Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “Is furnishing part of your business?” inquired the girl, eyeing him in bewilderment.

  “Business?” said the other. “Oh, no. I did it for amusement. I chose and the captain paid. It was a delightful experience. The sordid question of price was waived; for once expense was nothing to me. I wish you’d just step up to your room and see how you like it. It’s the one over the kitchen.”

  Miss Drewitt hesitated, and then curiosity, combined with a cheerful idea of probably being able to disapprove of the lauded decorations, took her indoors and upstairs. In a few minutes she came down again.

  “I suppose it’s all right,” she said, ungraciously, “but I don’t understand why you should have selected it.”

  “I had to,” said Mr. Tredgold, confidentially. “I happened to go to Tollminster the same day as the captain and went into a shop with him. If you could only see the things he wanted to buy, you would understand.”

  The girl was silent.

  “The paper the captain selected for your room,” continued Mr. Tredgold, severely, “was decorated with branches of an unknown flowering shrub, on the top twig of which a humming-bird sat eating a dragonfly. A rough calculation showed me that every time you opened your eyes in the morning you would see fifty-seven humming-birds-all made in the same pattern-eating fifty-seven ditto dragon-flies. The captain said it was cheerful.”

  “I have no doubt that my uncle’s selection would have satisfied me,” said Miss Drewitt, coldly.

  “The curtains he fancied were red, with small yellow tigers crouching all over them,” pursued Mr. Tredgold. “The captain seemed fond of animals.”

  “I think that you were rather — venturesome,” said the girl. “Suppose that I had not liked the things you selected?”

  Mr. Tredgold deliberated. “I felt sure that you would like them,” he said, at last. “It was a hard struggle not to keep some of the things for myself. I’ve had my eye on those two Chippendale chairs for years. They belonged to an old woman in Mint Street, but she always refused to part with them. I shouldn’t have got them, only one of them let her down the other day.”

  “Let her down?” repeated Miss Drewitt, sharply. “Do you mean one of the chairs in my bedroom?”

  Mr. Tredgold nodded. “Gave her rather a nasty fall,” he said. “I struck while the iron was hot, and went and made her an offer while she was still laid up from the effects of it. It’s the one standing against the wall; the other’s all right, with proper care.”

  Miss Drewitt, after a somewhat long interval, thanked him.

  “You must have been very useful to my uncle,” she said, slowly. “I feel sure that he would never have bought chairs like those of his own accord.”

  “He has been at sea all his life,” said Mr. Tredgold, in extenuation. “You haven’t seen him for a long time, have you?”

  “Ten years,” was the reply.

  “He is delightful company,” said Mr. Tredgold. “His life has been one long series of adventures in every quarter of the globe. His stock of yarns is like the widow’s cruse. And here he comes,” he added, as a dilapidated fly drew up at the house and an elderly man, with a red, weatherbeaten face, partly hidden in a cloud of grey beard, stepped out and stood in the doorway, regarding the girl with something almost akin to embarrassment.

  “It’s not — not Prudence?” he said at length, holding out his hand and staring at her.

  “Yes, uncle,” said the girl.

  They shook hands, and Captain Bowers, reaching up for a cage containing a parrot, which had been noisily entreating the cabman for a kiss all the way from the station, handed that flustered person his fare and entered the house again.

  “Glad to see you, my lad,” he said, shaking hands with Mr. Tredgold and glancing covertly at his niece. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” he added, turning to the latter.

  “No,” said Miss Drewitt, regarding him with a puzzled air.

  “I missed the train,” said the captain. “We must try and manage better next time. I — I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

  “Thank you,” said the girl.

  “You — you are very like your poor mother,” said the captain.

  “I hope so,” said Prudence.

  She stole up to the captain and, after a moment’s hesitation, kissed his cheek. The next moment she was caught up and crushed in the arms of a powerful and affectionate bear.

  “Blest if I hardly knew how to take you at first,” said the captain, his red face shining with gratification. “Little girls are one thing, but when they grow up into” — he held her away and looked at her proudly— “into handsome and dignified-looking young women, a man doesn’t quite know where he is.” He took her in his arms again and, kissing her forehead, winked delightedly in the direction of Mr. Tredgold, who was affecting to look out of the window.

