Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “Went where?” inquired Mr. Stobell, who was not attending very much.

  “If she died, I mean,” said Mrs. Chalk, shortly.

  “We’ve all got to die some day,” said the philosophic Mr. Stobell. “She’s forty-six.”

  Mrs. Stobell interposed. “Not till September, Robert,” she said, almost firmly.

  “It wouldn’t be nice to be buried at sea,” remarked Mr. Chalk, contributing his mite to the discussion. “Of course, it’s very impressive; but to be left down there all alone while the ship sails on must be very hard.”

  Mrs. Stobell’s eyes began to get large. “I’m feeling quite well,” she gasped.

  “Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Chalk, with a threatening glance at her husband. “Of course, we know that. But a voyage would do you good. You can’t deny that.”

  Mrs. Stobell, fumbling for her handkerchief, said in a tremulous voice that she had no wish to deny it. Mr. Stobell, appealed to by the energetic Mrs. Chalk, admitted at once that it might do his wife good, but that it wouldn’t him.

  “We’re going to be three jolly bachelors,” he declared, and, first nudging Mr. Chalk to attract his attention, deliberately winked at him.

  “Oh, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Chalk, drawing herself up; “but you forget that I am coming.”

  “Two jolly bachelors, then,” said the undaunted Stobell.

  “No,” said Mrs. Chalk, shaking her head, “I am not going alone; if Mrs. Stobell can’t come I would sooner stay at home.”

  Mr. Stobell’s face cleared; his mouth relaxed and his dull eyes got almost kindly. With the idea of calling the attention of Mr. Chalk to the pleasing results of a little firmness he placed his foot upon that gentleman’s toe and bore heavily.

  “Best place for you,” he said to Mrs. Chalk. “There’s no place like home for ladies. You can have each other to tea every day if you like. In fact, there’s no reason — —” he paused and looked at his wife, half doubtful that he was conceding too much— “there’s no reason why you shouldn’t sleep at each other’s sometimes.”

  He helped himself to some cake and, rendered polite by good-nature, offered some to Mrs. Chalk.

  “Mind, I shall not go unless Mrs. Stobell goes,” said the latter, waving the plate away impatiently; “that I am determined upon.”

  Mr. Chalk, feeling that appearances required it, ventured on a mild — a very mild — remonstrance.

  “And he,” continued Mrs. Chalk, sternly, indicating her husband with a nod, “doesn’t go without me — not a single step, not an inch of the way.”

  Mr. Chalk collapsed and sat staring at her in dismay. Mr. Stobell, placing both hands on the table, pushed his chair back and eyed her disagreeably.

  “It seems to me — —” he began.

  “I know,” said Mrs. Chalk, speaking with some rapidity— “I know just how it seems to you. But that’s how it is. If you want my husband to go you have got to have me too, and if you have me you have got to have your wife, and if — —”

  “What, is there any more of you coming?” demanded Mr. Stobell, with great bitterness.

  Mrs. Chalk ignored the question. “My husband wouldn’t be happy without me,” she said, primly. “Would you, Thomas?”

  “No,” said Mr. Chalk, with a gulp.

  “We — we’re going a long way,” said Mr. Stobell, after a long pause.

  “Longer the better,” retorted Mrs. Chalk.

  “We’re going among savages,” continued Mr. Stobell, casting about for arguments; “cannibal savages.”

  “They won’t eat her,” said Mrs. Chalk, with a passing glance at the scanty proportions of her friend, “not while you’re about.”

  “I don’t like to take my wife into danger,” said Mr. Stobell, with surly bashfulness; “I’m — I’m too fond of her for that. And she don’t want to come. Do you, Alice?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Stobell, dutifully, “but I want to share your dangers, Robert.”

  “Say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ without any trimmings,” commanded her husband, as he intercepted a look passing between her and Mrs. Chalk. “Do-you-want-to- come?”

  Mrs. Stobell trembled. “I don’t want to prevent Mr. Chalk from going,” she murmured.

  “Never mind about him,” said Mr. Stobell.

  “Do — you — want — to — come.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Stobell.

  Her husband, hardly able to believe his ears, gazed at her in bewilderment. “Very well, then,” he said, in a voice that made the tea-cups rattle. “COME!”

