The Money Moon: A Romance

by Jeffery Farnol

  CHAPTER XIV

  _Which, among, other things, has to do with shrimps, muffins, and tinwhistles_

  A typical Kentish Village is Dapplemere with its rows of scatteredcottages bowered in roses and honeysuckle,--white walled cottages withsteep-pitched roofs, and small latticed windows that seem to stare atall and sundry like so many winking eyes.

  There is an air redolent of ripening fruit, and hops, for Dapplemere isa place of orchards, and hop-gardens, and rick-yards, while, here andthere, the sharp-pointed, red-tiled roof of some oast-house piercesthe green.

  Though Dapplemere village is but a very small place indeed,now-a-days,--yet it possesses a church, grey and ancient, whose massiveNorman tower looks down upon gable and chimney, upon roof of thatch androof of tile, like some benignant giant keeping watch above them all.Near-by, of course, is the inn, a great, rambling, comfortable place,with time-worn settles beside the door, and with a mighty signa-swinging before it, upon which, plainly to be seen (when the suncatches it fairly) is that which purports to be a likeness of HisMajesty King William the Fourth, of glorious memory. But alas! thecolours have long since faded, so that now, (upon a dull day), it is amoot question whether His Majesty's nose was of the Greek, or Romanorder, or, indeed, whether he was blessed with any nose at all. Thus,Time and Circumstances have united to make a ghost of the likeness (asthey have done of the original, long since) which, fading yet more, andmore, will doubtless eventually vanish altogether,--like King Williamhimself, and leave but a vague memory behind.

  Now, before the inn was a small crowd gathered about a trap in which sattwo men, one of whom Bellew recognised as the rednecked Corn-chandlerGrimes, and the other, the rat-eyed Parsons.

  The Corn-chandler was mopping violently at his face and neck down whichran, and to which clung, a foamy substance suspiciously like the frothof beer, and, as he mopped, his loud brassy voice shook and quaveredwith passion.

  "I tell ye--you shall get out o' my cottage!" he was saying, "I say youshall quit my cottage at the end o' the month,--and when I says a thing,I means it,--I say you shall get off of my property,--you--and thatbeggarly cobbler. I say you shall be throwed out o' my cottage,--lock,stock, and barrel. I say--"

  "I wouldn't, Mr. Grimes,--leastways, not if I was you," another voicebroke in, calm and deliberate. "No, I wouldn't go for to say anotherword, sir; because, if ye do say another word, I know a man as will dragyou down out o' that cart, sir,--I know a man as will break your whipover your very own back, sir,--I know a man as will then take and heaveyou into the horse-pond, sir,--and that man is me--Sergeant Appleby,late of the Nineteenth Hussars, sir."

  The Corn-chandler having removed most of the froth from his head andface, stared down at the straight, alert figure of the big Sergeant,hesitated, glanced at the Sergeant's fist which, though solitary, waslarge, and powerful, scowled at the Sergeant from his polished boots tothe crown of his well-brushed hat (which perched upon his close-cropped,grey hair at a ridiculous angle totally impossible to any but anex-cavalry-man), muttered a furious oath, and snatching his whip, cutviciously at his horse, very much as if that animal had been theSergeant himself, and, as the trap lurched forward, he shook his fist,and nodded his head.

  "Out ye go,--at the end o' the month,--mind that!" he snarled and so,rattled away down the road still mopping at his head and neck until hehad fairly mopped himself out of sight.

  "Well, Sergeant," said Bellew extending his hand, "how are you!"

  "Hearty, sir,--hearty I thank you, though, at this precise moment, justa leetle put out, sir. None the less I know a man as is happy to seeyou, Mr. Bellew, sir,--and that's me--Sergeant Appleby, at your service,sir. My cottage lies down the road yonder, an easy march--if you willstep that far?--Speaking for my comrade and myself--we shall be proudfor you to take tea with us--muffins sir--shrimps, Mr. Bellew--also apikelet or two.--Not a great feast--but tolerable good rations, sir--andplenty of 'em--what do you say?"

  "I say--done, and thank you very much!"

  So, without further parley, the Sergeant saluted divers of the littlecrowd, and, wheeling sharply, strode along beside Bellew, rather morestiff in the back, and fixed of eye than was his wont, and jingling hisimaginary spurs rather more loudly than usual.