  “My man’ll be in soon,” he said, releasing the girl, “and then we’ll see about some tea. He met me at the station and I sent him straight off for things to eat.”

  “Your man?” said Miss Drewitt.

  “Yes; I thought a man would be easier to manage than a girl,” said the captain, knowingly. “You can be freer with ’em in the matter of language, and then there’s no followers or anything of that kind. I got him to sign articles ship-shape and proper. Mr. Tredgold recommended him.”

  “No, no,” said that gentleman, hastily.

  “I asked you before he signed on with me,” said the captain, pointing a stumpy forefinger at him. “I made a point of it, and you told me that you had never heard anything against him.”

  “I don’t call that a recommendation,” said Mr. Tredgold.

  “It’s good enough in these days,” retorted the captain, gloomily. “A man that has got a character like that is hard to find.”

  “He might be artful and keep his faults to himself,” suggested Tredgold.

  “So long as he does that, it’s all right,” said Captain Bowers. “I can’t find fault if there’s no faults to find fault with. The best steward I ever had, I found out afterwards, had escaped from gaol. He never wanted to go ashore, and when the ship was in port almost lived in his pantry.”

  “I never heard of Tasker having been in gaol,” said Mr. Tredgold. “Anyhow, I’m certain that he never broke out of one; he’s far too stupid.”

  As he paid this tribute the young man referred to entered laden with parcels, and, gazing awkwardly at the company, passed through the room on tiptoe and began to busy himself in the pantry. Mr. Tredgold, refusing the captain’s invitation to stay for a cup of tea, took his departure.

  “Very nice youngster that,” said the captain, looking after him. “A little bit light-hearted in his ways, perhaps, but none the worse for that.”

  He sat down and looked round at his possessions. “The first real home I’ve had for nearly fifty years,” he said, with great content. “I hope you’ll be as happy here as I intend to be. It sha’n’t be my fault if you’re not.”

  Mr. Tredgold walked home deep in thought, and by the time he had arrived there had come to the conclusion that if Miss Drewitt favoured her mother, that lady must have been singularly unlike Captain Bowers in features.

  CHAPTER II

  In less than a week Captain Bowers had settled down comfortably in his new command. A set of rules and regulations by which Mr. Joseph Tasker was to order his life was framed and hung in the pantry. He studied it with care, and, anxious that there should be no possible chance of a misunderstanding, questioned the spelling in three instances. The captain’s explanation that he had spelt those words in the American style was an untruthful reflection upon a great and friendly nation.

  Dialstone Lane was at first disposed to look askance at Mr. Tasker. Old-fashioned matrons clustered round to watch him cleaning the doorstep, and, surprised at its whiteness, withdrew discomfited. Rumour had it that he liked work, and scandal said that he had wept because he was not allowed to do the washing.

  The captain attributed
this satisfactory condition of affairs to the rules and regulations, though a slight indiscretion on the part of Mr. Tasker, necessitating the unframing of the document to add to the latter, caused him a little annoyance.

  The first intimation he had of it was a loud knocking at the front door as he sat dozing one afternoon in his easy-chair. In response to his startled cry of “Come in!” the door opened and a small man, in a state of considerable agitation, burst into the room and confronted him.

  “My name is Chalk,” he said, breathlessly.

  “A friend of Mr. Tredgold’s?” said the captain. “I’ve heard of you, sir.”

  The visitor paid no heed.

  “My wife wishes to know whether she has got to dress in the dark every afternoon for the rest of her life,” he said, in fierce but trembling tones.

  “Got to dress in the dark?” repeated the astonished captain.

  “With the blind down,” explained the other.

  Captain Bowers looked him up and down. He saw a man of about fifty nervously fingering the little bits of fluffy red whisker which grew at the sides of his face, and trying to still the agitation of his tremulous mouth.

