Kitabı oku: «The Lighthouse», sayfa 18
Chapter Thirty One
Midnight Chat in a Lantern
“I’ll have to borrow another shirt and pair of trousers from you, Dove,” said Ruby with a laugh, as he returned to the kitchen.
“What! been having another swim?” exclaimed the smith.
“Not exactly, but you see I’m fond o’ water. Come along, lad.”
In a few minutes the clothes were changed, and Ruby was seated beside Forsyth, asking him earnestly about his friends on shore.
“Ah! Ruby,” said Forsyth, “I thought it would have killed your old mother when she was told of your bein’ caught by them sea-sharks, and taken off to the wars. You must know I came to see a good deal of your friends, through—through—hoot! what’s the name? the fair-haired lass that lives with—”
“Minnie?” suggested Ruby, who could not but wonder that any man living should forget her name for a moment.
“Ay, Minnie it is. She used to come to see my wife about some work they wanted her to do, and I was now and again sent up with a message to the cottage, and Captain Ogilvy always invited me in to take a glass out of his old teapot. Your mother used to ask me ever so many questions about you, an’ what you used to say and do on the rock when this lighthouse was buildin’. She looked so sad and pale, poor thing; I really thought it would be all up with her, an’ I believe it would, but for Minnie. It was quite wonderful the way that girl cheered your mother up, by readin’ bits o’ the Bible to her, an’ tellin’ her that God would certainly send you back again. She looked and spoke always so brightly too.”
“Did she do that?” exclaimed Ruby, with emotion.
Forsyth looked for a moment earnestly at his friend.
“I mean,” continued Ruby, in some confusion, “did she look bright when she spoke of my bein’ away?”
“No lad, it was when she spoke of you comin’ back; but I could see that her good spirits was partly put on to keep up the old woman.”
For a moment or two the friends remained silent.
Suddenly Forsyth laid his hand on the other’s shoulder, and said impressively: “Ruby Brand, it’s my belief that that girl is rather fond of you.”
Ruby looked up with a bright smile, and said, “D’you think so? Well, d’ye know, I believe she is.”
“Upon my word, youngster,” exclaimed the other, with a look of evident disgust, “your conceit is considerable. I had thought to be somewhat confidential with you in regard to this idea of mine, but you seem to swallow it so easy, and to look upon it as so natural a thing, that—that— Do you suppose you’ve nothin’ to do but ask the girl to marry you and she’ll say ‘Yes’ at once?”
“I do,” said Ruby quietly; “nay, I am sure of it.”
Forsyth’s eyes opened very wide indeed at this. “Young man,” said he, “the sea must have washed all the modesty you once had out of you—”
“I hope not,” interrupted the other, “but the fact is that I put the question you have supposed to Minnie long ago, and she did say ‘Yes’ to it then, so it’s not likely she’s goin’ to draw back now.”
“Whew! that alters the case,” cried Forsyth, seizing his friend’s hand, and wringing it heartily.
“Hallo! you two seem to be on good terms, anyhow,” observed Jamie Dove, whose head appeared at that moment through the hole in the floor by which the lantern communicated with the room below. “I came to see if anything had gone wrong, for your time of watch is up.”
“So it is,” exclaimed Forsyth, rising and crossing to the other side of the apartment, where he applied his lips to a small tube in the wall.
“What are you doing?” enquired Ruby.
“Whistling up Joe,” said Forsyth. “This pipe runs down to the sleepin’ berths, where there’s a whistle close to Joe’s ear. He must be asleep. I’ll try again.”
He blew down the tube a second time and listened for a reply, which came up a moment or two after in a sharp whistle through a similar tube reversed; that is, with the mouthpiece below and the whistle above.
Soon after, Joe Dumsby made his appearance at the trap-door, looking very sleepy.
“I feels as ’eavy as a lump o’ lead,” said he. “Wot an ’orrible thing it is to be woke out o’ a comf’r’able sleep.”
Just as he spoke the lighthouse received a blow so tremendous that all the men started and looked at each other for a moment in surprise.
“I say, is it warranted to stand anything?” enquired Ruby seriously.
