Mr. Peplow was saved a reply by the appearance of Pope from the smoke-room. His voice came booming along the deck.
“Of course the trick failed,” he complained. “When you tell a man to draw a card and put it back, and he puts it in his pocket instead and disappears, the thing’s impossible. Where’s that doctor?”
“Time for me to disappear,” said Maloney. “I never attempt to defend an impossible position. Come down in my cabin and have a chat. Subject: — Dowagers and how to circumvent ’em.”
He disappeared, and Knight and Peplow, after a moment’s hesitation, followed.
The doctor’s subject was one that might have been of interest to Miss Mudge, who had been for some time suffering from the unwelcome chaperonage of Miss Flack. Miss Mudge would have been the first to admit that she came in for an undue amount of attention; what she would not admit was that she required any assistance in dealing with it. Besieged by the engine-room, the forecastle, and the steward’s pantry, she more than held her own — a fact which only increased the ardour of the victims.
At meal-times she was free. The deck was empty and the passengers below. At such times, with a book for use and some needlework for show, it was her practice to lead the way to the bows followed by some delighted seaman carrying a deck-chair. At lunch-time on the day following Mr. Pope’s card-tricks the chair of state was borne by Mr. Tarn, the boatswain. Not by happy chance, but owing to a few plain words aimed at a couple of hands who were hanging about waiting to perform the office instead of going on with their work.
“How’s that?” he inquired, planting the chair.
Miss Mudge arranged herself and let fall a ball of wool, which the boatswain pursued. He returned winding up the slack.
“The other side, I think,” said the girl, rising.
Mr. Tam made the adjustment, and, stroking a yellow moustache, stood watching her with a world of patient devotion in his fine blue eyes.
“Wonderful pleasant, ain’t it?” he ventured at last.
Miss Mudge yawned. “Rather boring,” she said. “Nothing seems to happen at sea.”
“But you’ve been ashore,” said the boatswain.
“Oh, yes, I’ve been ashore,” said the girl languidly, “but it isn’t like England, you know. I don’t call it civilised. I am not used to roughing it.”
“Anybody could see that — with half an eye,” said the boatswain. “The first time I see you, I says to the carpenter, ‘ That’s a dainty little piece o’ goods,’ I says.”
“And what did he say?” inquired Miss Mudge carelessly.
The boatswain was not prepared for the question. “It don’t matter what ‘e said,” he replied guardedly, “but I told ‘im if ever he said it agin I’d give him something for himself he’d remember all his lifetime.”
Miss Mudge’s languor disappeared. “I don’t like sailors,” she said tartly. “I suppose they have to go to sea because nobody will employ them ashore.”
“There’s sailormen and sailormen,” said the boatswain tenderly; “there’s me, and there’s the carpenter. Are you keeping company with anybody? I’m not.”
The girl shook her head and half-closed her eyes. “Certainly not,” she said slowly. “I don’t like men. Heaps and heaps have asked me, but I’ve always said ‘No.’ I prefer my liberty.”
The boatswain gazed at her with ardour. ‘ Perhaps you haven’t met the right one,” he said hopefully.
There was no reply, and he ventured a little closer. The second mate was on the bridge, a man of kindly nature and tolerant views. Moreover, he was out of earshot.
“Why don’t you come for’ard a bit oftener?” breathed the boatswain.
“Come forward? What for?” inquired the girl, bending over the stocking she was darning.
Mr. Tarn came a little closer still. “Ter see me,” he said tenderly.
“Phh! I see quite enough of you,” was the reply. “Besides, you’re the sort of man that looks best a long way off.”
The boatswain drew back, gasping. The little bit of broken looking-glass nailed to the side of his bunk told a much more flattering tale. He gazed at the fluffy head bent over its work and tried again.
“‘Sides which,” he said slowly, “there’s more breeze for’ard, and if there’s anything to see you see it fust, and — and — Why, your little shoe’s undone!”
He knelt down to adjust it, just as a sharp cough sounded from behind. He turned his head to see Mr. Markham emerging from the smoke-room.
