Kitabı oku: «At Sunwich Port, Complete», sayfa 5

“Take your choice, Amelia,” he said, in a thrilling voice. “Me or ‘im— which is it to be?”

“Here, steady, old man,” cried the startled Nugent. “Go easy.”

“Me or ‘im?” repeated Mr. Silk, in stern but broken accents.

Miss Kybird giggled and, avoiding his gaze, looked pensively at the faded hearthrug.

“You’re making her blush,” said Mr. Nugent, sternly. “Sit down, Teddy; I’m ashamed of you. We’re both ashamed of you. You’re confusing us dreadfully proposing to us both in this way.”

Mr. Silk regarded him with a scornful eye, but Miss Kybird, bidding him not to be foolish, punctuated her remarks with the needle, and a struggle, which Mr. Silk regarded as unseemly in the highest degree, took place between them for its possession.

Mr. Nugent secured it at last, and brandishing it fiercely extorted feminine screams from Miss Kybird by threatening her with it. Nor was her mind relieved until Mr. Nugent, remarking that he would put it back in the pincushion, placed it in the leg of Mr. Edward Silk.

Mr. Kybird and his wife, entering through the shop, were just in time to witness a spirited performance on the part of Mr. Silk, the cherished purpose of which was to deprive them of a lodger. He drew back as they entered and, raising his voice above Miss Kybird’s, began to explain his action.

“Teddy, I’m ashamed of you,” said Mr. Kybird, shaking his head. “A little joke like that; a little innercent joke.”

“If it ‘ad been a darning-needle now—” began Mrs. Kybird.

“All right,” said the desperate Mr. Silk, “‘ave it your own way. Let ‘Melia marry ‘im—I don’t care–I give ‘er up.”

“Teddy!” said Mr. Kybird, in a shocked voice. “Teddy!”

Mr. Silk thrust him fiercely to one side and passed raging through the shop. The sound of articles falling in all directions attested to his blind haste, and the force with which he slammed the shop-door was sufficient evidence of his state of mind.

“Well, upon my word,” said the staring Mr. Kybird; “of all the outrageyous—”

“Never mind ‘im,” said his wife, who was sitting in the easy chair, distributing affectionate smiles between her daughter and the startled Mr. Nugent. “Make ‘er happy, Jack, that’s all I arsk. She’s been a good gal, and she’ll make a good wife. I’ve seen how it was between you for some time.”

“So ‘ave I,” said Mr. Kybird. He shook hands warmly with Mr. Nugent, and, patting that perturbed man on the back, surveyed him with eyes glistening with approval.

“It’s a bit rough on Teddy, isn’t it?” inquired Mr. Nugent, anxiously; “besides—”

“Don’t you worry about ‘im,” said Mr. Kybird, affectionately. “He ain’t worth it.”

“I wasn’t,” said Mr. Nugent, truthfully. The situation had developed so rapidly that it had caught him at a disadvantage. He had a dim feeling that, having been the cause of Miss Kybird’s losing one young man, the most elementary notions of chivalry demanded that he should furnish her with another. And this idea was clearly uppermost in the minds of her parents. He looked over at Amelia and with characteristic philosophy accepted the position.

“We shall be the handsomest couple in Sunwich,” he said, simply.

“Bar none,” said Mr. Kybird, emphatically.

The stout lady in the chair gazed at the couple fondly. “It reminds me of our wedding,” she said, softly. “What was it Tom Fletcher said, father? Can you remember?”

“‘Arry Smith, you mean,” corrected Mr. Kybird.

“Tom Fletcher said something, I’m sure,” persisted his wife.

“He did,” said Mr. Kybird, grimly, “and I pretty near broke ‘is ‘ead for it. ‘Arry Smith is the one you’re thinking of.”

Mrs. Kybird after a moment’s reflection admitted that he was right, and, the chain of memory being touched, waxed discursive about her own wedding and the somewhat exciting details which accompanied it. After which she produced a bottle labelled “Port wine” from the cupboard, and, filling four glasses, celebrated the occasion in a befitting but sober fashion.

