Once Aboard the Lugger-- The History of George and his Mary

by W. W. Jacobs

  Then she saw more clearly. She asked: "What has happened?" and stoodwith quivering lip recording the flutters of her heart.

  George took one hand; patted it between both his. For the moment hisboiling anger cooled beneath grim relish of his news. "I've pretty wellkilled that Chater swine," he said.

  "Mr. Chater?--you've met Mr. Chater?"

  Now emotion boiled again in her turbulent George. He said: "I saw yourun from him. I saw--what had he been doing?"

  "Oh, Georgie!"

  "Well, never mind. I'd rather not hear. I've paid him for it, whateverit was."

  "You fought? Oh, and your face--and your hand bleeding too!"

  Tears stood in this ridiculous Mary's eyes. Women so often cry at thewrong moment. They should more closely study their men in the tremendousmannish crises that come to some of us. This was no moment for tears; itwas an hour to be Amazon. To be hard-eyed. To count the scalps broughthome by the brave--in delight to squeal over them; in pride to clap thehands and jump for joy at such big behaviour.

  My Mary erred in every way. Her moistening eyes annoyed George.

  "Oh, don't make a fuss about that, Mary," he cried irritably. "It'snothing. Master Bob won't be able to see for a month."

  "Oh, George, why did you do it?"

  Then the tremendous young man flamed. "Why did I do it? 'Pon my soul,Mary, I simply don't understand you sometimes. You've made me stand byand see you insulted for a month, and then I see him catch hold of you,and you run, and I go and thrash him, and you say, 'Why did you doit?' _Do_ it? _Do_ it? Why, good Lord, what would you have had medo--apologise for you?"

  She turned away, dropped his hand.

  My unfortunate George groaned aloud: sprang to her. "Mary, darling,dearest, you know I didn't mean that."

  She kept her face from him; her pretty shoulders heaved.

  He cried in misery, striving to see her face: "What a brute I am! What abrute! Mary, Mary, you know I didn't mean that."

  She gasped: "You ge-get angry so quick."

  "I know, I know. I'm not fit--I couldn't help--Mary, do look up."

  She swallowed a sob; gave him her little hand.

  He squeezed it, squeezed it as it were between his love for her and thetremendous passion that was consuming him. Contrition at his sharp wordsto her hammered the upper plate, wrath at the manner of her reception ofhis news was anvil beneath. The poor fingers horribly suffered.

  There are conditions of the male mind--and this George was in the veryheart of one--when softness in a woman positively goads to fury.The mind is in an itching fever, and--like a bull against agate-post--requires hard, sharp corners against which to rub and easethe irritation. Comes the lord and master home sulky or in fury, thewise wife will meet him with a demeanour so spiked that he may scratchhis itching at every turn. To be soft and yielding is the most fatalconduct; it is to send the lumbering bull crashing through the gate-postinto the lane to seek solace away from the home paddock.

  Unversed in these homely recipes, this simple Mary had at least the witnot to cry "Oh!" in pain and move her hand. They found a seat, and forgood five minutes this turbulent George sat and threshed in his wrathlike a hooked shark--this little hand the rope that held him. Soon itsinfluence was felt. His tuggings and boundings grew weaker. The venomoozed out of him.

  He uncovered the crushed fingers; raising, pressed them to his lips.

  He groaned. "Now you know me at last."

  She patted those brown hands; did not speak.

  "You know the awful temper I've got," he went on. "Uncontrollable--angryeven with you--foul brute--"

  "But I annoyed you, Georgie."

  He flung out an accusatory hand against himself. "How? By being sweetand loving! Why, what a brute I must be!"

  She told him: "You shan't call yourself names. In fact, you mustn't.Because that is calling me names too. We belong, Georgie."

  The pretty sentiment tickled him. Gloom flew from his brow beforesunshine that took its place. He laughed. "You're a dear, dear oldthing."

  She gave a whimsical look at him. "I ought to have said at once what Iam going to say now: Did you hurt him much?"

  "I bashed him!" George said, revelling in it. "I fairly bashed him!"

  She snuggled against this tremendous fellow.

  II.

  It was a park-keeper who, from that opium drug of sweet silence withwhich lovers love to dull their senses, recalled them to the urgency foraction.