  He sat with bent brows gazing at the table as Mrs. Chalk, her face wreathed in triumphant smiles, began to discuss yachting costumes and other necessities of ocean travel with the quivering Mrs. Stobell. Unable to endure it any longer he rose and, in a voice by no means alluring, invited Mr. Chalk into the garden to smoke a pipe; Mr. Chalk, helping himself to two pieces of cake as evidence, said that he had not yet finished his tea. Owing partly to lack of appetite and partly to the face which Mr. Stobell pressed to the window every other minute to entice him out, he made but slow progress.

  The matter was discussed next day as they journeyed down to Biddlecombe with Mr. Tredgold to complete the purchase of the schooner, the views of the latter gentleman coinciding so exactly with those of Mr. Stobell that Mr. Chalk was compelled to listen to the same lecture twice.

  Under this infliction his spirits began to droop, nor did they revive until, from the ferry-boat, his eyes fell upon the masts of the Fair Emily, and the trim figure of Captain Brisket standing at the foot of the steps awaiting their arrival.

  “We’ve had a stroke of good luck, gentlemen,” said Brisket, in a husky whisper, as they followed him up the steps. “See that man?”

  He pointed to a thin, dismal-looking man, standing a yard or two away, who was trying to appear unconscious of their scrutiny.

  “Peter Duckett,” said Brisket, in the same satisfied whisper.

  Mr. Stobell, ever willing for a free show, stared at the dismal man and groped in the recesses of his memory. The name seemed familiar.

  “The man who ate three dozen hard-boiled eggs in four minutes?” he asked, with a little excitement natural in the circumstances.

  Captain Brisket stared at him. “No; Peter Duckett, the finest mate that ever sailed,” he said, with a flourish. “We’re lucky to have the chance of getting him, I can tell you. To see him handle sailormen is a revelation; to see him handle a ship — —”

  He broke off and shook his head with the air of a man who despaired of doing justice to his subject. “These are the gentlemen, Peter,” he said, introducing them with a wave of his hand.

  Mr. Duckett raised his cap, and tugging at a small patch of reddish-brown hair strangely resembling a door-mat in texture, which grew at the base of his chin, cleared his throat and said it was a fine morning.

  “Not much of a talker is Peter,” said the genial Brisket. “He’s a doer; that’s what he is-a doer. Now, if you’re willing — and I hope you are — he’ll come aboard with us and talk the matter over.”

  This proposition being assented to after a little delay on the part of Mr. Stobell, who appeared to think Mr. Duckett’s lack of connection with the hard-boiled eggs somewhat suspicious, they proceeded to Todd’s Wharf and made a thorough inspection of the schooner. Mr. Chalk’s eyes grew bright and his step elastic. He roamed from forecastle to cabin and from cabin to galley, and, his practice with the crow’s-nest in Dialstone Lane standing him in good stead, wound up by ascending to the masthead and waving to his astonished friends below.

  Mr. Todd came on board as he regained the deck, and, stroking his white beard, regarded him with an air of benevolent interest.

  “There’s no ill-feeling,” he said, as Mr. Chalk eyed his outstretched hand somewhat dubiously. “You’re a hard nut, that’s what you are, and I pity anybody that has the cracking of you. A man that could come and offer me seventy pounds for a craft like this — seventy pounds, mind you,” he added, with a risi
ng colour, as he turned to the others “seventy pounds, and a face like a baby. Why, when I think of it, DAMME IF I

  DON’T — —”

  Captain Brisket laid his hand on his arm and with soothing words led him below. His voice was heard booming in the cabin until at length it ended in a roar of laughter, and Captain Brisket, appearing at the companion, beckoned them below, with a whispered injunction to Mr. Chalk to keep as much in the background as possible.

  The business was soon concluded, and Mr. Chalk’s eye brightened again as he looked on his new property. Captain Brisket, in high good-humour, began to talk of accommodation, and, among other things, suggested a scheme of cutting through the bulkhead at the foot of the companion- ladder and building a commodious cabin with three berths in the hold.

  “There are two ladies coming,” said Mr. Chalk.