“This,” said Mr. Nugent, as he sat on his bed that night to take his boots off, “this is what comes of trying to make everybody happy and comfortable with a little fun. I wonder what the governor’ll say.”

CHAPTER IX

The news of his only son’s engagement took Captain Nugent’s breath away, which, all things considered, was perhaps the best thing it could have done. He sat at home in silent rage, only exploding when the well-meaning Mrs. Kingdom sought to minimize his troubles by comparing them with those of Job. Her reminder that to the best of her remembrance he had never had a boil in his life put the finishing touch to his patience, and, despairing of drawing-room synonyms for the words which trembled on his lips, he beat a precipitate retreat to the garden.

His son bore his new honours bravely. To an appealing and indignant letter from his sister he wrote gravely, reminding her of the difference in their years, and also that he had never interfered in her flirtations, however sorely his brotherly heart might have been wrung by them. He urged her to forsake such diversions for the future, and to look for an alliance with some noble, open-handed man with a large banking account and a fondness for his wife’s relatives.

To Jem Hardy, who ventured on a delicate remonstrance one evening, he was less patient, and displayed a newly acquired dignity which was a source of considerable embarrassment to that well-meaning gentleman. He even got up to search for his hat, and was only induced to resume his seat by the physical exertions of his host.

“I didn’t mean to be offensive,” said the latter. “But you were,” said the aggrieved man. Hardy apologized.

“Talk of that kind is a slight to my future wife,” said Nugent, firmly. “Besides, what business is it of yours?”

Hardy regarded him thoughtfully. It was some time since he had seen Miss Nugent, and he felt that he was losing valuable time. He had hoped great things from the advent of her brother, and now his intimacy seemed worse than useless. He resolved to take him into his confidence.

“I spoke from selfish motives,” he said, at last. “I wanted you to make friends with your father again.”

“What for?” inquired the other, staring.

“To pave the way for me,” said Hardy, raising his voice as he thought of his wrongs; “and now, owing to your confounded matrimonial business, that’s all knocked on the head. I wouldn’t care whom you married if it didn’t interfere with my affairs so.”

“Do you mean,” inquired the astonished Mr. Nugent, “that you want to be on friendly terms with my father?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Nugent gazed at him round-eyed. “You haven’t had a blow on the head or anything of that sort at any time, have you?” he inquired.

Hardy shook his head impatiently. “You don’t seem to suffer from an excess of intellect yourself,” he retorted. “I don’t want to be offensive again, still, I should think it is pretty plain there is only one reason why I should go out of my way to seek the society of your father.”

“Say what you like about my intellect,” replied the dutiful son, “but I can’t think of even one—not even a small one. Not—Good gracious! You don’t mean—you can’t mean—”

Hardy looked at him.

“Not that,” said Mr. Nugent, whose intellect had suddenly become painfully acute—“not her?”

“Why not?” inquired the other.

Mr. Nugent leaned back in his chair and regarded him with an air of kindly interest. “Well, there’s no need for you to worry about my father for that,” he said; “he would raise no objection.”

“Eh?” said Hardy, starting up from his chair.

“He would welcome it,” said Mr. Nugent, positively. “There is nothing that he would like better; and I don’t mind telling you a secret—she likes you.”

Hardy reddened. “How do you know?” he stammered.

“I know it for a fact,” said the other, impressively. “I have heard her say so. But you’ve been very plain-spoken about me, Jem, so that I shall say what I think.”

“Do,” said his bewildered friend.

“I think you’d be throwing yourself away,” said Nugent; “to my mind it’s a most unsuitable match in every way. She’s got no money, no looks, no style. Nothing but a good kind heart rather the worse for wear. I suppose you know she’s been married once?”

“What!” shouted the other. “Married?”

Mr. Nugent nodded. His face was perfectly grave, but the joke was beginning to prey upon his vitals in a manner which brooked no delay.

“I thought everybody knew it,” he said. “We have never disguised the fact. Her husband died twenty years ago last–”

“Twenty” said his suddenly enlightened listener. “Who?—What?”