  The park-keeper led David by one hand, Angela by the other, whencehe had found them wandering. Disappointment that their owner wasa protected lady instead of a nicely-shaped nursemaid whom by thisintroduction he might add to his recreations, delivered him of sternreproof at the carelessness which had let these children go astray.

  "I would very much like to know," he concluded, "what their ma wouldsay."

  "My plump gentleman," said George pleasantly, "meet me at thistrysting-place at noon to-morrow, and your desire shall be gratified."

  The park-keeper eyed him; thought better of the bitter words he hadcontemplated; contented himself with: "Funny, ain't yer?"

  "Screaming," said George. "One long roar of mirth. Hundreds turned awaynightly. Early doors threepence extra. Bring the wife."

  The park-keeper withdrew with a morose air.

  III.

  And now my George and his Mary turned upon the immediate future. Conningthe map of ways and means and roads of action, a desolate and almosthorrifying country presented itself. No path that might be followedoffered pleasant prospects. All led past that ogre's castle at 14 PalaceGardens; at the head of each stood the ogress shape of Mrs. Chater,gnashing for blood and bones over the disaster to her first-born. Shemust be faced.

  George flared a torch to light the gloom: "But why should you go nearher, dearest? Let me do it. I'll take the children back. I'll see her.I'll get your boxes."

  Even the sweetest women trudge through life handicapped by thepreposterous burden of wishing to do what their sad little mindshold right. It is a load which, too firmly strapped, makes them dullcompanions on the highway.

  Mary said: "It wouldn't be _right_, dear. The children are in my charge;how could I send them back to their mother in the care of a strangeman? And it wouldn't be right to myself, either. It would look as if Iadmitted myself in the wrong. No; I must, must face her."

  George's torch guttered; gave gloom again. He tried a second: "Well,I'll come with you. That's a great idea. She won't dare say much whileI'm there."

  "Oh, it wouldn't be _right_, Georgie. You oughtn't to come to thehouse--to see her--after what you've done to the detestable Bob. No,I'll go alone and I'll go now. You shall come as far as the top of theroad and there wait."

  "And then?" George asked.

  This was to research the map for rest-houses and for fortunes that mightbe won after the ogre castle had been passed.

  Mary conned and peered until the strain squeezed a little moisture inher eyes. "I don't know," she said faintly.

  Her bold George had to know. "It won't be for very long, dear old girl.You must find another situation. Till then a lodging. I know a placewhere a man I know used to have digs. A jolly old landlady. I'll raisesome money--I'll borrow it."

  Mary tried to brighten. "Yes, and I'll go to that agency again. I must,because I shall have no character, you see. I'll tell her everythingquite truthfully, and I think she'll be nice."

  "It's no good waiting," George said. His voice had the sound of afuneral bell.

  Mary arose slowly, white. She said: "Come along."

  With a tumbril rumble in their ears, the children dancing ahead, theystarted for Palace Gardens.

  IV.

  The groans and curses of her adored Bob, his bulgy mouth and shuttingeyes, his tender nose and the encrimsoned water where he had layed hiswounds--these had so acted upon Mrs. Chater's nerves, plunged her intosuch vortex of hysteria, that the manner of her reception of Mary wastrue reflection of her fears, nothing dissembled.

&nb
sp; Withdrawing her agitated face from the dining-room window as Mary andthe children approached, she bounded heavily to the door; flung it ajar;collapsed to her knees upon the mat; clasped David and Angela to thatheaving bosom.

  "Safe!" she wailed. "Safe! Thank God, my little lambs are safe!"

  Distraught she swayed and hugged; kissed and moaned again.

  David pressed away. "You smell like whisky, mummie," he said.

  It was a dash of icy water on a fainting fit; wonderfully it strung thedemented woman's senses. She pushed her little lambs from her; fixedMary with awful eye.

  "So you've come back--_Miss?_"

  Mary quivered.