“I hope it is,” replied the smith, “else it’ll be a blue lookout for us. But we don’t often get such a rap as that. D’ye mind the first we ever felt o’ that sort, Forsyth? It happened last month. I was on watch at the time, Forsyth was smokin’ his pipe in the kitchen, and Dumsby was in bed, when a sea struck us with such force that I thought we was done for. In a moment Forsyth and Joe came tumblin’ up the ladder—Joe in his shirt. ‘It must have been a ship sailed right against us,’ says Forsyth, and with that we all jumped on the rail that runs round the lantern there and looked out, but no ship could be seen, though it was a moonlight night. You see there’s plenty o’ water at high tide to let a ship of two hundred tons, drawin’ twelve feet, run slap into us, and we’ve sometimes feared this in foggy weather; but it was just a blow of the sea. We’ve had two or three like it since, and are gettin’ used to it now.”
“Well, we can’t get used to do without sleep,” said Forsyth, stepping down through the trap-door, “so I’ll bid ye all good night.”
“’Old on! Tell Ruby about Junk before ye go,” cried Dumsby. “Ah! well, I’ll tell ’im myself. You must know, Ruby, that we’ve got what they calls an hoccasional light-keeper ashore, who larns the work out ’ere in case any of us reg’lar keepers are took ill, so as ’e can supply our place on short notice. Well, ’e was out ’ere larnin’ the dooties one tremendous stormy night, an’ the poor fellow was in a mortial fright for fear the lantern would be blowed right hoff the top o’ the stone column, and ’imself along with it. You see, the door that covers the manhole there is usually shut when we’re on watch, but Junk (we called ’im Junk ’cause ’e wos so like a lump o’ fat pork), ’e kep the door open all the time an’ sat close beside it, so as to be ready for a dive. Well, it was my turn to watch, so I went up, an’ just as I puts my fut on the first step o’ the lantern-ladder there comes a sea like wot we had a minit ago; the wind at the same time roared in the wentilators like a thousand fiends, and the spray dashed agin the glass. Junk gave a yell, and dived. He thought it wos all over with ’im, and wos in sich a funk that he came down ’ead foremost, and would sartinly ’ave broke ’is neck if ’e ’adn’t come slap into my buzzum! I tell ’e it was no joke, for ’e wos fourteen stone if ’e wos an ounce, an’—”
“Come along, Ruby,” said Dove, interrupting; “the sooner we dive too the better, for there’s no end to that story when Dumsby get off in full swing. Good night!”
“Good night, lads, an’ better manners t’ye!” said Joe, as he sat down beside the little desk where the lightkeepers were wont during the lonely watch-hours of the night to read, or write, or meditate.
Chapter Thirty Two
Everyday Life on the Bell Rock, and Old Memories Recalled
The sun shone brightly over the sea next morning; so brightly and powerfully that it seemed to break up and disperse by force the great storm-clouds which hung about the sky, like the fragments of an army of black bullies who had done their worst and been baffled.
The storm was over; at least, the wind had moderated down to a fresh, invigorating breeze. The white crests of the billows were few and far between, and the wild turmoil of waters had given place to a grand procession of giant waves, that thundered on the Bell Rock Lighthouse, at once with more dignity and more force than the raging seas of the previous night.
It was the sun that awoke Ruby, by shining in at one of the small windows of the library, in which he slept. Of course it did not shine in his face, because of the relative positions of the library and the sun, the first being just below the lantern, and the second just above the horizon, so that the rays struck upwards, and shone with dazzling brilliancy on the dome-shaped ceiling. This was the second time of wakening for Ruby that night, since he lay down to rest. The first wakening was occasioned by the winding up of the machinery which kept the lights in motion, and the chain of which, with a ponderous weight attached to it, passed through a wooden pilaster close to his ear, causing such a sudden and hideous din that the sleeper, not having been warned of it, sprang like a Jack-in-the-box out of bed into the middle of the room, where he first stared vacantly around him like an unusually surprised owl, and then, guessing the cause of the noise, smiled pitifully, as though to say, “Poor fellow, you’re easily frightened,” and tumbled back into bed, where he fell asleep again instantly.
On the second time of wakening Ruby rose to a sitting posture, yawned, looked about him, yawned again, wondered what o’clock it was, and then listened.
No sound could be heard save the intermittent roar of the magnificent breakers that beat on the Bell Rock. His couch was too low to permit of his seeing anything but sky out of his windows, three of which, about two feet square, lighted the room. He therefore jumped up, and, while pulling on his garments, looked towards the east, where the sun greeted and almost blinded him. Turning to the north window, a bright smile lit up his countenance, and “A blessing rest on you” escaped audibly from his lips, as he kissed his hand towards the cliffs of Forfarshire, which were seen like a faint blue line on the far-off horizon, with the town of Arbroath just rising above the morning mists.