“Pore stooard,” he said, as the butler approached; “he’s got a cold, ain’t he? Or p’r’aps it’s a fish-bone stuck in ‘is throat. Well, he ought to wait till they’ve finished.”
“You’ve no business talking to lady passengers, bo’sun,” said the butler sharply.
“You’re right, matey,” retorted Mr. Tam. “This ain’t bisness, it’s pleasure. I’m teaching the lady ‘ow to tie knots; she won’t undo this not if she tries for hours and hours.”
“What?” exclaimed the girl sharply.
“When you want to take ’em off,” said the boatswain, beaming at her as he rose to his feet, “you come to me. You come to me every morning to do ’em up and every night to undo ’em. Bless you, I like work. Here, I’ll darn that for you.”
“Bo’sun, you forget yourself,” cried the butler, as Miss Mudge drew back quickly.
“What, ain’t you gone yet?” inquired Mr. Tarn, with affected surprise. “What about washing up them plates and licking the grease off the knives? Don’t look like that; you’ll break something.”
“I wish you two would go away and quarrel somewhere else,” said the highly gratified Miss Mudge. “How do you think I can get on with my work?”
“What’s the matter?” inquired Mr. Biggs, who had just sidled up. “Are these men annoying you?”
“They make me nervous,” said Miss Mudge. “I’m so afraid there’ll be bloodshed.”
“Butler,” said Mr. Biggs gravely, “you ought to be below; your engines’ll stop if you neglect your stoking like this. I looked down through the skylight as I passed, and I saw the furnace-doors all open in a row waiting for you to shove your burnt-offerings into ’em.”
“I don’t want any of your vulgarity,” returned the butler hotly. “That’s not the way to speak of your master and his friends.”
“Get off to your duty, my man,” said Mr. Biggs. “I shouldn’t like you to lose your job — you’d never get another. And I was going to tell the bo’sun that the first officer wants a word with him, but I don’t think I will.” The boatswain, with a languishing glance, withdrew somewhat hastily, and Mr. Biggs, leaning against the side with his back to the butler, bent over Miss Mudge. Mr. Markham, after a short inward struggle, returned to his duties.
“You’ll cause a lot of trouble if you’re not careful,” said Biggs.
“Me?” said the girl plaintively. “I’m sure I can’t help it. You don’t think I want to be pestered out of my life by a parcel of silly men, do you? I’d much rather be alone. I don’t want to talk to anybody. I want to sit quiet.”
Her companion coughed. “The idea of the bo’sun worrying you with his silly talk!” he said, after a pause. “Cheek!”
“It’s no sillier than what I am used to,” said Miss Mudge resignedly. “He’s no worse than the others. I rather like him in a way; he reminds me of a friend of mine who’s a sailor. Leastways, he’s an engineer — a real engineer.”
“What do you mean by a ‘real’ engineer?” demanded Biggs, somewhat shortly.
“Why, a proper engineer,” replied the girl. “A gentleman who has got certificates and passed examinations, and all that sort of thing.”
Mr. Biggs controlled himself by an effort; experience had taught him the danger of displaying temper. He smiled loftily.
“There’s not much to learn in a ship’s engines,” he said. “I know about all there is to know already. But I shall stick to cars. The sea wouldn’t do for me; I’m fond of home.”
“But — but you might get married some day,” objected the girl.
“Well?” said the other, staring.
“And then it would be much nicer for everybody if you went to sea. I’m sure your wife would like it better.”
Mr. Biggs had another inward struggle, and the issue was still undecided when Albert, appearing at the door of the smoke-room, came slowly forward and sat down on the deck a couple of yards from them. The chauffeur glared at him in disgust, and a smothered exclamation broke from him as the boy drew a mouth-organ from his pocket and gave it a preparatory wipe on his sleeve.
“Run away,” growled Biggs.
Albert shook his head. “I’ve as much right to be here as what you have,” he said.