  "You will be wondering at the tantrums of the man Grimes, sir,--of hisordering me and my comrade Peterday out of his cottage. Sir--I'll tellyou--in two words. It's all owing to the sale--up at the Farm, sir. Yousee, Grimes is a great hand at buying things uncommonly cheap, andselling 'em--uncommonly dear. To-day it seems--he was disappointed--"

  "Ah?" said Bellew.

  "At exactly--twenty-three minutes to six, sir," said the Sergeant,consulting his large silver watch, "I were sitting in my usualcorner--beside the chimley, sir,--when in comes Grimes--like athunder-cloud.--Calls for a pint of ale--in a tankard. Tom drawspint--which Tom is the landlord, sir. 'Buy anything at the sale, Mr.Grimes?' says Tom,--'Sale!' says Grimes, 'sale indeed!' and falls acursing--folk up at the Farm--shocking--outrageous. Ends by threateningto foreclose mortgage--within the month. Upon which--I raise aprotest--upon which he grows abusive,--upon which I was forced to pourhis ale over him,--after which I ran him out into the road--and there itis, you see."

  "And--he threatened to foreclose the mortgage on Dapplemere Farm, didhe, Sergeant!"

  "Within the month, sir!--upon which I warned him--inn parlour noplace--lady's private money troubles--gaping crowd--dammit!"

  "And so he is turning you out of his cottage?"

  "Within the week, sir,--but then--beer down the neck--is ratherunpleasant!" and here the Sergeant uttered a short laugh, and wasimmediately grave again. "It isn't," he went on, "it isn't as _I_ mindthe inconvenience of moving, sir--though I shall be mighty sorry toleave the old place, still, it isn't that so much as the small cornercup-board, and my bookshelf by the chimley. There never was such acup-board,--no sir,--there never was a cup-board so well calculated tohold a pair o' jack boots, not to mention spurs, highlows, burnishers,shoulder-chains, polishing brushes, and--a boot-jack, as that same smallcorner cup-board. As for the book-shelf beside the chimley,sir--exactly three foot three,--sunk in a recess--height, the thirdbutton o' my coat,--capacity, fourteen books. You couldn't get anotherbook on that shelf--no, not if you tried with a sledge-hammer, or ahydraulic engine. Which is highly surprising when you consider thatfourteen books is the true, and exact number of books as I possess."

  "Very remarkable!" said Bellew.

  "Then again,--there's my comrade,--Peter Day (The Sergeant pronounced itas though it were all one word). Sir, my comrade Peterday is a veryremarkable man,--most cobblers are. When he's not cobbling, he'sreading,--when not reading, he's cobbling, or mending clocks, andwatches, and, betwixt this and that, my comrade has picked up a power ofinformation,--though he lost his leg a doing of it--in a gale ofwind--off the Cape of Good Hope, for my comrade was a sailor, sir.Consequently he is a handy man, most sailors are and makes his ownwooden legs, sir, he is also a musician--the tin whistle, sir,--andhere we are!"

  Saying which, the Sergeant halted, wheeled, opened a very small gate,and ushered Bellew into a very small garden bright with flowers, beyondwhich was a very small cottage indeed, through the open door of whichthere issued a most appetizing odour, accompanied by a whistle,wonderfully clear, and sweet, that was rendering "Tom Bowling" with manyshakes, trills, and astonishing runs.

  Peterday was busied at the fire with a long toasting-fork in his hand,but, on their entrance, breaking off his whistling in the very middle ofa note, he sprang nimbly to his feet, (or rather, his foot), and stoodrevealed as a short, yet strongly built man, with a face that, in oneway, resembled an island in that it was completely surrounded by hair,and whisker. But it was, in all respects, a vastly pleasant island tobehold, despite the somewhat craggy prominences of chin, and nose, andbrow. In other words, it was a pleasing face notwithstanding the fierce,thick eye-brows which were more than offset by the merry blue eyes, andthe broad, humourous mouth below.

/>   "Peterday," said the Sergeant, "Mr. Bel-lew!"