He gazed out at this north window, and thought over all the scenes that had passed between him and Minnie from the time they first met, down to the day when they last parted. One of the sweetest of the mental pictures that he painted that morning with unwonted facility, was that of Minnie sitting at his mother’s feet, comforting her with the words of the Bible.
At length he turned with a sigh to resume his toilette. Looking out at the southern window, he observed that the rocks were beginning to be uncovered, and that the “rails”, or iron pathway that led to the foot of the entrance-door ladder, were high enough out of the water to be walked upon. He therefore hastened to descend.
We know not what appearance the library presented at the time when Ruby Brand slept in it; but we can tell, from personal experience, that, at the present day, it is a most comfortable and elegant apartment. The other rooms of the lighthouse, although thoroughly substantial in their furniture and fittings, are quite plain and devoid of ornament, but the library, or “stranger’s room”, as it is sometimes called, being the guest-chamber, is fitted up in a style worthy of a lady’s boudoir, with a Turkey carpet, handsome chairs, and an elaborately carved oak table, supported appropriately by a centre stem of three twining dolphins. The dome of the ceiling is painted to represent stucco panelling, and the partition which cuts off the small segment of this circular room that is devoted to passage and staircase, is of panelled oak. The thickness of this partition is just sufficient to contain the bookcase; also a cleverly contrived bedstead, which can be folded up during the day out of sight. There is also a small cupboard of oak, which serves the double purpose of affording shelf accommodation and concealing the iron smoke-pipe which rises from the kitchen, and, passing through the several storeys, projects a few feet above the lantern. The centre window is ornamented with marble sides and top, and above it stands a marble bust of Robert Stevenson, the engineer of the building, with a marble slab below bearing testimony to the skill and energy with which he had planned and executed the work.
If not precisely what we have described it to be at the present time, the library must have been somewhat similar on that morning when our hero issued from it and descended to the rock.
The first stair landed him at the entrance to the sleeping-berths. He looked into one, and observed Forsyth’s head and arms lying in the bed, in that peculiarly negligent style that betokens deep and sweet repose. Dumsby’s rest was equally sound in the next berth. This fact did not require proof by ocular demonstration; his nose announced it sonorously over the whole building.
Passing to the kitchen, immediately below, Ruby found his old messmate, Jamie Dove, busy in the preparation of breakfast.
“Ha! Ruby, good mornin’; you keep up your early habits, I see. Can’t shake yer paw, lad, ’cause I’m up to the elbows in grease, not to speak o’ sutt an’ ashes.”
“When did you learn to cook, Jamie?” said Ruby, laughing.
“When I came here. You see we’ve all got to take it turn and turn about, and it’s wonderful how soon a feller gets used to it. I’m rather fond of it, d’ye know? We haven’t overmuch to work on in the way o’ variety, to be sure, but what we have there’s lots of it, an’ it gives us occasion to exercise our wits to invent somethin’ new. It’s wonderful what can be done with fresh beef, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, flour, tea, bread, mustard, sugar, pepper, an’ the like, if ye’ve got a talent that way.”
“You’ve got it all off by heart, I see,” said Ruby.
“True, boy, but it’s not so easy to get it all off yer stomach sometimes. What with confinement and want of exercise we was troubled with indigestion at first, but we’re used to it now, and I have acquired quite a fancy for cooking. No doubt you’ll hear Forsyth and Joe say that I’ve half-pisoned them four or five times, but that’s all envy; besides, a feller can’t learn a trade without doin’ a little damage to somebody or something at first. Did you ever taste blackbird pie?”
“No,” replied Ruby, “never.”
“Then you shall taste one to-day, for we caught fifty birds last week.”
“Caught fifty birds?”
“Ay, but I’ll tell ye about it some other time. Be off just now, and get as much exercise out o’ the rock as ye can before breakfast.”
The smith resumed his work as he said this, and Ruby descended.
He found the sea still roaring over the rock, but the rails were so far uncovered that he could venture on them, yet he had to keep a sharp lookout, for, whenever a larger breaker than usual struck the rock, the gush of foaming water that flew over it was so great that a spurt or two would sometimes break up between the iron bars, and any one of these spurts would have sufficed to give him a thorough wetting.
In a short time, however, the sea went back and left the rails free. Soon after that Ruby was joined by Forsyth and Dumsby, who had come down for their morning promenade.