  Captain Brisket rubbed his chin. “I’d forgotten that,” he said, slowly. “Two, did you say?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Stobell, fixing him with his left eye and slowly veiling the right. “You go on with them alterations. One of the ladies can have your state-room and the other the mate’s bunk.”

  “Where are Captain Brisket and the mate to sleep?” inquired Mr. Chalk.

  “Anywhere,” replied Mr. Stobell. “With the crew if they like.”

  Captain Brisket, looking suddenly very solemn, shook his head and said that it was impossible. He spoke in moving terms of the danger to discipline, and called upon Mr. Duckett to confirm his fears. Meantime, Mr. Stobell, opening his right eye slowly, winked with the left.

  “You go on with them alterations,” he repeated.

  Captain Brisket started and reflected. A nod from Mr. Tredgold and a significant gesture in the direction of the unconscious Mr. Chalk decided him. “Very good, gentlemen,” he said, cheerfully. “I’m in your hands, and Peter Ducket’ll do what I do. It’s settled he’s coming, I suppose?”

  Mr. Tredgold, after a long look at the anxious face of Mr. Duckett, said “Yes,” and then at Captain Brisket’s suggestion the party adjourned to the Jack Ashore, where in a little room upstairs, not much larger than the schooner’s cabin, the preparations for the voyage were discussed in detail.

  “And mind, Peter,” said Captain Brisket to his friend, as the pair strolled along by the harbour after their principals had departed, “the less you say about this the better. We don’t want any Biddlecombe men in it.”

  “Why not?” inquired the other.

  “Because,” replied Brisket, lowering his voice, “there’s more in this than meets the eye. They’re not the sort to go on a cruise to the islands for pleasure — except Chalk, that is. I’ve been keeping my ears open, and there’s something afoot. D’ye take me?”

  Mr. Duckett nodded shrewdly.

  “I’ll pick a crew for ’em,” said Brisket. “A man here and a man there. Biddlecombe men ain’t tough enough. And now, what about that whisky you’ve been talking so much about?”

  CHAPTER XIII

  Further secrecy as to the projected trip being now useless, Mr. Tredgold made the best of the situation and talked freely concerning it. To the astonished Edward he spoke feelingly of seeing the world before the insidious encroachments of age should render it impossible; to Captain Bowers, whom he met in the High Street, he discussed destinations with the air of a man whose mind was singularly open on the subject. If he had any choice it appeared that it was in the direction of North America.

  “You might do worse,” said the captain, grimly.

  “Chalk,” said Mr. Tredgold, meditatively “Chalk favours the South. I think that he got rather excited by your description of the islands there. He is a very—”

  “If you are going to try and find that island I spoke about,” interrupted the captain, impatiently, “I warn you solemnly that you are wasting both your time and your money. If I had known of this voyage I would have told you so before. If you take my advice you’ll sell your schooner and stick to business you understand.”

  Mr. Tredgold laughed easily. “We may look for it if we go that way,” he said. “I believe that Chalk has bought a trowel, in case we run up against it. He has got a romantic belief in coincidences, you know.”

  “Very good,” said the captain, turning away. “Only don’t blame me, whatever happens. You can’t say I have not warned you.”

  He clutched his stick by the middle and strode off down the road. Mr. Tredgold, gazing after his retreating figure with a tolerant smile, wondered whether he would take his share of the treasure when it was offered to him.

  The anxiety of Miss Vickers at this period was intense. Particulars of the purchase of the schooner were conveyed to her by letter, but the feminine desire of talking the matter over with somebody became too strong to be denied. She even waylaid Mr. Stobell one evening, and, despite every discouragement, insisted upon walking part of the way home with him. He sat for hours afterwards recalling the tit-bits of a summary of his personal charms with which she had supplied him.

  Mr. Chalk spent the time in preparations for the voyage, purchasing, among other necessaries, a stock of firearms of all shapes and sizes, with which he practised in the garden. Most marksmen diminish gradually the size of their target; but Mr. Chalk, after starting with a medicine-bottle at a hundred yards, wound up with the greenhouse at fifteen. Mrs. Chalk, who was inside at the time tending an invalid geranium, acted as marker, and, although Mr. Chalk proved by actual measurement that the bullet had not gone within six inches of her, the range was closed.