  "Glad to see you sir," said the mariner, saluting the visitor with aquick bob of the head, and a backward scrape of the wooden leg. "Youcouldn't make port at a better time, sir,--and because why?--because thekettle's a biling, sir, the muffins is piping hot, and the shrimps isa-laying hove to, waiting to be took aboard, sir." Saying which,Peterday bobbed his head again, shook his wooden leg again, and turnedaway to reach another cup and saucer.

  It was a large room for so small a cottage, and comfortably furnished,with a floor of red tile, and with a grate at one end well raised upfrom the hearth. Upon the hob a kettle sang murmurously, and on a trivetstood a plate whereon rose a tower of toasted muffins. A round tableoccupied the middle of the floor and was spread with a snowy clothwhereon cups and saucers were arranged, while in the midst stood a greatbowl of shrimps.

  Now above the mantel-piece, that is to say, to the left of it, andfastened to the wall, was a length of rope cunningly tied into what iscalled a "running bowline," above this, on a shelf specially contrivedto hold it, was the model of a full-rigged ship that was--to allappearances--making excellent way of it, with every stitch of canvas setand drawing, alow and aloft; above this again, was a sextant, and atelescope. Opposite all these, upon the other side of the mantel, were apair of stirrups, three pairs of spurs, two cavalry sabres, and acarbine, while between these objects, in the very middle of the chimney,uniting, as it were, the Army, and the Navy, was a portrait ofQueen Victoria.

  Bellew also noticed that each side of the room partook of the samecharacteristics, one being devoted to things nautical, the other toobjects military. All this Bellew noticed while the soldier was brewingthe tea, and the sailor was bestowing the last finishing touches tothe muffins.

  "It aren't often as we're honoured wi' company, sir," said Peterday, asthey sat down, "is it, Dick?"

  "No," answered the Sergeant, handing Bellew the shrimps.

  "We ain't had company to tea," said Peterday, passing Bellew themuffins, "no, we ain't had company to tea since the last time MissAnthea, and Miss Priscilla honoured us, have we, Dick?"

  "Honoured us," said the Sergeant, nodding his head approvingly, "is theone, and only word for it, Peterday."

  "And the last time was this day twelve months, sir,--becausewhy?--because this day twelve months 'appened to be Miss Priscilla'sbirthday,--consequently to-day is her birthday, likewise,--wherefore themuffins, and wherefore the shrimps, sir, for they was this day to haveonce more graced our board, Mr. Bellew."

  "'Graced our board,'" said the Sergeant, nodding his head again,"'graced our board,' is the only expression for it, Peterday. But theydisappointed us, Mr. Bellew, sir,--on account of the sale."

  "Messmate," said Peterday, with a note of concern in his voice, "how'sthe wind?"

  "Tolerable, comrade, tolerable!"

  "Then--why forget the tea?"

  "Tea!" said the Sergeant with a guilty start, "why--so I am!--Mr. Bellewsir,--your pardon!" and, forthwith he began to pour out the tea verysolemnly, but with less precision of movement than usual, and withabstracted gaze.

  "The Sergeant tells me you are a musician," said Bellew, as Peterdayhanded him another muffin.

  "A musician,--me! think o' that now! To be sure, I do toot on the tinwhistle now and then, sir, such things as 'The British Grenadiers,' andthe 'Girl I left behind me,' for my shipmate, and 'The Bay o' Biscay,'and 'A Life on the Ocean Wave,' for myself,--but a musician, Lord! Yesee, sir," said Peterday, taking advantage of the Sergeant'sabstraction, and whispering confidentially behind his muffin, "thatmessmate o' mine has such a high opinion o' my gifts as is fairover-powering, and a tin whistle is only a tin whistle, after all."

  "And it is about the only instrument I could ever get the hang of," saidBellew.

  "Why--do you mean as you play, sir?"

  "Hardly that, but I make a good bluff at it."

  "Why then,--I've got a couple o' very good whistles,--if you're sominded we might try a doo-et, sir, arter tea."

  "With pleasure!" nodded Bellew. But, hereupon, Peterday noticing thatthe Sergeant ate nothing, leaned over and touched him upon the shoulder.

  "How's the wind, now, Shipmate?" he enquired.

  "Why so so, Peterday, fairish! fairish!" said the Sergeant, stirring histea round and round, and with his gaze fixed upon the opposite wall.