  "I wonder you dared. I wonder you had the boldness to face me afteryour wicked behaviour. You've got nothing to say for yourself. I'm notsurprised--"

  Mary began: "Mrs. Chater, I--"

  "Oh, how can you? How can you dare defend yourself? Never, never inall my born days have I met with such ingratitude; never have I beendeceived like this. I took you in. I felt sorry for you. I fed you,clothed you, cared for you, treated you as one of my own family; andthis is my reward. There you stand, unable to say a word--"

  "If you think, Mrs. Chater--"

  "Don't _speak_! I won't hear you. Here have I day after day beenentrusting my beloved lambs to your care, and heaven alone knows whatrisks they have run. My boy--my Bob, who would die rather than get aliving soul into trouble--sees you with this man you have been goingabout with. He does his duty to me, his mother, and to my preciouslambs, his brother and sister, by reproving you, and you set thisman--this low hired bully--upon him to murder him. I'll have the lawon the coward. I'll punish him and I'll punish you, miss. No wonder youwere frightened when my Bob caught you. No wonder."

  "That is untrue, Mrs. Chater."

  "Don't _speak!_"

  "I will speak. I shall speak. It is untrue."

  "You dare--"

  "It is a lie. Yes, I don't mind what I say when you speak to me likethat. It is a wicked lie."

  "Girl--!"

  "If your son told you he caught me with the man who thrashed him as hedeserved, he told you a lie. He never saw me with him. He followed meinto the Park this morning and tried to repeat what he did on Fridaynight. He is a coward and a cad. The man to whom I am engaged caught himat it and thrashed him as he deserved. There! Now you know the truth!"

  Very white, my ridiculous Mary pressed her hand to her panting breast;stopped, choked by the wild words that came tumbling up into her mouth.

  Very red, swelling and panting in turkey-cock fury, Mrs. Chater,towering, swallowed and gasped, breathless before this vixenish attack.

  But she was the first to find speech; and incoherently she stormed asat a scratching do those persons whose true selves lie beneath a tissuefilm of polish.

  She bubbled and panted: "Oh, you wicked girl!--oh, you wicked girl!--oh,you wicked girl!--bold as brass-calling me a liar--_me_--and mybattered boy--engaged indeed!--I'll have the law and the police andthe judges--my solicitors--libel and assault, and slander and attemptedmurder--boxes searched--my precious lambs to hear their mother spokento like this--get out of the hat-rack, David, and go upstairs thisinstant--Angela, don't stand there--if I wasn't a lady I'd box yourears, miss--only a week ago didn't I give you a black silk skirt ofmine?--and fed you like a princess, with a soft feather pillow too,because you said the bolster made your head ache--servants to wait onyou hand and foot--and this is my reward--how I keep my hands off youheaven only knows--but you shall suffer, miss--oh, yes you shall--I'llgive you in charge--I'll call a policeman."

  She turned towards the kitchen stairs; screamed "Susan! Kate! Jane!Susan!"

  Small need to bellow. Around the staircase corner three white-cappedheads--Kate holding back Susan, Susan restraining Jane, Jane holdingKate--had been with delighted eyes and straining ears bathing in thisrare scene. With glad unanimity they broke their restraint one upon theother; crushed pell-mell, hustling up the narrow stairs.

  Mrs. Chater plumped back into a chair; with huge hands fanned her heatedface. "Fetch a policeman!"

  They plunged for the door.

  Bob's swollen countenance came over the banisters. He roared "Stop!"

  Kate, Jane and Susan swung between the conflicting authorities.

  "Call a policeman! Summon a constable! Fetch an officer!" Ingusty breaths from behind Mrs. Chater's hands, working like a redpaddle-wheel, came the commands.

  "Stop!" roared Bob; and to enforce pushed forward the battered face tillit stuck out flat over the hall.

  His alarmed mother screamed: "Bob, you'll fall over the banisters!"

  The two kept up a battledore and shuttlecock of agitated conversation.

  "Well, stop those women!" Bob cried; "for God's sake, stop them, mother!What on earth are you thinking of?"

  "I'll give her in charge!"

  "You can't, you can't. Oh, my God, what a house this is!"

  "She called me a liar!"

  "You can't charge her for that."

  "She half murdered you!"

  "She never touched me. Why don't you do as I told you? Why don't yousend her away?"

  "Mercy, Bob! you'll fall and kill yourself!"

  "Do as I say, then! Do as I say!"