‘I’ve put the things straight in the smoke-room, and Mr. Markham said I could come out and amuse myself. What piece would you like?”
He put the instrument to his lips, and the strains of “A Life on the Ocean Wave” floated over the placid sea. His eyes were half-closed with the ecstasy of the artist, but nevertheless he kept a shrewd watch on the movements of the palpitating Mr. Biggs.
“Now you run off,” repeated Mr. Biggs, in a grim voice, when the boy had finished. “Run off, before you get hurt.”
“It don’t hurt me,” said Albert simply.
“It does me good. Dr. Maloney says that playing wind instruments is good for the lungs. He told me so yesterday.”
He raised the mouth-organ again and played “Home, Sweet Home” with variations and much feeling.
“Why don’t you go to the other end of the ship?” growled the infuriated chauffeur.
“‘Cos I like this end,” said Albert, finishing a passage. “Why don’t you go?”
Mr. Biggs looked at Miss Mudge, but that lady made no sign. Then, turning his head, he saw the butler standing in the doorway of the smoke-room. His hands were folded in front of him and a seraphic smile played over his features as he stood gazing over the everlasting sea.
CHAPTER XV
EXCEPT for an occasion on which Miss Mudge was lost at Colombo and was brought back to the ship by three Cingalese gentlemen in striped petticoats with their hair done up in a bun, the voyage progressed without incident. Between ports nothing happened to break the monotony of the days, and, in these circumstances, even the youngest and fairest began to attach an importance to meal-times that was totally lacking on shore. Some of the older members began to put on flesh, and Mr. Pope, confronted by the twin evils of corpulence and a liver that clamoured for attention, laid his case before the doctor.
“No good coming to me,” said Maloney brusquely; “you ought to see a magistrate.”
“Magistrate? What for?” demanded the other, staring.
“Six months’ hard labour,” replied the doctor. “I’ve seen your kind before. What you want me to do is to give you something in a bottle that will work miracles; an antidote for four heavy meals a day and strong cigars in between. How many old brandies did you have after dinner last night?”
“Two,” said Pope slowly. “There’s no need to look like that; you had three.”
“Absence of mind,” declared the doctor. “I was thinking out a problem in medical science. It might just as well have been water; I shouldn’t have known.”
“You work out problems every night, then,” said Pope, “and I’ve never seen you take water with them yet. It’s a bad example for a doctor to set; naturally other people think it is right to do what he does.”
“It’s wasting good breath on you to argue,” said Maloney, “and it’s wasting the best possible medical skill to try and treat you.”
“I’m going to be treated all the same, though,” declared Pope, breathing hard.
Maloney shrugged his shoulders. “All right; come along, then,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll mix you up a little bottle.”
“Will it do me any good?” inquired the patient.
“Not the least in the world,” was the reply. “It’s merely to put your mind at ease. Fortified with the mixture (two table-spoonfuls three times a day), you will indulge more than ever.”
“But I want to be treated properly,” protested Pope. “I want to get well.”
“Will you put yourself into my hands?” demanded the doctor.
Pope eyed him uneasily. “Of course,” he said at last, “with —
“No ‘withs,’” said the other sternly, “and no mental reservations. It’s a bad case, a case that most men would jib at, but if you promise to do exactly as I tell you I’ll undertake it.”
“I’ve always understood that any sudden change—” began Pope.
The doctor turned to Knight, who had just come up with Talwyn and Tollhurst. “He’s going to teach me my business now,” he said despairingly.
“All right,” said Pope gruffly, “do as you like.”
“You hear,” said Maloney, turning to the audience. “My patient has placed himself unreservedly in my hands. Two months’ treatment, and he will be a convert to the simple life. His taste for alcohol, tobacco, and strong meats will be entirely eradicated, and the dinner-bell will serve merely to remind him of past errors.”
Mr. Pope began his treatment the same day, and dined simply and healthfully off a pint of hot water. Conversation in his immediate neighbourhood languished, and it was a relief to all when he arose and, with unpleasant emphasis, announced his intention of going on deck for a mouthful of fresh air.