They had to walk in single file while taking exercise, as the tramway was not wide enough for two, and the rock, even when fully uncovered, did not afford sufficient level space for comfortable walking, although at low water (as the reader already knows) it afforded fully a hundred yards of scrambling ground, if not more.
They had not walked more than a few minutes when they were joined by Jamie Dove, who announced breakfast, and proceeded to take two or three turns by way of cooling himself. Thereafter the party returned to the kitchen, where they sat down to as good a meal as any reasonable man could desire.
There was cold boiled beef—the remains of yesterday’s dinner—and a bit of broiled cod, a native of the Bell Rock, caught from the doorway at high water the day before. There was tea also, and toast—buttered toast, hot out of the oven.
Dove was peculiarly good at what may be styled toast-cooking. Indeed, all the lightkeepers were equally good. The bread was cut an inch thick, and butter was laid on as plasterers spread plaster with a trowel. There was no scraping off a bit here to put it on there; no digging out pieces from little caverns in the bread with the point of the knife; no repetition of the work to spread it thinner, and, above all, no omitting of corners and edges;—no, the smallest conceivable fly could not have found the minutest atom of dry footing on a Bell Rock slice of toast, from its centre to its circumference. Dove had a liberal heart, and he laid on the butter with a liberal hand. Fair play and no favour was his motto, quarter-inch thick was his gauge, railway speed his practice. The consequence was that the toast floated, as it were, down the throats of the men, and compensated to some extent for the want of milk in the tea.
“Now, boys, sit in,” cried Dove, seizing the teapot.
“We have not much variety,” observed Dumsby to Ruby, in an apologetic tone.
“Variety!” exclaimed Forsyth, “what d’ye call that?” pointing to the fish.
“Well, that is a hextra morsel, I admit,” returned Joe; “but we don’t get that every day; ’owsever, wot there is is good, an’ there’s plenty of it, so let’s fall to.”
Forsyth said grace, and then they all “fell to”, with appetites peculiar to that isolated and breezy spot, where the wind blows so fresh from the open sea that the nostrils inhale culinary odours, and the palates seize culinary products, with unusual relish.
There was something singularly unfeminine in the manner in which the duties of the table were performed by these stalwart guardians of the Rock. We are accustomed to see such duties performed by the tender hands of woman, or, it may be, by the expert fingers of trained landsmen; but in places where woman may not or can not act with propriety,—as on shipboard, or in sea-girt towers,—men go through such feminine work in a way that does credit to their versatility,—also to the strength of culinary materials and implements.
The way in which Jamie Dove and his comrades knocked about the pans, teapots, cups and saucers, etcetera, without smashing them, would have astonished, as well as gratified, the hearts of the fraternity of tinsmiths and earthenware manufacturers.
We have said that everything in the lighthouse was substantial and very strong. All the woodwork was oak, the floors and walls of solid stone,—hence, when Dove, who had no nerves or physical feelings, proceeded with his cooking, the noise he caused was tremendous. A man used to woman’s gentle ways would, on seeing him poke the fire, have expected that the poker would certainly penetrate not only the coals, but the back of the grate also, and perchance make its appearance at the outside of the building itself, through stones, joggles, dovetails, trenails, pozzolano mortar, and all the strong materials that have withstood the fury of winds and waves for the last half-century!
Dove treated the other furniture in like manner; not that he treated it ill,—we would not have the reader imagine this for a moment. He was not reckless of the household goods. He was merely indifferent as to the row he made in using them.
But it was when the cooking was over, and the table had to be spread, that the thing culminated. Under the impulse of lightheartedness, caused by the feeling that his labours for the time were nearly ended, and that his reward was about to be reaped, he went about with irresistible energy, like the proverbial bull in a china shop, without reaching that creature’s destructive point. It was then that a beaming smile overspread his countenance, and he raged about the kitchen with Vulcan-like joviality. He pulled out the table from the wall to the centre of the apartment, with a swing that produced a prolonged crash. Up went its two leaves with two minor crashes. Down went the four plates and the cups and saucers, with such violence and rapidity that they all seemed to be dancing on the board together. The beef all but went over the side of its dish by reason of the shock of its sudden stoppage on touching the table, and the pile of toast was only saved from scatteration by the strength of the material, so to speak, with which its successive layers were cemented.
When the knives, forks, and spoons came to be laid down, the storm seemed to lull, because these were comparatively light implements, so that this period—which in shore-going life is usually found to be the exasperating one—was actually a season of relief. But it was always followed by a terrible squall of scraping wooden legs and clanking human feet when the camp-stools were set, and the men came in and sat down to the meal.
