A Master Of Craft. William Wymark Jacobs
gave an apologetic cough. “I’ve had a lot of worry lately, Jack,” he said, humbly; “come in and have something. Perhaps it will clear my head a bit.”
“I told ‘em you wouldn’t be back till twelve at least,” said the mate, as Flower rapidly diagnosed his complaint and ordered whisky, “perhaps not then, and that when you did turn up you’d sure to be the worse for liquor. The old lady said she’d wait all night for the pleasure of seeing your bonny face, and as for you being drunk, she said she don’t suppose there’s a woman in London that has had more experience with drunken men than she has.”
“Let this be a warning to you, Jack,” said the skipper, solemnly, as he drained his glass and put it thoughtfully on the counter.
“Don’t you trouble about me,” said Fraser; “you’ve got all you can do to look after yourself. I’ve come out to look for a policeman; at least, that’s what I told them.”
“All the police in the world couldn’t do me any good,” sighed Flower. “Poppy’s got tickets for a concert to-night, and I was going with her. I can’t go like this.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” enquired the other.
Flower shook his head and pondered. “You go back and get rid of them the best way you can,” he said, at length, “but whatever you do, don’t have a scene. I’ll stay here till you come and tell me the coast is clear.”
“And suppose it don’t clear?” said Fraser.
“Then I’ll pick you up at Greenwich in the morning,” said Flower.
“And suppose they’re still aboard?” said Fraser.
“I won’t suppose any such thing,” said the other, hotly; “if you can’t get rid of two women between now and three in the morning, you’re not much of a mate. If they catch me I’m ruined, and you’ll be responsible for it.”
The mate, staring at him blankly, opened his mouth to reply, but being utterly unable to think of anything adequate to the occasion, took up his glass instead, and, drinking off the contents, turned to the door. He stood for a moment at the threshold gazing at Flower as though he had just discovered points about him which had hitherto escaped his notice, and then made his way back to the wharf.
“They’re still down below, sir,” said Joe, softly, as he stepped aboard, “and making as free and as comfortable as though they’re going to stay a month.”
Fraser shrugged his shoulders and went below. The appearance of the ladies amply confirmed Joe’s remark.
“Never can find one when you want him, can you?” said the elder lady, in playful allusion to the police.
“Well, I altered my mind,” said Fraser, amiably, “I don’t like treating ladies roughly, but if the cap’n comes on board and finds you here it’ll be bad for me, that’s all.”
“What time do you expect him?” enquired Miss Tipping.
“Not before we sail at three in the morning.” said the mate, glibly; “perhaps not then. I often have to take the ship out without him. He’s been away six weeks at a stretch before now.”
“Well, we’ll stay here till he does come,” said the elder lady. “I’ll have his cabin, and my step-daughter’ll have to put up with your bed.”
“If you’re not gone by the time we start, I shall have to have you put off,” said Fraser.
“Those of us who live longest’ll see the most,” said Mrs. Tipping, calmly.
An hour or two passed, the mate sitting smoking with a philosophy which he hoped the waiting mariner at the “Admiral Cochrane” would be able to imitate. He lit the lamp at last, and going on deck, ordered the cook to prepare supper.
Mother and daughter, with feelings of gratitude, against which they fought strongly, noticed that the table was laid for three, and a little later, in a somewhat awkward fashion, they all sat down to the meal together.
“Very good beef,” said Mrs. Tipping, politely.
“Very nice,” said her daughter, who was ex-changing glances with the mate. “I suppose you’re very comfortable here, Mr. Fraser?”
The mate sighed. “It’s all right when the old man’s away,” he said, deceitfully. “He’s got a dreadful temper.”
“I hope you didn’t get into trouble through my coming aboard the other night,” said Miss Tipping, softly.
“Don’t say anything about it,” replied the mate, eyeing her admiringly. “I’d do more than that for you, if I could.”
Miss Tipping, catching her mother’s eye, bestowed upon her a glance of complacent triumph.
“You don’t mind us coming down here, do you?” she said, languishingly.
“I wish you’d live here,” said the unscrupulous Fraser; “but of course I know you only come here to try and see that fellow Robinson,” he added, gloomily.
“I like to see you, too,” was the reply. “I like you very much, as a friend.”
The mate in a melancholy voice thanked her, and to the great annoyance of the cook, who had received strict orders from the forecastle to listen as much as he could, sat in silence while the table was cleared.
“What do you say to a hand at cards?” he said, after the cook had finally left the cabin.
“Three-handed cribbage,” said Mrs. Tipping, quickly; “it’s the only game worth playing.”
No objection being raised, the masterful lady drew closer to the table, and concentrating energies of no mean order on the game, successfully played hands of unvarying goodness, aided by a method of pegging which might perhaps be best described as dot and carry one.
“You haven’t seen anything of this Mr. Robinson since you were here last, I suppose?” said Fraser, noting with satisfaction that both ladies gave occasional uneasy glances at the clock.
“No, an’ not likely to,” said Mrs. Tipping; “fifteen two, fifteen four, fifteen six, and a pair’s eight.”
“Where’s the fifteen six?” enquired Fraser, glancing over.
“Eight and seven,” said the lady, pitching the cards with the others and beginning to shuffle for the next deal.
“It’s very strange behaviour,” said the mate; “Robinson, I mean. Do you think he’s dead?”
“No, I don’t,” said Mrs. Tipping, briefly. “Where’s that captain of yours?”
Fraser, whose anxiety was becoming too much for his play, leaned over the table as though about to speak, and then, apparently thinking better of it, went on with the game.
“Eh?” said Mrs. Tipping, putting her cards face downwards on the table and catching his eye. “Where?”
“O, nowhere,” said Fraser, awkwardly. “I don’t want to be dragged into this, you know. It isn’t my business.”
“If you know where he is, why can’t you tell us?” asked Mrs. Tipping, softly. “There’s no harm in that.”
“What’s the good?” enquired Fraser, in a low voice; “when you’ve seen the old man you won’t be any forwarder—he wouldn’t tell you anything even if he knew it.”
“Well, we’d like to see him,” said Mrs. Tipping, after a pause.
“You see, you put me in a difficulty,” said Fraser; “if the skipper doesn’t come aboard, you’re going with us, I understand?”
Mrs. Tipping nodded. “Exactly,” she said, sharply.
“That’ll get me into trouble, if anything will,” said the mate, gloomily. “On the other hand, if I tell you where he is now, that’ll get me into trouble, too.”
He sat back and drummed