Conditions were relaxed next day. He breakfasted off dry toast, lunched off biscuits, and for dinner was allowed both, his sole reward consisting in the praise accorded to his strength of mind; praise chorused by his friends between savoury mouthfuls and brimming beakers.
Diet and exercise were the two principal remedies in the doctor’s medicine chest, and in arranging the latter to suit Mr. Pope’s wishes a little inconvenience was occasioned to others. The patient naturally objected to performing skipping and other exercises before an audience of candid, and in some cases outspoken, friends, and in these circumstances the doctor agreed to get up and superintend them at six in the morning.
“Everybody will be asleep at that time,” he said encouragingly, “except the crew, and they’ll be too busy washing decks to bother about you.”
Mr. Pope raised another objection.
“Cold water won’t hurt you,” said the doctor, “and for the lying down turn you can have a rug. There’s one beautiful exercise where you He on your back and describe circles with your legs. It’s the one Adonis used to do.”
Mr. Pope made a few remarks about Adonis which were mercifully carried away by the wind and sterilised by the ocean.
“If you rise at six and do your exercises,” said the doctor, regarding him steadfastly, “you shall have a slice of lean meat with your lunch; if you do them well you shall have another slice for dinner.”
Whether it was the promised reward or mere strength of mind, the patient quitted his bunk next morning at six o’clock, and in bare feet and purple pyjamas followed Maloney to the deck.
“A gentle walk round first,” said the doctor; “the wet is good for your feet.” They took a dozen turns and then, at his command, broke into a double. The officer on the bridge leaned over to watch them.
“Now for the exercises,” said the doctor, after four rounds. “Where’s that rug?”
He spread it on the deck behind the drawing-room and, lying on his back with his legs close together, raised them slowly and described circles in the air. Pope, still panting from his exertions, stood by watching coldly.
“Now you try,” said Maloney, springing up. “Flat on your back and your legs extended to begin with.”
“I’ve got a touch of lumbago this morning,” growled the patient.
“It’s a cure for lumbago,” was the reply. “Down you go.”
Mr. Pope got down and, the doctor having pressed his shoulders to the rug and walked all round, peering at him from different angles, commenced his instructions.
�
�At the word ‘One,’” he said slowly, “raise both feet from the deck. O-one! There’s no need for you to raise your head to look at them. Nobody wants to steal them. Now, begin again: ‘O-one!’ There’s nothing to giggle at!”
“I’m not giggling,” said Pope indignantly.
“You were making some fizzy noise,” said his instructor.” Keep your mouth shut and breathe through your nose. Now.”
Mr. Pope had completed three circles, and was half-way through the fourth, when the sound of a faint agonised moan brought his feet down and his head round with great swiftness. The form of Miss Blake disappeared around the corner of the drawing-room as though withdrawn by some powerful but invisible agency. Stifled sounds issued from within.
“Don’t take any notice of them,” counselled the doctor, as Pope, very red of face, scrambled to his feet.
“It was the pup-pup-pup-purple pies that upset me,” wailed the voice of Miss Blake-”Didn’t he — look — a dream! And his little pink to-to-toes waving in the air! Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!”
Judging by the inflection of the voices within, the sufferer was getting but scant sympathy. Maloney put his head in at the door and saw Knight and Peplow, with Miss Seacombe, gazing disdainfully at Miss Blake, whose face was buried in a sofa cushion.
“And what’s the meaning of it all?” demanded the doctor. “And why are you all up at this time?”
“Well, if you come to that, why are you up?” retorted Knight.
“Duty,” said the other. “I’m looking after my patient’s interests. He has now retreated to his cabin; and the exercises only just begun!”
“Well, let him do ’em in his cabin in future,” said Knight. “We don’t want purple acrobats first thing in the morning. It’s a disturbing influence.”
Maloney shook his head. “He’s going to do ’em on deck in the fresh air,” he said firmly.” You’ll have to get up later.”
Works of W. W. Jacobs Page 90