Mr. Nugent, incapable of reply, put his head on the table and beat the air frantically with his hand, while gasping sobs rent his tortured frame.

“Dear—aunt,” he choked, “how pleas—pleased she’d be if—she knew. Don’t look like that, Hardy. You’ll kill me.”

“You seem amused,” said Hardy, between his teeth.

“And you’ll be Kate’s uncle,” said Mr. Nugent, sitting up and wiping his eyes. “Poor little Kate.”

He put his head on the table again. “And mine,” he wailed. “Uncle jemmy!—will you tip us half-crowns, nunky?”

Mr. Hardy’s expression of lofty scorn only served to retard his recovery, but he sat up at last and, giving his eyes a final wipe, beamed kindly upon his victim.

“Well, I’ll do what I can for you,” he observed, “but I suppose you know Kate’s off for a three months’ visit to London to-morrow?”

The other observed that he didn’t know it, and, taught by his recent experience, eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s quite true,” said Nugent; “she’s going to stay with some relatives of ours. She used to be very fond of one of the boys—her cousin Herbert—so you mustn’t be surprised if she comes back engaged. But I daresay you’ll have forgotten all about her in three months. And, anyway, I don’t suppose she’d look at you if you were the last man in the world. If you’ll walk part of the way home with me I’ll regale you with anecdotes of her chilhood which will probably cause you to change your views altogether.”

In Fullalove Alley Mr. Edward Silk, his forebodings fulfilled, received the news of Amelia Kybird’s faithlessness in a spirit of’ quiet despair, and turned a deaf ear to the voluble sympathy of his neighbours. Similar things had happened to young men living there before, but their behaviour had been widely different to Mr. Silk’s. Bob Crump, for instance, had been jilted on the very morning he had arranged for his wedding, but instead of going about in a state of gentle melancholy he went round and fought his beloved’s father—merely because it was her father—and wound up an exciting day by selling off his household goods to the highest bidders. Henry Jones in similar circumstances relieved his great grief by walking up and down the alley smashing every window within reach of his stick.

But these were men of spirit; Mr. Silk was cast in a different mould, and his fair neighbours sympathized heartily with him in his bereavement, while utterly failing to understand any man breaking his heart over Amelia Kybird.

His mother, a widow of uncertain age, shook her head over him and hinted darkly at consumption, an idea which was very pleasing to her son, and gave him an increased interest in a slight cold from which he was suffering.

“He wants taking out of ‘imself,” said Mr. Wilks, who had stepped across the alley to discuss the subject with his neighbour; “cheerful society and ‘obbies—that’s what ‘e wants.”

“He’s got a faithful ‘eart,” sighed Mrs. Silk. “It’s in the family; ‘e can’t ‘elp it.”

“But ‘e might be lifted out of it,” urged Mr. Wilks. “I ‘ad several disappointments in my young days. One time I ‘ad a fresh gal every v’y’ge a’most.”

Mrs. Silk sniffed and looked up the alley, whereat two neighbours who happened to be at their doors glanced up and down casually, and retreated inside to continue their vigil from the windows.

“Silk courted me for fifteen years before I would say ‘yes,’” she said, severely.

“Fifteen years!” responded the other. He cast his eyes upwards and his lips twitched. The most casual observer could have seen that he was engaged in calculations of an abstruse and elusive nature.

“I was on’y seven when ‘e started,” said Mrs. Silk, sharply.

Mr. Wilks brought his eyes to a level again. “Oh, seven,” he remarked.

“And we was married two days before my nineteenth birthday,” added Mrs. Silk, whose own arithmetic had always been her weak point.

“Just so,” said Mr. Wilks. He glanced at the sharp white face and shapeless figure before him. “It’s hard to believe you can ‘ave a son Teddy’s age,” he added, gallantly.

“It makes you feel as if you’re getting on,” said the widow.

The ex-steward agreed, and after standing a minute or two in silence made a preliminary motion of withdrawal.

“Beautiful your plants are looking,” said Mrs. Silk, glancing over at his window; “I can’t think what you do to ‘em.”

