Many Cargoes. William Wymark Jacobs
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meditations were interrupted by a slight figure which emerged from the companion, and, after a moment’s hesitation, came and took its old seat on the skylight.
“Calm and peaceful up here, isn’t it?” said he, after waiting some time for her to speak. “Stars are very bright to-night.”
“Don’t talk to me,” said Miss Alsen snappishly.
“Why doesn’t this nasty little ship keep still? I believe it’s you making her jump about like this.”
“Me?” said the mate in amazement.
“Yes, with that wheel.”
“I can assure you “—began the mate.
“Yes, I knew you’d say so,” said the girl.
“Come and steer yourself,” said the mate; “then you’ll see.”
Much to his surprise she came, and, leaning limply against the wheel, put her little hands on the spokes, while the mate explained the mysteries of the compass. As he warmed with his subject he ventured to put his hands on the same spokes, and, gradually becoming more venturesome, boldly supported her with his arm every time the schooner gave a lurch.
“Thank you,” said Miss Alsen, coldly extricating herself, as the male fancied another lurch was coming. “Good-night.”
She retired to the cabin as a dark figure, which was manfully knuckling the last remnant of sleep from its eyelids, stood before the mate, chuckling softly.
“Clear night,” said the seaman, as he took the wheel in his great paws.
“Beastly,” said the mate absently, and, stifling a sigh, went below and turned in.
He lay awake for a few minutes, and then, well satisfied with the day’s proceedings, turned over and fell asleep. He was pleased to discover, when he awoke, that the slight roll of the night before had disappeared, and that there was hardly any motion on the schooner. The passenger herself was already at the breakfast-table.
“Cap’n’s on deck, I s’pose?” said the mate, preparing to resume negotiations where they were broken off the night before. “I hope you feel better than you did last night.”
“Yes, thank you,” said she.
“You’ll make a good sailor in time,” said the mate.
“I hope not,” said Miss Alsen, who thought it time to quell a gleam of peculiar tenderness plainly apparent in the mate’s eyes. “I shouldn’t like to be a sailor even if I were a man.”
“Why not?” inquired the other.
“I don’t know,” said the girl meditatively; “but sailors are generally such scrubby little men, aren’t they?”
“SCUBBY?” repeated the mate, in a dazed voice.
“I’d sooner be a soldier,” she continued; “I like soldiers—they’re so manly. I wish there was one here now.”
“What for?” inquired the mate, in the manner of a sulky schoolboy.
“If there was a man like that here now,” said Miss Alsen thoughtfully, “I’d dare him to mustard old Towson’s nose.”
“Do what?” inquired the astonished mate.
“Mustard old Towson’s nose,” said Miss Alsen, glancing lightly from the cruet-stand to the portrait.
The infatuated man hesitated a moment, and then, reaching over to the cruet, took out the spoon, and with a pale, determined face, indignantly daubed the classic features of the provision dealer. His indignation was not lessened by the behaviour of the temptress, who, instead of fawning upon him for his bravery, crammed her handkerchief to her mouth and giggled foolishly.
“Where’s father,” she said suddenly, as a step sounded above. “Oh, you will get it!”
She rose from her seat, and, standing aside to let her father pass, went on deck. The skipper sank on to a locker, and, raising the tea-pot, poured himself out a cup of tea, which he afterwards decanted into a saucer. He had just raised it to his lips, when he saw something over the rim of it which made him put it down again untasted, and stare blankly at the mantel-piece.
“Who the—what the—who the devil’s done this?” he inquired in a strangulated voice, as he rose and regarded the portrait.
“I did,” said the mate.
“You did?” roared the other. “You? What for?”
“I don’t know,” said the mate awkwardly. “Something seemed to come over me all of a sudden, and I felt as though I MUST do it.”
“But what for? Where’s the sense of it?” said the skipper.
The mate shook his head sheepishly.
“But what did you want to do such a monkey-trick FOR?” roared the skipper.
“I don’t know,” said the mate doggedly; “but it’s done, ain’t it? and it’s no good talking about it.”
The skipper looked at him in wrathful perplexity. “You’d better have advice when we get to port, Jack,” he said at length; “the last few weeks I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit strange in your manner. You go an’ show that ‘ed of yours to a doctor.”
The mate grunted, and went on deck for sympathy, but, finding Miss Alsen in a mood far removed from sentiment, and not at all grateful, drew off whistling. Matters were in this state when the skipper appeared, wiping his mouth.
“I’ve put another portrait on the mantel-piece, Jack,” he said menacingly; “it’s the only other one I’ve got, an’ I wish you to understand that if that only smells mustard, there’ll be such a row in this ‘ere ship that you won’t be able to ‘ear yourself speak for the noise.”
He moved off with dignity as his daughter, who had overheard the remark, came sidling up to the mate and smiled on him agreeably.
“He’s put another portrait there,” she said softly.
“You’ll find the mustard-pot in the cruet,” said the mate coldly.
Miss Alsen turned and watched her father as he went forward, and then, to the mate’s surprise, went below without another word. A prey to curiosity, but too proud to make any overture, he compromised matters by going and standing near the companion.
“Mate!” said a stealthy whisper at the foot of the ladder.
The mate gazed calmly out to sea.
“Jack!” said the girl again, in a lower whisper than before.
The mate went hot all over, and at once descended. He found Miss Alsen, her eyes sparkling, with the mustard-pot in her left hand and the spoon in her right, executing a war-dance in front of the second portrait.
“Don’t do it,” said the mate, in alarm.
“Why not?” she inquired, going within an inch of it.
“He’ll think it’s me,” said the mate.
“That’s why I called you down here,” said she; “you don’t think I wanted you, do you?”
“You put that spoon down,” said the mate, who was by no means desirous of another interview with the skipper.
“Shan’t!” said Miss Alsen.
The mate sprang at her, but she dodged round the table. He leaned over, and, catching her by the left arm, drew her towards him; then, with her flushed, laughing face close to his, he forgot everything else, and kissed her.
“Oh!” said Hetty indignantly.
“Will you give it to me now?” said the mate, trembling at his boldness.
“Take it,” said she. She leaned across the table, and, as the mate advanced, dabbed viciously at him with the spoon. Then she suddenly dropped both articles on the table and moved away, as the mate, startled by a footstep at the door, turned a flushed visage, ornamented