  “How would you like it yourself?” demanded the visitor, whose manner was gradually becoming milder and milder. “How would you like a telescope a yard long pointing—”

  He broke off abruptly as the captain, with a smothered oath, dashed out of his chair into the garden and stood shaking his fist at the crow’s-nest at the bottom.

  “Joseph!” he bawled.

  “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Tasker, removing the telescope described by Mr. Chalk from his eye, and leaning over.

  “What are you doing with that spy-glass?” demanded his master, beckoning to the visitor, who had drawn near. “How dare you stare in at people’s windows?”

  “I wasn’t, sir,” replied Mr. Tasker, in an injured voice. “I wouldn’t think o’ such a thing — I couldn’t, not if I tried.”

  “You’d got it pointed straight at my bedroom window,” cried Mr. Chalk, as he accompanied the captain down the garden. “And it ain’t the first time.”

  “I wasn’t, sir,” said the steward, addressing his master. “I was watching the martins under the eaves.”

  “You’d got it pointed at my window,” persisted the visitor.

  “That’s where the nests are,” said Mr. Tasker, “but I wasn’t looking in at the window. Besides, I noticed you always pulled the blind down when you saw me looking, so I thought it didn’t matter.”

  “We can’t do anything without being followed about by that telescope,” said Mr. Chalk, turning to the captain. “My wife had our house built where it is on purpose, so that we shouldn’t be overlooked. We didn’t bargain for a thing like that sprouting up in a back-garden.”

  “I’m very sorry,” said the captain. “I wish you’d told me of it before. If I catch you up there again,” he cried, shaking his fist at Mr. Tasker, “you’ll remember it. Come down!”

  Mr. Tasker, placing the glass under his arm, came slowly and reluctantly down the ratlines.

  “I wasn’t looking in at the window, Mr. Chalk,” he said, earnestly. “I was watching the birds. O’ course, I couldn’t help seeing in a bit, but I always shifted the spy-glass at once if there was anything that I thought I oughtn’t—”

  “That’ll do,” broke in the captain, hastily. “Go in and get the tea ready. If I so much as see you looking at that glass again we part, my lad, mind that.”

  “I don’t suppose he meant any harm,” said the mollified Mr. Chalk, after the crestfallen Joseph had gone into the house. “I hope I haven’t been and said too much, but my wife insisted on me coming round and speaking about it.”

  “You did quite right,” said the captain, “and I thank you for coming. I told him he might go up there occasionally, but I particularly warned him against giving any annoyance to the neighbours.”

  “I suppose,” said Mr. Chalk, gazing at the erection with interest— “I suppose there’s a good view from up there? It’s like having a ship in the garden, and it seems to remind you of the North Pole, and whales, and Northern Lights.”

  Five minutes later Mr. Tasker, peering through the pantry window, was surprised to see Mr. Chalk ascending with infinite caution to the crow’s-nest. His high hat was jammed firmly over his brows and the telescope was gripped tightly under his right arm. The journey was evidently regarded as one of extreme peril by the climber; but he held on gallantly and, arrived at the top, turned a tremulous telescope on to the horizon.

  Mr. Tasker took a deep breath and resumed his labours. He set the table, and when the water boiled made the tea, and went down the garden to announce the fact. Mr. Chalk was still up aloft, and even at that height the pallor of his face was clearly discernible. It was evident to the couple below that the terrors of the descent were too much for him, but that he was too proud to say so.

  “Nice view up there,” called the captain.

  “B — b — beautiful,” cried Mr. Chalk, with an attempt at enthusiasm.

  The captain paced up and down impatiently; his tea was getting cold, but the forlorn figure aloft made no sign. The captain waited a little longer, and then, laying hold of the shrouds, slowly mounted until his head was above the platform.

  “Shall I take the glass for you?” he inquired.

  Mr. Chalk, clutching the edge of the cask, leaned over and handed it down.

  “My — my foot’s gone to sleep,” he stammered.

  “Ho! Well, you must be careful how you get down,” said the captain, climbing on to the platform. “Now, gently.”