The gratified Mr. Wilks began to explain. It appeared that plants wanted almost as much looking after as daughters.

“I should like to see ‘em close,” said Mrs. Silk. “Come in and ‘ave a look at ‘em,” responded her neighbour.

Mrs. Silk hesitated and displayed a maidenly coyness far in excess of the needs of the situation. Then she stepped across, and five seconds later the two matrons, with consternation writ large upon their faces, appeared at their doors again and, exchanging glances across the alley, met in the centre.

They were more surprised an evening or two later to see Mr. Wilks leave his house to pay a return visit, bearing in his hand a small bunch of his cherished blooms. That they were blooms which would have paid the debt of Nature in a few hours at most in no way detracted from the widow’s expressions of pleasure at receiving them, and Mr. Wilks, who had been invited over to cheer up Mr. Silk, who was in a particularly black mood, sat and smiled like a detected philanthropist as she placed them in water.

“Good evenin’, Teddy,” he said, breezily, with a side-glance at his hostess. “What a lovely day we’ve ‘ad.”

“So bright,” said Mrs. Silk, nodding with spirit.

Mr. Wilks sat down and gave vent to such a cheerful laugh that the ornaments on the mantelpiece shook with it. “It’s good to be alive,” he declared.

“Ah, you enjoy your life, Mr. Wilks,” said the widow.

“Enjoy it!” roared Mr. Wilks; “enjoy it! Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t everybody enjoy their lives? It was what they was given to us for.”

“So they was,” affirmed Mrs. Silk; “nobody can deny that; not if they try.”

“Nobody wants to deny it, ma’am,” retorted Mr. Wilks, in the high voice he kept for cheering-up purposes. “I enjoy every day o’ my life.”

He filled his pipe, chuckling serenely, and having lit it sat and enjoyed that. Mrs. Silk retired for a space, and returning with a jug of ale poured him out a glass and set it by his elbow.

“Here’s your good ‘ealth, ma’am,” said Mr. Wilks, raising it. “Here’s yours, Teddy—a long life and a ‘appy one.”

Mr. Silk turned listlessly. “I don’t want a long life,” he remarked.

His mother and her visitor exchanged glances.

“That’s ‘ow ‘e goes on,” remarked the former, in an audible whisper. Mr. Wilks nodded, reassuringly.

“I ‘ad them ideas once,” he said, “but they go off. If you could only live to see Teddy at the age o’ ninety-five, ‘e wouldn’t want to go then. ‘E’d say it was crool hard, being cut off in the flower of ‘is youth.”

Mrs. Silk laughed gaily and Mr. Wilks bellowed a gruff accompaniment. Mr. Edward Silk eyed them pityingly.

“That’s the ‘ardship of it,” he said, slowly, as he looked round from his seat by the fireplace; “that’s where the ‘ollowness of things comes in. That’s where I envy Mr. Wilks.”

“Envy me?” said the smiling visitor; “what for?”

“Because you’re so near the grave,” said Mr. Silk.

Mr. Wilks, who was taking another draught of beer, put the glass down and eyed him fixedly.

“That’s why I envy you,” continued the other.

“I don’t want to live, and you do, and yet I dessay I shall be walking about forty and fifty years after you’re dead and forgotten.”

“Wot d’ye mean—near the grave?” inquired Mr. Wilks, somewhat shortly.

“I was referring to your age,” replied the other; “it’s strange to see ‘ow the aged ‘ang on to life. You can’t ‘ave much pleasure at your time o’ life. And you’re all alone; the last withered branch left.”

“Withered branch!” began Mr. Wilks; “‘ere, look ‘ere, Teddy–”

“All the others ‘ave gone,” pursued Mr. Silk, “and they’re beckoning to you.”

“Let ‘em beckon,” said Mr. Wilks, coldly. “I’m not going yet.”

“You’re not young,” said Mr. Silk, gazing meditatively at the grate, “and I envy you that. It can only be a matter of a year or two at most before you are sleeping your last long sleep.”

“Teddy!” protested Mrs. Silk.

