Blackkerchief Dick
Page 22
Joe did not speak, and after a while the other went on again; he spoke jerkily and his voice was very low.
“Sometimes I think I see her come in crying and him after her. That’s when I try to forget, but it’s no use, I can’t; she loved him, I reckon; I can’t forget that.”
Joe cleared his throat noisily.
“Why trouble yourself, lad?” he muttered. “She’s gone and he with her, and you’re here——”
“More’s the pity,” interrupted the other. “I have naught to make me want to stay.”
Joe leaned back and crossed his legs.
“Oh! I don’t know,” he said, “there’s the Ship; she’s your love—after—after Anny.”
Hal looked up quickly.
“The Ship?” he repeated slowly. “The Ship my love after Anny? Ay, maybe you’re right, mate, maybe you’re right; I had forgot her—ay, the Ship.” A slow smile spread over his face and he forgot to smoke.
“My love after Anny,” he kept repeating softly. “My love after Anny.”
And after Joe had gone home he sat long looking into the fire, the slow smile still on his lips, but later still, when his eyes fell again on the two groats, he picked them up tenderly and put them back in the cracked cup upon the mantel-shelf, and then, after carefully bolting the door, he took his candle and went up to bed.
On their way home Big French and Sue had to pass Nan Swayle’s cabin, and, as they came towards it, Red noticed the red baleful eyes of Ben the old tom-cat peering at them from behind the shed.
“Nan’s at home,” he said, hugging French’s hand, “and Ben’s bin whipt.”
The big man looked across at the lonely shanty.
“God be wi’ ye, Nan,” he shouted; his voice resounded over the silent marshes, and echoed round about the hut, but there was no reply.
French went nearer and knocked at the door.
“Are ye well, Nan?” he called.
Nan’s big booming voice replied and her usual greetings rang out through the door:
“Ay, God be wi’ ye, good swine.”
French laughed and they went on, and as they crossed the dark saltings to their home they heard her hail, expressing approval and friendliness, following them over the flats, loud, then soft, and finally trailing off into a long-drawn-out wail: “Rum, rum, rum—m—m.”
First published by Hodder and Stoughton Ltd 1923
The moral right of the author has been asserted
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © P & M Youngman Carter Ltd
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ISBN 9781448207022
eISBN: 9781448206933
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