  "Then messmate,--why not a muffin, or even a occasional shrimp,--wherebe your appetite?"

  "Peterday," said the Sergeant, beginning to stir his tea faster thanever, and with his eyes still fixed, "consequent upon disparagingremarks having been passed by one Grimes,--our landlord,--concerningthem as should not be mentioned in a inn parlour--or anywhere else--bysuch as said Grimes,--I was compelled to pour--a tankard of beer--oversaid Grimes, our landlord,--this arternoon, Peterday, at exactly--twelveand a half minutes past six, by my watch,--which done,--I ran ourlandlord--out into the road, Peterday, say--half a minute later, whichwould make it precisely thirteen minutes after the hour. Consequent uponwhich, comrade--we have received our marching orders."

  "What messmate, is it heave our anchor, you mean?"

  "I mean, comrade--that on Saturday next, being the twenty-fifthinstant,--we march out--bag and baggage--horse, foot, and artillery,--weevacuate our position--in face of superior force,--for good andall, comrade."

  "Is that so, shipmate?"

  "It's rough on you, Peterday--it's hard on you, I'll admit, but thingswere said, comrade--relative to--business troubles of one as we bothrespect, Peterday,--things was said as called for--beer down theneck,--and running out into the road, comrade. But it's rough on you,Peterday seeing as you--like the Hussars at Assuan--was never engaged,so to speak."

  "Aye, aye, Shipmate, that does ketch me,--all aback, shipmate. Why Lord!I'd give a pound,--two pound--ah, ten!--just to have been astarn of himwi' a rope's end,--though--come to think of it I'd ha' preferred acapstan-bar."

  "Peterday," said the Sergeant removing his gaze from the wall with ajerk, "on the twenty-fifth instant we shall be--without a roof to coverus, and--all my doing. Peterday--what have you to say about it?"

  "Say, messmate,--why that you and me, honouring, and respecting twoladies as deserves to be honoured, and respected, ain't going to letsuch a small thing as this here cottage come betwixt us, and ourhonouring and respecting of them two ladies. If, therefore, we are dueto quit this anchorage, why then it's all hands to the windlass with aheave yo ho, and merrily! say I. Messmate,--my fist!" Hereupon, with avery jerky movement indeed, the Sergeant reached out his remaining arm,and the soldier and the sailor shook hands very solemnly over themuffins (already vastly diminished in number) with a grip thatspoke much.

  "Peterday,--you have lifted a load off my heart--I thank yecomrade,--and spoke like a true soldier. Peterday--the muffins!"

  So now the Sergeant, himself once more, fell to in turn, and they ate,and drank, and laughed, and talked, until the shrimps were all gone, andthe muffins were things of the past.

  And now, declining all Bellew's offers of assistance, the soldier andthe sailor began washing, and drying, and putting away their crockery,each in his characteristic manner,--the Sergeant very careful and exact,while the sailor juggled cups and saucers with the sure-handed deftnessthat seems peculiar to nautical fingers.

  "Yes, Peterday," said the Sergeant, hanging each cup upon its appointednail, and setting each saucer solicitously in the space reserved for iton the small dresser, "since you have took our marching orders as youhave took 'em, I am quite reconciled to parting with these here snugquarters, barring only--a book-shelf, and a cup-board."

  "Cupboard!" returned Peterday with a snort of disdain, "why there neverwas such a ill-contrived, lubberly cupboard as that, in all the world;you can't get at it unless you lay over to port,--on account o' theclothes-press, and then hard a starboard,--on account o' thedresser,--and then it being in the darkest corner--"

  "True Peterday, but then I'm used to it, and use is everything as
youknow,--I can lay my hand upon anything--in a minute--watch me!" Sayingwhich, the Sergeant squeezed himself between the press and the dresser,opened the cupboard, and took thence several articles which he named,each in order.

  "A pair o' jack-boots,--two brushes,--blacking,--and a burnisher."Having set these down, one by one, upon the dresser, he wheeled, andaddressed himself to Bellew, as follows:

  "Mr. Bellew, sir,--this evening being the anniversary of acertain--event, sir, I will ask you--to excuse me--while I make thenecessary preparations--to honour this anniversary--as is ever mycustom." As he ended, he dropped the two brushes, the blacking, and theburnisher inside the legs of the boots, picked them up with a sweep ofthe arm, and, turning short round, strode out into the little garden.

