The Skipper's Wooing, and The Brown Man's Servant. William Wymark Jacobs
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demanded.
"Nothin'," replied the seer with conviction. "What are you lookin' for?" he inquired, with a trace of anxiety in his voice, as the mate rose from the locker, and, raising the lid, began groping for something in the depths.
"Bit o' rope," was the reply.
"Well, what did yer ask me for?" said Henry with hasty tearfulness. "It's the truth. 'E won't do nothin'; 'e never does—only stares."
"D'you mean to say you ain't been gammoning me?" demanded the mate, seizing him by the collar.
"Come and see for yourself," said Henry.
The mate released him, and stood eyeing him with a puzzled expression as a thousand-and-one little eccentricities on the part of the skipper suddenly occurred to him.
"Go and make yourself tidy," he said sharply; "and mind if I find you've been doing me I'll flay you alive."
The boy needed no second bidding. He dashed up on deck and, heedless of the gibes of the crew, began a toilet such as he had never before been known to make within the memory of man.
"What's up, kiddy?" inquired the cook, whose curiosity became unbearable.
"Wot d'you mean?" demanded Henry with dignity.
"Washin', and all that," said the cook, who was a plain creature.
"Don't you ever wash yourself, you dirty pig?" said Henry elegantly. "I s'pose you think doin' the cookin' keeps you clean, though."
The cook wrung his hands, and, unconscious of plagiarism, told Sam he'd be 'ung for 'im.
"Me and the mate are goin' for a little stroll, Sam," observed the youth as he struggled into his jersey. "Keep your eyes open, and don't get into mischief. You can give Slushy a 'and with the sorsepans if you've got nothin' better to do. Don't stand about idle."
The appearance of the mate impeded Sam's utterance, and he stood silently by the others, watching the couple as they clambered ashore. It was noticed that Henry carried his head very erect, but whether this was due to the company he was keeping or the spick-and-span appearance he made, they were unable to determine.
"Easy—go easy," panted the mate, mopping his red face with a handkerchief. "What are you in such a hurry for?"
"We shall be too late if we don't hurry," said Henry; "then you'll think I've been tellin' lies."
The mate made no further protest, and at the same rapid pace they walked on until they reached a quiet road on the outskirts of Gravesend.
"There he is!" said Henry triumphantly, as he stopped and pointed up the road at the figure of a man slowly pacing up and down. "She's at a little school up at the other end. A teacher or somethin'. Here they come."
As he spoke a small damsel with a satchel and a roll of music issued from a house at the other end of the road, the advanced guard of a small company which in twos and threes now swarmed out and went their various ways.
"Nice girls, some of 'em!" said Henry, glancing approvingly at them as they passed. "Oh, here she comes! I can't say I see much in her myself."
The mate looked up and regarded the girl as she approached with considerable interest. He saw a pretty girl with nice gray eyes and a flush, which might be due to the master of the Seamew—who was following at a respectful distance behind her—trying to look unconcerned at this unexpected appearance.
"Halloa, Jack!" he said carelessly.
"Halloa!" said the mate, with a great attempt at surprise. "Who'd ha' thought o' seeing you here!"
The skipper, disdaining to reply to this hypocrisy, stared at Henry until an intelligent and friendly grin faded slowly from that youth's face and left it expressionless. "I've just been having a quiet stroll," he said, slowly turning to the mate.
"Well, so long!" said the latter, anxious to escape.
The other nodded, and turned to resume his quiet stroll at a pace which made the mate hot to look at him. "He'll have to look sharp if he's going to catch her now," he said thoughtfully.
"He won't catch her," said Henry; "he never does—leastways if he does he only passes and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He writes letters to her of a night, but he never gives 'em to her."
"How do you know?" demanded the other.
"Cos I look at 'im over his shoulder while I'm puttin' things in the cupboard," said Henry.
The mate stopped and regarded his hopeful young friend fixedly.
"I s'pose you look over my shoulder too, sometimes?" he suggested.
"You never write to anybody except your wife," said Henry carelessly, "or your mother. Leastways I've never known you to."
"You'll come to a bad end, my lad," said the mate thickly; "that's what you'll do."
"What 'e does with 'em I can't think," continued Henry, disregarding his future. "'E don't give 'em to 'er. Ain't got the pluck, I s'pose. Phew! Ain't it 'ot!"
They had got down to the river again, and he hesitated in front of a small beer-shop whose half open door and sanded floor offered a standing invitation to passers-by.
"Could you do a bottle o' ginger-beer?" inquired the mate, attracted in his turn.
"No," said Henry shortly, "I couldn't. I don't mind having what you're going to have."
The mate grinned, and, leading the way in, ordered refreshment for two, exchanging a pleasant wink with the proprietor as that humorist drew the lad's half-pint in a quart pot.
"Ain't you goin' to blow the head off, sir?" inquired the landlord as Henry, after glancing darkly into the depths and nodding to the mate, buried his small face in the pewter. "You'll get your moustache all mussed up if you don't."
The boy withdrew his face, and, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, regarded the offender closely. "So long as it don't turn it red I don't mind," he said patiently, "and I don't think as 'ow your swipes would hurt anythin'."
He went out, followed by the mate, leaving the landlord wiping down the counter with one hand while he mechanically stroked his moustache with the other. By the time a suitable retort occurred to him the couple were out of earshot.
CHAPTER II
Captain Wilson, hot with the combined effects of exercise and wrath, continued the pursuit, but the pause to say sweet nothings to the second in command was fatal to his success. He had often before had occasion to comment ruefully upon the pace of the quarry, and especially at such times when he felt that he had strung his courage almost up to speaking point. To-day he was just in time to see her vanish into the front garden of a small house, upon the door of which she knocked with expressive vigor. She disappeared into the house just as he reached the gate.
"Damn the mate!" he said irritably—"and the boy," he added, anxious to be strictly impartial.
He walked on aimlessly at a slow pace until the houses ended and the road became a lane shaded with tall trees and flanked by hawthorn hedges. Along this he walked a little way, and then, nervously fingering a note in his jacket pocket, retraced his steps.
"I'll see her and speak to her anyway," he muttered. "Here goes."
He walked slowly back to the house, and, with his heart thumping, and a choking sensation in his throat, walked up to the door and gave a little whisper of a knock upon it. It was so faint that, after waiting a considerable time, he concluded that it had not been heard, and raised the knocker again. Then the door opened suddenly, and the knocker, half detained in his grasp, slipped from his fingers and fell with a crash that made him tremble at his hardihood. An elderly woman with white hair opened the door. She repressed a start and looked at him inquiringly.
"Cap'n Jackson in?" inquired the skipper, his nerves thoroughly upset by the knocker.
"Who?" said the other.
"Cap'n Jackson," repeated the skipper, reddening.
"There is no such man here," said the old woman. "Are you sure it is Captain Jackson you want?" she added.
"I'm—I'm