out.
John, at length, bent his head and looked down. His hands were brought in front of him, pale and in fists, resting on his thighs, and he uncurled his little fingers before his blue eyes, and beheld with a kind of wonderment and horror at what his palms held. In his left, three little copperpieces glinted in a sandpaper-orange, and in his right, four silverpieces shone in a white glare.
John sprang to his feet, seized blindly with a giddy panic by his perfidy, and burst into a run like a bird across the stones and around to the back of the house, where he collapsed to his knees, thrust the coins aside, and dug wildly at the soft, wet dirt beside the gray house, digging and digging until a small, insufficient hole was gauged, which soon housed the wickedly-obtained silverpieces, and was covered up again. John sat back on his heels, breathing laboriously, his hair streaming with raindrops, and then picked the copperpieces out of the grass, one by one. He then shakily unearthed the terrible silverpieces, now spotted with flecks of brown mud, and dropped the copperpieces in with them, and heard them clink together as he filled the hole up again.
He sat next to his hole for the remainder of the rainstorm, watching the drops of water fall from the sky.