  "A fine fellow is Dick, sir!" nodded Peterday, beginning to fill a longclay pipe, "Lord!--what a sailor he 'd ha' made, to be sure!--failingwhich he's as fine a soldier as ever was, or will be, with enoughwar-medals to fill my Sunday hat, sir. When he lost his arm they gavehim the V.C., and his discharge, sir,--because why--because a soldierwi' one arm ain't any more good than a sailor wi' one leg, d'ye see. Sothey tried to discharge Dick, but--Lord love you!--they couldn't,sir,--because why?--because Dick were a soldier bred and born, and is asmuch a soldier to-day, as ever he was,--ah! and always will be--until hegoes marching aloft,--like poor Tom Bowling,--until one as is General ofall the armies, and Admiral of all the fleets as ever sailed, shall callthe last muster roll, sir. At this present moment, sir," continued thesailor, lighting his pipe with a live coal from the fire, "my messmateis a-sitting to the leeward o' the plum tree outside, a polishing of hisjack-boots,--as don't need polishing, and a burnishing of his spurs,--asdon't need burnishing. And because why?--because he goes on guard,to-night, according to custom."

  "On guard!" repeated Bellew, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

  "Of course you don't, sir," chuckled Peterday, "well then, to-night hemarches away--in full regimentals, sir,--to mount guard. And--where, doyou suppose?--why, I'll tell you,--under Miss Priscilla's window! Hegets there as the clock is striking eleven, and there he stays, amarching to and fro, until twelve o'clock. Which does him a world o'good, sir, and noways displeases Miss Priscilla,--because why?--becauseshe don't know nothing whatever about it." Hereupon, Peterday rose, andcrossing to a battered sea-man's chest in the corner, came back withthree or four tin whistles which he handed to Bellew, who laid aside hispipe, and, having selected one, ran tentatively up and down the scalewhile Peterday listened attentive of ear, and beaming of face.

  "Sir," said he, "what do you say to 'Annie Laurie' as a start--shall wegive 'em 'Annie Laurie'?--very good!--ready?--go!"

  Thus, George Bellew, American citizen, and millionaire, piped away on atin whistle with all the gusto in the world,--introducing little trills,and flourishes, here and there, that fairly won the one-leggedsailor's heart.

  They had already "given 'em" three or four selections, each of which hadbeen vociferously encored by Peterday, or Bellew,--and had just finishedan impassioned rendering of the "Suwanee River," when the Sergeantappeared with his boots beneath his arm.

  "Shipmate!" cried Peterday, flourishing his whistle, "did ye ever hear atin whistle better played, or mellerer in tone?"

  "Meller--is the only word for it, comrade,--and your playing sirs,is--artistic--though doleful. P'raps you wouldn't mind giving ussomething brighter--a rattling quick-step? P'raps you might remember oneas begins:

  'Some talk of Alexander And some, of Hercules;'

  if it wouldn't be troubling you too much?"

  Forthwith they burst forth into "The British Grenadiers?" and never didtin whistles render the famous old tune with more fire, and dash. As thestirring notes rang out, the Sergeant, standing upon the hearth, seemedto grow taller, his broad chest expanded, his eyes glowed, a flush creptup into his cheek, and the whole man thrilled to the music as he haddone, many a time and oft, in years gone by. As the last notes diedaway, he glanced down at the empty sleeve pinned across his breast,shook his head, and thanking them in a very gruff voice indeed, turnedon his heel, and busied himself at his little cupboard. Peterday nowrose, and set a jug together with three glasses upon the table, alsospoons, and a lemon, keeping his "weather-eye" meanwhile, upon thekettle,--which last, condescending to boil obligingly, he rapped threetimes with his wooden leg.

  "Right O, shipmate!" he cried, very much as though he had been hailingthe "main-top," whereupon the Sergeant emerged from between theclothes-press and the dresser with a black bottle in his hand, which hepassed over to Peterday who set about brewing what he called a "jorum o'grog," the savour of which filled the place with a right pleasantfragrance. And, when the glasses brimmed, each with a slice of lemona-top,--the Sergeant solemnly rose.