  By the time the alterations on the Fair Emily were finished the summer was nearly at an end, and it was not until the 20th of August that the travellers met on Binchester platform. Mrs. Chalk, in a smart yachting costume, with a white-peaked cap, stood by a pile of luggage discoursing to an admiring circle of friends who had come to see her off. She had shut up her house and paid off her servants, and her pity for Mrs. Stobell, whose husband had forbidden such a course in her case, provided a suitable and agreeable subject for conversation. Mrs. Stobell had economised in quite a different direction, and Mrs. Chalk gazed in indignant pity at the one small box and the Gladstone bag which contained her wardrobe.

  “She don’t want to dress up on shipboard,” said Mr. Stobell.

  Mrs. Chalk turned and eyed her friend’s costume — a plain tweed coat and skirt, in which she had first appeared the spring before last.

  “If we’re away a year,” she said, decidedly, “she’ll be in rags before we get back.”

  Mr. Stobell said that fortunately they would be in a warm climate, and turned to greet the Tredgolds, who had just arrived. Then the train came in, and Mr. Chalk, appearing suddenly from behind the luggage, where he had been standing since he had first caught sight of the small, anxious face of Selina Vickers on the platform, entered the carriage and waved cheery adieus to Binchester.

  To the eyes of Mr. Chalk and his wife Biddlecombe appeared to have put on holiday attire for the occasion. With smiling satisfaction they led the way to the ferry, Mrs. Chalk’s costume exciting so much attention that the remainder of the party hung behind to watch Edward Tredgold fasten his bootlace. It took two boats to convey the luggage to the schooner, and the cargo of the smaller craft shifting in mid-stream, the boatman pulled the remainder of the way with a large portion of it in his lap. Unfortunately, his mouth was free.

  Mr. Chalk could not restrain a cry of admiration as he clambered on board the Fair Emily. The deck was as white as that of a man-of-war, and her brass-work twinkled in the sun. White paint work and the honest and healthy smell of tar completed his satisfaction. His chest expanded as he sniffed the breeze, and with a slight nautical roll paced up and down the spotless deck.

  “And now,” said Captain Brisket, after a couple of sturdy seamen had placed the men’s luggage in the new cabin, “which of you ladies is going to have my state-room, and which the mate’s bunk?”

  Mrs. Chalk started; she had taken it for granted that she was to have the state
-room. She turned and eyed her friend anxiously.

  “The bunk seems to get the most air,” said Mrs. Stobell. “And it’s nearer the ladder in case of emergencies.”

  “You have it, dear,” said Mrs. Chalk, tenderly. “I’m not nervous.”

  “But you are so fond of fresh air,” said Mrs. Stobell, with a longing glance at the state-room. “I don’t like to be selfish.”

  “You’re not,” said Mrs. Chalk, with conviction.

  “Chalk and I will toss for it,” said Mr. Stobell, who had been listening with some impatience. He spun a coin in the air, and Mr. Chalk, winning the bunk for his indignant wife, was at some pains to dilate upon its manifold advantages. Mrs. Stobell, with a protesting smile, had her things carried into the state-room, while Mrs. Chalk stood by listening coldly to plans for putting her heavy luggage in the hold.

  “What time do we start?” inquired Tredgold senior, moving towards the companion-ladder.

  “Four o’clock, sir,” replied Brisket.

  Mr. Stobell, his heavy features half-lit by an unwonted smile, turned and surveyed his friends. “I’ve ordered a little feed at the King of Hanover at half-past one,” he said, awkwardly. “We’ll be back on board by half-past three, captain.”

  Captain Brisket bowed, and the party were making preparations for departure when a hitch was caused by the behaviour of Mrs. Chalk, who was still brooding over the affair of the state-room. In the plainest of plain terms she declared that she did not want any luncheon and preferred to stay on board. Her gloom seemed to infect the whole party, Mr. Stobell in particular being so dejected that his wife eyed him in amazement.

  “It’ll spoil it for all of us if you don’t come,” he said, with bashful surliness. “Why, I arranged the lunch more for you than anybody. It’ll be our last meal on shore.”