“It’s true, mother,” said the melancholy youth. “Mr. Wilks is old. Why should ‘e mind being told of it? If ‘e had ‘ad the trouble I’ve ‘ad ‘e’d be glad to go. But he’ll ‘ave to go, whether ‘e likes it or not. It might be tonight. Who can tell?”

Mr. Wilks, unasked, poured himself out another glass of ale, and drank it off with the air of a man who intended to make sure of that. It seemed a trifle more flat than the last.

“So many men o’ your age and thereabouts,” continued Mr. Silk, “think that they’re going to live on to eighty or ninety, but there’s very few of ‘em do. It’s only a short while, Mr. Wilks, and the little children’ll be running about over your grave and picking daisies off of it.”

“Ho, will they?” said the irritated Mr. Wilks; “they’d better not let me catch ‘em at it, that’s all.”

“He’s always talking like that now,” said Mrs. Silk, not without a certain pride in her tones; “that’s why I asked you in to cheer ‘im up.”

“All your troubles’ll be over then,” continued the warning voice, “and in a month or two even your name’ll be forgotten. That’s the way of the world. Think ‘ow soon the last five years of your life ‘ave passed; the next five’ll pass ten times as fast even if you live as long, which ain’t likely.”

“He talks like a clergyman,” said Mrs. Silk, in a stage whisper.

Mr. Wilks nodded, and despite his hostess’s protests rose to go. He shook hands with her and, after a short but sharp inward struggle, shook hands with her son. It was late in the evening as he left, but the houses had not yet been lit up. Dim figures sat in doorways or stood about the alley, and there was an air of peace and rest strangely and uncomfortably in keeping with the conversation to which he had just been listening. He looked in at his own door; the furniture seemed stiffer than usual and the tick of the clock more deliberate. He closed the door again and, taking a deep breath, set off towards the life and bustle of the Two Schooners.

CHAPTER X

Time failed to soften the captain’s ideas concerning his son’s engagement, and all mention of the subject in the house was strictly forbidden. Occasionally he was favoured with a glimpse of his son and Miss Kybird out together, a sight which imparted such a flavour to his temper and ordinary intercourse that Mrs. Kingdom, in unconscious imitation of Mr. James Hardy, began to count the days which must elapse before her niece’s return from London. His ill-temper even infected the other members of the household, and Mrs. Kingdom sat brooding in her bedroom all one afternoon, because Bella had called her an “overbearing dish-pot.”

The finishing touch to his patience was supplied by a little misunderstanding between Mr. Kybird and the police. For the second time in his career the shopkeeper appeared before the magistrates to explain the circumstances in which he had purchased stolen property, and for the second time he left the court without a stain on his character, but with a significant magisterial caution not to appear there again.

Jack Nugent gave evidence in the case, and some of his replies were deemed worthy of reproduction in the Sunwich Herald, a circumstance which lost the proprietors a subscriber of many years’ standing.

One by one various schemes for preventing his son’s projected alliance were dismissed as impracticable. A cherished design of confining him in an asylum for the mentally afflicted until such time as he should have regained his senses was spoilt by the refusal of Dr. Murchison to arrange for the necessary certificate; a refusal which was like to have been fraught with serious consequences to that gentleman’s hopes of entering the captain’s family.

Brooding over his wrongs the captain, a day or two after his daughter’s return, strolled slowly down towards the harbour. It was afternoon, and the short winter day was already drawing towards a close. The shipping looked cold and desolate in the greyness, but a bustle of work prevailed on the Conqueror, which was nearly ready for sea again. The captain’s gaze wandered from his old craft to the small vessels dotted about the harbour and finally dwelt admiringly on the lines of the whaler Seabird, which had put in a few days before as the result of a slight collision with a fishing-boat. She was high out of the water and beautifully rigged. A dog ran up and down her decks barking, and a couple of squat figures leaned over the bulwarks gazing stolidly ashore.