  "Mr. Bellew, and comrade," said he, lifting his glass, "I give you--MissPriscilla!"

  "God bless her!" said Peterday.

  "Amen!" added Bellew. So the toast was drunk,--the glasses were emptied,re-filled, and emptied again,--this time more slowly, and, the clockstriking nine, Bellew rose to take his leave. Seeing which, the Sergeantfetched his hat and stick, and volunteered to accompany him a littleway. So when Bellew had shaken the sailor's honest hand, they setout together.

  "Sergeant," said Bellew, after they had walked some distance, "I have amessage for you."

  "For me, sir?"

  "From Miss Priscilla."

  "From--indeed, sir!"

  "She bid me tell you that--the peaches are riper to-night than ever theywere."

  The Sergeant seemed to find in this a subject for profound thought, andhe strode on beside Bellew very silently, and with his eyes straightbefore him.

  "'That the peaches were riper,--to-night,--than ever they were?'" saidhe at last.

  "Yes, Sergeant."

  "Riper!" said the Sergeant, as though turning this over in his mind.

  "Riper than ever they were!" nodded Bellew.

  "The--peaches, I think, sir?"

  "The peaches, yes." Bellew heard the Sergeant's finger rasping to andfro across his shaven chin.

  "Mr. Bellew, sir--she is a--very remarkable woman, sir!"

  "Yes, Sergeant!"

  "A--wonderful woman!"

  "Yes, Sergeant!"

  "The kind of woman that--improves with age, sir!"

  "Yes, Sergeant."

  "Talking of--peaches, sir, I've often thought--she is--very like apeach--herself, sir."

  "Very, Sergeant, but--"

  "Well, sir?"

  "Peaches do--_not_ improve with age, Sergeant,--'and the peachesare--riper than ever they were,--to-night!'" The Sergeant stopped short,and stared at Bellew wide-eyed.

  "Why--sir," said he very slowly, "you don't mean to say you--think asshe--meant--that--?"

  "But I do!" nodded Bellew. And now, just as suddenly as he had stopped,the Sergeant turned, and went on again.

  "Lord!" he whispered--"Lord! Lord!"

  The moon was rising, and looking at the Sergeant, Bellew saw that therewas a wonderful light in his face, yet a light that was not of the moon.

  "Sergeant," said Bellew, laying a hand upon his shoulder, "why don't youspeak to her?"

  "Speak to her,--what me! No, no, Mr. Bellew!" said the Sergeant,hastily. "No, no,--can't be done, sir,--not to be mentioned, or thoughtof, sir!" The light was all gone out of his face, now, and he walkedwith his chin on his breast.

  "The surprising thing to me, Sergeant, is that you have never thought ofputting your fortune to the test, and--speaking your mind to her,before now."

  "Thought of it, sir!" repeated the Sergeant, bitterly, "thought ofit!--Lord, sir! I've thought of it--these five years--and more. I'vethought of it--day and night. I've thought of it so very much that Iknow--I never can--speak my mind to her. Look at me!" he cried suddenly,wheeling and confronting Bellew, but not at all like his bold, erect,soldierly self,--"Yes, look at me,--a poor, battered, old soldier--withhis--best arm gone,--left behind him in India, and with nothing in theworld but h
is old uniform,--getting very frayed and worn,--like himself,sir,--a pair o' jack boots, likewise very much worn, though wonderfullypatched, here and there, by my good comrade, Peterday,--a handful ofmedals, and a very modest pension. Look at me, with the best o' my daysbehind me, and wi' only one arm left--and I'm a deal more awkward andhelpless with that one arm than you'd think, sir,--look at me, and thentell me how could such a man dare to speak his mind to--such a woman.What right has--such a man to even think of speaking his mind to--such awoman, when there's part o' that man already in the grave? Why, noright, sir,--none in the world. Poverty, and one arm, are facts as makeit impossible for that man to--ever speak his mind. And, sir--thatman--never will. Sir,--good night to you!--and a pleasant walk!--I turnback here."

  Which the Sergeant did, then and there, wheeling sharp right about face;yet, as Bellew watched him go, he noticed that the soldier's step washeavy, and slow, and it seemed that, for once, the Sergeant had evenforgotten to put on his imaginary spurs.