The pouring out of the tea, however, was the point that would have called forth the admiration of the world—had the world seen it. What a contrast between the miserable, sickly, slow-dribbling silver and other teapots of the land, and this great teapot of the sea! The Bell Rock teapot had no sham, no humbug about it. It was a big, bold-looking one, of true Britannia metal, with vast internal capacity and a gaping mouth.
Dove seized it in his strong hand as he would have grasped his biggest fore-hammer. Before you could wink, a sluice seemed to burst open; a torrent of rich brown tea spouted at your cup, and it was full—the saucer too, perhaps—in a moment.
But why dwell on these luxurious scenes? Reader, you can never know them from experience unless you go to visit the Bell Rock; we will therefore cease to tantalise you.
During breakfast it was discussed whether or not the signal-ball should be hoisted.
The signal-ball was fixed to a short staff on the summit of the lighthouse, and the rule was that it should be hoisted at a fixed hour every morning when all was well, and kept up until an answering signal should be made from a signal-tower in Arbroath where the keepers’ families dwelt, and where each keeper in succession spent a fortnight with his family, after a spell of six weeks on the rock. It was the duty of the keeper on shore to watch for the hoisting of the ball (the “All’s well” signal) each morning on the lighthouse, and to reply to it with a similar ball on the signal-tower.
If, on any occasion, the hour for signalling should pass without the ball on the lighthouse being shown, then it was understood that something was wrong, and the attending boat of the establishment was sent off at once to ascertain the cause, and afford relief if necessary. The keeping down of the ball was, however, an event of rare occurrence, so that when it did take place the poor wives of the men on the rock were usually thrown into a state of much perturbation and anxiety, each naturally supposing that her husband must be seriously ill, or have met with a bad accident.
It was therefore natural that there should be some hesitation about keeping down the ball merely for the purpose of getting a boat off to send Ruby ashore.
“You see,” said Forsyth, “the day after to-morrow the ‘relief boat’ is due, and it may be as well just to wait for that, Ruby, and then you can go ashore with your friend Jamie Dove, for it’s his turn this time.”
“Ay, lad, just make up your mind to stay another day,” said the smith; “as they don’t know you’re here they can’t be wearyin’ for you, and I’ll take ye an’ introduce you to my little wife, that I fell in with on the cliffs of Arbroath not long after ye was kidnapped. Besides, Ruby, it’ll do ye good to feed like a fighting cock out here another day. Have another cup o’ tea?”
“An’ a junk o’ beef?” said Forsyth.
“An’ a slice o’ toast?” said Dumsby.
Ruby accepted all these offers, and soon afterwards the four friends descended to the rock, to take as much exercise as they could on its limited surface, during the brief period of low water that still remained to them.
It may easily be imagined that this ramble was an interesting one, and was prolonged until the tide drove them into their tower of refuge. Every rock, every hollow, called up endless reminiscences of the busy building seasons. Ruby went over it all step by step with somewhat of the feelings that influence a man when he revisits the scene of his childhood.
There was the spot where the forge had stood.
“D’ye mind it, lad?” said Dove. “There are the holes where the hearth was fixed, and there’s the rock where you vaulted over the bellows when ye took that splendid dive after the fair-haired lassie into the pool yonder.”
“Mind it? Ay, I should think so!”
Then there were the holes where the great beams of the beacon had been fixed, and the iron bats, most of which latter were still left in the rock, and some of which may be seen there at the present day. There was also the pool into which poor Selkirk had tumbled with the vegetables on the day of the first dinner on the rock, and that other pool into which Forsyth had plunged after the mermaids; and, not least interesting among the spots of note, there was the ledge, now named the “Last Hope”, on which Mr Stevenson and his men had stood on the day when the boat had been carried away, and they had expected, but were mercifully preserved from, a terrible tragedy.
After they had talked much on all these things, and long before they were tired of it, the sea drove them to the rails; gradually, as it rose higher, it drove them into the lighthouse, and then each man went to his work—Jamie Dove to his kitchen, in order to clean up and prepare dinner, and the other two to the lantern, to scour and polish the reflectors, refill and trim the lamps, and, generally, to put everything in order for the coming night.
Ruby divided his time between the kitchen and lantern, lending a hand in each, but, we fear, interrupting the work more than he advanced it.