There was something about the vessel which took his fancy, and he stood for some time on the edge of the quay, looking at her. In a day or two she would sail for a voyage the length of which would depend upon her success; a voyage which would for a long period keep all on board of her out of the mischief which so easily happens ashore. If only Jack–

He started and stared more intently than before. He was not an imaginative man, but he had in his mind’s eye a sudden vision of his only son waving farewells from the deck of the whaler as she emerged from the harbour into the open sea, while Amelia Kybird tore her yellow locks ashore. It was a vision to cheer any self-respecting father’s heart, and he brought his mind back with some regret to the reality of the anchored ship.

He walked home slowly. At the Kybirds’ door the proprietor, smoking a short clay pipe, eyed him with furtive glee as he passed. Farther along the road the Hardys, father and son, stepped briskly together. Altogether a trying walk, and calculated to make him more dissatisfied than ever with the present state of affairs. When his daughter shook her head at him and accused him of going off on a solitary frolic his stock of patience gave out entirely.

A thoughtful night led to a visit to Mr. Wilks the following evening. It required a great deal of deliberation on his part before he could make up his mind to the step, but he needed his old steward’s assistance in a little plan he had conceived for his son’s benefit, and for the first time in his life he paid him the supreme honour of a call.

The honour was so unexpected that Mr. Wilks, coming into the parlour in response to the tapping of the captain’s stick on the floor, stood for a short time eyeing him in dismay. Only two minutes before he had taken Mr. James Hardy into the kitchen to point out the interior beauties of an ancient clock, and the situation simply appalled him. The captain greeted him almost politely and bade him sit down. Mr. Wilks smiled faintly and caught his breath.

“Sit down,” repeated the captain.

“I’ve left something in the kitchen, sir,” said Mr. Wilks. “I’ll be back in half a minute.”

The captain nodded. In the kitchen Mr. Wilks rapidly and incoherently explained the situation to Mr. Hardy.

“I’ll sit here,” said the latter, drawing up a comfortable oak chair to the stove.

“You see, he don’t know that we know each other,” explained the apologetic steward, “but I don’t like leaving you in the kitchen.”

“I’m all right,” said Hardy; “don’t you trouble about me.”

He waved him away, and Mr. Wilks, still pale, closed the door behind him and, rejoining the captain, sat down on the extreme edge of a chair and waited.

“I’ve come to see you on a little matter of business,” said his visitor.

Mr. Wilks smiled; then, feeling that perhaps that was not quite the right thing to do, looked serious again.

“I came to see you about my—my son,” continued the captain.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Wilks. “Master Jack, you mean?”

“I’ve only got one son,” said the other, unpleasantly, “unless you happen to know of any more.”

Mr. Wilks almost fell off the edge of the chair in his haste to disclaim any such knowledge. His ideas were in a ferment, and the guilty knowledge of what he had left in the kitchen added to his confusion. And just at that moment the door opened and Miss Nugent came briskly in.

Her surprise at seeing her father ensconced in a chair by the fire led to a rapid volley of questions. The captain, in lieu of answering them, asked another.

“What do you want here?”

“I have come to see Sam,” said Miss Nugent. “Fancy seeing you here! How are you, Sam?”

“Pretty well, miss, thank’ee,” replied Mr. Wilks, “considering,” he added, truthfully, after a moment’s reflection.

Miss Nugent dropped into a chair and put her feet on the fender. Her father eyed her restlessly.

“I came here to speak to Sam about a private matter,” he said, abruptly.

“Private matter,” said his daughter, looking round in surprise. “What about?”

“A private matter,” repeated Captain Nugent. “Suppose you come in some other time.”

Kate Nugent sighed and took her feet from the fender. “I’ll go and wait in the kitchen,” she said, crossing to the door.

Both men protested. The captain because it ill-assorted with his dignity for his daughter to sit in the kitchen, and Mr. Wilks because of the visitor already there. The face of the steward, indeed, took on such extraordinary expressions in his endeavour to convey private information to the girl that she gazed at him in silent amazement. Then she turned the handle of the door and, passing through, closed it with a bang which was final.