  "Well, put back your head! Put back your head."

  "Do as I say, then!"

  Mrs. Chater stopped the paddle-wheel; rose to her feet. Bob's ghastlyface drew in to safer limits. She addressed Mary: "Again my boy hasinterceded for you. Oh, how you must feel!" She addressed the maids: "Isher box packed?"

  They chorused "Yes"; pointed, and Mary saw her tin box, corded, setagainst the wall.

  "Call a cab," Mrs. Chater commanded; and as the whistle blew she turnedagain upon Mary.

  "Now, miss, you may go. I pack you off as you deserve. But before yougo--"

  The battered face shot out again above the banisters: "Pay her her wagesand send her away, mother. Do, for goodness' sake, send her away!"

  "Wages! Certainly not! Mercy! Your head again! Go back, Bob!"

  The maddened, pain-racked Bob bellowed: "Oh, stop it! stop it! I shallgo mad in a minute. She is entitled to her wages. Pay her."

  "I won't!"

  "Well, I will. Susan! Susan, come up here and take this money. How muchis it?"

  "She is not to be paid," Mrs. Chater trumpeted.

  "She is to be paid," bawled her son. "Do you want an action broughtagainst you? Oh, my God, what a house this is!"

  "My boy! You will fall! Very well, I'll pay her." Mrs. Chater turned toMary. "Again and yet again my son intercedes for you, miss. Oh, how youmust feel!" She grabbed around her dress for her pocket; found a purse;produced coins; banged them upon the table. "There!"

  And now my Mary, who had stood upright breasting these successivesurges, spoke her little fury.

  With a hand she swept the table, sending the coins flying this way andthat--with them a card salver, a vase, a pile of prayer-books. With herlittle foot she banged the floor.

  "I would not touch your money--your beastly money. You are contemptibleand vulgar, and I despise you. Mr. Chater, if you are a man youwill tell your mother why you were thrashed. Do you dare to say youinterfered because you found me with someone? Do you dare?"

  With masterly strategy Bob drove home a flank attack. To have affirmedhe did dare might lead to appalling outburst from this little vixen. Hesaid very quietly, as though moved by pity: "Please do not make mattersworse by blustering, Miss Humfray." He sighed: "I bear you no ill-will."

  My poor Mary allowed herself to be denuded of self-possession. His wordsput her control to flight; left her exposed. Tears started in her eyes.She made a little rush for the stairs. "Oh, you coward!" she cried. "Youcoward! I will make you say the truth."

  Would she have clutched the skirts of his dressing-gown, forgetting theproper modesty of a nice maiden, and dragged him down the stairs?Would she indelicately have pursued him to his very bedroom, and there,regardless of his scanty dress, have assaulted him? />
  Bob believed she would. It is so easy for the world's heroines to remaincalm against attack. My Mary was made of commoner stuff--the wretched,baser clay of which not I, but my neighbours, not you, but youracquaintances, are made.

  Bob believed she would. He cried, "Send her away! Why the devil don'tyou send her away?"; gathered his skirts; fled for the safety of alocked door.

  Mrs. Chater believed she would. Mrs. Chater plunged across the hall;stood, an impassable and panting guardian, upon the lowermost step. Heroutstretched arm stayed Mary; a voice announced, "The cab'm."

  My Mary stood a moment; little fists clenched, flashing eyes; blinkedagainst the premonition of a rush of tears; then, as they came, turnedfor the door.

  "Go!" trumpeted Mrs. Chater. "Go!"

  Mary was upon the mat when Angela and David made a little rush; caughther skirts. The alarming scenes had hurtled in sequence too rapid andtoo violent to be by the children understood. But a scrap here and ascrap there they had caught, retained, correctly interpreted; and thewhole, though it supplied no reason, told clearly that their adored Marywas going from them.

  "You're coming back soon, aren't you?" David cried.

  "You're not going away, are you, Miss Humf'ay?" implored Angela.

  Mrs. Chater shrilled: "Children, come away. Come here at once."

  Mary dropped one knee upon the mat; caught her arms about thechildren. She pressed a cool face against each side her wet and burningcountenance, gave kisses, and upon the added stress of this new emotionchoked: "Good-bye, little ducklings!"