That day it fell calm, and the sun shone brightly.
“We’ll have fog to-night,” observed Dumsby to Brand, pausing in the operation of polishing a reflector, in which his fat face was mirrored with the most indescribable and dreadful distortions.
“D’ye think so?”
“I’m sure of it.”
“You’re right,” remarked Forsyth, looking from his elevated position to the seaward horizon, “I can see it coming now.”
“I say, what smell is that?” exclaimed Ruby, sniffing.
“Somethink burnin’,” said Dumsby, also sniffing.
“Why, what can it be?” murmured Forsyth, looking round and likewise sniffing. “Hallo! Joe, look out; you’re on fire!”
Joe started, clapped his hand behind him, and grasped his inexpressibles, which were smouldering warmly. Ruby assisted, and the fire was soon put out, amidst much laughter.
“’Ang them reflectors!” said Joe, seating himself, and breathing hard after his alarm and exertions; “it’s the third time they’ve set me ablaze.”
“The reflectors, Joe?” said Ruby.
“Ay, don’t ye see? They’ve nat’rally got a focus, an’ w’en I ’appen to be standin’ on a sunny day in front of ’em, contemplatin’ the face o’ natur’, as it wor, through the lantern panes, if I gits into the focus by haccident, d’ye see, it just acts like a burnin’-glass.”
Ruby could scarcely believe this, but after testing the truth of the statement by actual experiment he could no longer doubt it.
Presently a light breeze sprang up, rolling the fog before it, and then dying away, leaving the lighthouse enshrouded.
During fog there is more danger to shipping than at any other time. In the daytime, in ordinary weather, rocks and lighthouses can be seen. At night, lights can be seen, but during fog nothing can be seen until danger may be too near to be avoided. The two great fog-bells of the lighthouse were therefore set a-going, and they rang out their slow deep-toned peal all that day and all that night, as the bell of the Abbot of Aberbrothoc is said to have done in days of yore.
That night Ruby was astonished, and then he was stunned! First, as to his astonishment. While he was seated by the kitchen fire chatting with his friend the smith, sometime between nine o’clock and midnight, Dumsby summoned him to the lantern to “help in catching to-morrow’s dinner!”
Dove laughed at the summons, and they all went up.
The first thing that caught Ruby’s eye at one of the window panes was the round visage of an owl, staring in with its two large eyes as if it had gone mad with amazement, and holding on to the iron frame with its claws. Presently its claws lost hold, and it fell off into outer darkness.
“What think ye o’ that for a beauty?” said Forsyth.
Ruby’s eyes, being set free from the fascination of the owl’s stare, now made him aware of the fact that hundreds of birds of all kinds—crows, magpies, sparrows, tomtits, owls, larks, mavises, blackbirds, etcetera, etcetera—were fluttering round the lantern outside, apparently bent on ascertaining the nature of the wonderful light within.
“Ah! poor things,” said Forsyth, in answer to Ruby’s look of wonder, “they often visit us in foggy weather. I suppose they get out to sea in the fog and can’t find their way back to land, and then some of them chance to cross our light and take refuge on it.”
“Now I’ll go out and get to-morrow’s dinner,” said Dumsby. He went out accordingly, and, walking round the balcony that encircled the base of the lantern, was seen to put his hand up and quietly take down and wring the necks of such birds as he deemed suitable for his purpose. It seemed a cruel act to Ruby, but when he came to think of it he felt that, as they were to be stewed at any rate, the more quickly they were killed the better!
He observed that the birds kept fluttering about, alighting for a few moments and flying off again, all the time that Dumsby was at work, yet Dumsby never failed to seize his prey.
Presently the man came in with a small basket full of game. “Now, Ruby,” said he, “I’ll bet a sixpence that you don’t catch a bird within five minutes.”
“I don’t bet such large sums usually, but I’ll try,” said Ruby, going out.
He tried and failed. Just as the five minutes were expiring, however, the owl happened to alight before his nose, so he “nabbed” it, and carried it in triumphantly.
“That ain’t a bird,” said Dumsby.
“It’s not a fish,” retorted Ruby; “but how is it that you caught them so easily, and I found it so difficult?”
“Because, lad, you must do it at the right time. You watch w’en the focus of a revolvin’ light is comin’ full in a bird’s face. The moment it does so ’e’s dazzled, and you grab ’im. If you grab too soon or too late, ’e’s away. That’s ’ow it is, and they’re capital heatin’, as you’ll find.”