  He put the telescope back into the cask, and, beckoning Mr. Tasker to ascend, took Mr. Chalk in a firm grasp and lowered him until he was able to reach Mr. Tasker’s face with his foot. After that the descent was easy, and Mr. Chalk, reaching ground once more, spent two or three minutes in slapping and rubing, and other remedies prescribed for sleepy feet.

  “There’s few gentlemen that would have come down at all with their foot asleep,” remarked Mr. Tasker, pocketing a shilling, when the captain’s back was turned.

  Mr. Chalk, still pale and shaking somewhat, smiled feebly and followed the captain into the house. The latter offered a cup of tea, which the visitor, after a faint protest, accepted, and taking a seat at the table gazed in undisguised admiration at the nautical appearance of the room.

  “I could fancy myself aboard ship,” he declared.

  “Are you fond of the sea?” inquired the captain.

  “I love it,” said Mr. Chalk, fervently. “It was always my idea from a boy to go to sea, but somehow I didn’t. I went into my father’s business instead, but I never liked it. Some people are fond of a stay-at-home life, but I always had a hankering after adventures.”

  The captain shook his head. “Ha!” he said, impressively.

  “You’ve had a few in your time,” said Mr. Chalk, looking at him, grudgingly; “Edward Tredgold was telling me so.”

  “Man and boy, I was at sea forty-nine years,” remarked the captain. “Naturally things happened in that time; it would have been odd if they hadn’t. It’s all in a lifetime.”

  “Some lifetimes,” said Mr. Chalk, gloomily. “I’m fifty-one next year, and the only thing I ever had happen to me was seeing a man stop a runaway horse and cart.”

  He shook his head solemnly over his monotonous career, and, gazing at a war-club from Samoa which hung over the fireplace, put a few leading questions to the captain concerning the manner in which it came into his possession. When Prudence came in half an hour later he was still sitting there, listening with rapt attention to his host’s tales of distant seas.

  It was the first of many visits. Sometimes he brought Mr. Tredgold and sometimes Mr. Tredgold brought him. The terrors of the crow’s-nest vanished before his persevering attacks, and perched there with the captain’s glass he swept the landscape with the air of an explorer surveying a strange and hostile country.

  It was a fitting prelud
e to the captain’s tales afterwards, and Mr. Chalk, with the stem of his long pipe withdrawn from his open mouth, would sit enthralled as his host narrated picturesque incidents of hairbreadth escapes, or, drawing his chair to the table, made rough maps for his listener’s clearer understanding. Sometimes the captain took him to palm-studded islands in the Southern Seas; sometimes to the ancient worlds of China and Japan. He became an expert in nautical terms. He walked in knots, and even ordered a new carpet in fathoms — after the shop-keeper had demonstrated, by means of his little boy’s arithmetic book, the difference between that measurement and a furlong.

  “I’ll have a voyage before I’m much older,” he remarked one afternoon, as he sat in the captain’s sitting-room. “Since I retired from business time hangs very heavy sometimes. I’ve got a fancy for a small yacht, but I suppose I couldn’t go a long voyage in a small one?”

  “Smaller the better,” said Edward Tredgold, who was sitting by the window watching Miss Drewitt sewing.

  Mr. Chalk took his pipe from his mouth and eyed him inquiringly.

  “Less to lose,” explained Mr. Tredgold, with a scarcely perceptible glance at the captain. “Look at the dangers you’d be dragging your craft into, Chalk; there would be no satisfying you with a quiet cruise in the Mediterranean.”

  “I shouldn’t run into unnecessary danger,” said Mr. Chalk, seriously. “I’m a married man, and there’s my wife to think of. What would become of her if anything happened to me?”

  “Why, you’ve got plenty of money to leave, haven’t you?” inquired Mr. Tredgold.

  “I was thinking of her losing me,” replied Mr. Chalk, with a touch of acerbity.

  “Oh, I didn’t think of that,” said the other. “Yes, to be sure.”

  “Captain Bowers was telling me the other day of a woman who wore widow’s weeds for thirty-five years,” said Mr. Chalk, impressively. “And all the time her husband was married again and got a big family in Australia. There’s nothing in the world so faithful as a woman’s heart.”