Mr. Wilks stood spellbound, but nothing happened. There was no cry of surprise; no hasty reappearance of an indignant Kate Nugent. His features working nervously he resumed his seat and gazed dutifully at his superior officer.

“I suppose you’ve heard that my son is going to get married?” said the latter.

“I couldn’t help hearing of it, sir,” said the steward in self defence— “nobody could.”

“He’s going to marry that yellow-headed Jezebel of Kybird’s,” said the captain, staring at the fire.

Mr. Wilks murmured that he couldn’t understand anybody liking yellow hair, and, more than that, the general opinion of the ladies in Fullalove Alley was that it was dyed.

“I’m going to ship him on the Seabird,” continued the captain. “She’ll probably be away for a year or two, and, in the meantime, this girl will probably marry somebody else. Especially if she doesn’t know what has become of him. He can’t get into mischief aboard ship.”

“No, sir,” said the wondering Mr. Wilks. “Is Master Jack agreeable to going, sir?”

“That’s nothing to do with it,” said the captain, sharply.

“No, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, “o’ course not. I was only a sort o’ wondering how he was going to be persuaded to go if ‘e ain’t.”

“That’s what I came here about,” said the other. “I want you to go and fix it up with Nathan Smith.”

“Do you want ‘im to be crimped, sir?” stammered Mr. Wilks.

“I want him shipped aboard the Seabird,” returned the other, “and Smith’s the man to do it.”

“It’s a very hard thing to do in these days, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, shaking his head. “What with signing on aboard the day before the ship sails, and before the Board o’ Trade officers, I’m sure it’s a wonder that anybody goes to sea at all.”

“You leave that to Smith,” said the captain, impatiently. “The Seabird sails on Friday morning’s tide. Tell Smith I’ll arrange to meet my son here on Thursday night, and that he must have some liquor for us and a fly waiting on the beach.”

Mr. Wilks wriggled: “But what about signing on, sir?” he inquired.

“He won’t sign on,” said the captain, “he’ll be a stowaway. Smith must get him smuggled aboard, and bribe the hands to let him lie hidden in the fo’c’s’le. The Seabird won’t put back to put him ashore. Here is five pounds; give Smith two or three now, and the remainder when the job is done.”

The steward took the money reluctantly and, plucking up his courage, looked his old master in the face.

“It’s a ‘ard life afore the mast, sir,” he said, slowly.

“Rubbish!” was the reply. “It’ll make a man of him. Besides, what’s it got to do with you?”

“I don’t care about the job, sir,” said Mr. Wilks, bravely.

“What’s that got to do with it?” demanded the other, frowning. “You go and fix it up with Nathan Smith as soon as possible.”

Mr. Wilks shuffled his feet and strove to remind himself that he was a gentleman of independent means, and could please himself.

“I’ve known ‘im since he was a baby,” he murmured, defiantly.

“I don’t want to hear anything more from you, Wilks,” said the captain, in a hard voice. “Those are my orders, and you had better see that they are carried out. My son will be one of the first to thank you later on for getting him out of such a mess.”

Mr. Wilks’s brow cleared somewhat. “I s’pose Miss Kate ‘ud be pleased too,” he remarked, hope-fully.

“Of course she will,” said the captain. “Now I look to you, Wilks, to manage this thing properly. I wouldn’t trust anybody else, and you’ve never disappointed me yet.”

The steward gasped and, doubting whether he had heard aright, looked towards his old master, but in vain, for the confirmation of further compliments. In all his long years of service he had never been praised by him before. He leaned forward eagerly and began to discuss ways and means.

In the next room conversation was also proceeding, but fitfully. Miss Nugent’s consternation when she closed the door behind her and found herself face to face with Mr. Hardy was difficult of concealment. Too late she understood the facial contortions of Mr. Wilks, and, resigning herself to the inevitable, accepted the chair placed for her by the highly pleased Jem, and sat regarding him calmly from the other side of the fender.

“I am waiting here for my father,” she said, in explanation.

“In deference to Wilks’s terrors I am waiting here until he has gone,” said Hardy, with a half smile.

There was a pause. “I hope that he will not be long,” said the girl.