He was always
hovering round inventions like a bee over a flower, and lived in a
dream of patents. He had with him a patent medicine, for instance,
the composition of which he had bought years ago for five dollars
from an American pedlar, and sold the other day for a hundred pounds
(I think it was) to an English apothecary. It was called Golden Oil,
cured all maladies without exception; and I am bound to say that I
partook of it myself with good results. It is a character of the man
that he was not only perpetually dosing himself with Golden Oil, but
wherever there was a head aching or a finger cut, there would be
Jones with his bottle.
If he had one taste more strongly than another, it was to study
character. Many an hour have we two walked upon the deck dissecting
our neighbours in a spirit that was too purely scientific to be
called unkind; whenever a quaint or human trait slipped out in
conversation, you might have seen Jones and me exchanging glances;
and we could hardly go to bed in comfort till we had exchanged notes
and discussed the day's experience. We were then like a couple of
anglers comparing a day's kill.
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