A Master Of Craft. William Wymark Jacobs
the watchman, shaking his head.
“I’m not sure he didn’t go on that little ship,” said the lady; “but if he has, I suppose I can wait here till he comes off. I’m not doing any harm.”
“The ship’ll sail in about an hour’s time, miss,” said Tim, regretfully, “but there ain’t nobody o’ the name of Robinson aboard her. All the crew’s ‘ere, and there’s only the skipper and mate on her besides.”
“You can’t deceive me, young man, so don’t try it,” said the lady, sharply. “I followed him on here, and he hasn’t gone off, because the gate has been locked since.”
“I can’t think who the lady means,” said Joe.
“I ain’t seen nobody come aboard. If he did, he’s down the cabin.”
“Well, I’ll go down there,” said the lady, promptly.
“Well, miss, it’s nothing to do with us,” said Joe, “but it’s my opinion you’ll find the skipper and mate has turned in.”
“Well, I’m going down,” said the lady, gripping her parasol firmly by the middle; “they can’t eat me.”
She walked towards the Foam, followed by the perplexed crew, and with the able assistance of five pairs of hands reached the deck. The companion was open, and at Joe’s whispered instructions she turned and descended the steps backwards.
It was at first quite dark in the cabin, but as the visitor’s eyes became accustomed to it, she could just discern the outlines of a small table, while a steady breathing assured her that somebody was sleeping close by. Feeling her way to the table she discovered, a locker, and, taking a seat, coughed gently. The breathing continuing quite undisturbed, she coughed again, twice.
The breathing stopped suddenly. “Who the devil’s that coughing?” asked a surprised voice.
“I beg pardon, I’m sure,” said the visitor, “but is there a Mr. Robinson down here?”
The reply was so faint and smothered that she could not hear it. It was evident that the speaker, a modest man, was now speaking from beneath the bedclothes.
“Is Mr. Robinson here?” she repeated loudly.
“Never heard of him,” said the smothered voice.
“It’s my opinion,” said the visitor, hotly, “that you’re trying to deceive me. Have you got a match?”
The owner of the voice said that he had not, and with chilly propriety added that he wouldn’t give it to her if he had. Whereupon the lady rose, and, fumbling on the little mantel-piece, found a box and struck one. There was a lamp nailed to the bulkhead over the mantel-piece, and calmly removing the chimney, she lit it.
A red, excited face, with the bedclothes fast about its neck, appeared in a small bunk and stared at her in speechless amaze. The visitor returned his gaze calmly, and then looked carefully round the cabin.
“Where does that lead to?” she asked, pointing to the door of the state-room.
The mate, remembering in time the mysterious behaviour of Flower, considered the situation. “That’s the pantry,” he said, untruthfully.
The visitor rose and tried the handle. The door was locked, and she looked doubtfully at the mate. “I suppose that’s a leg of mutton I can hear asleep in there,” she said, with acerbity.
“You can suppose what you like,” said the mate, testily; “why don’t you go away? I’m surprised at you.”
“You’ll be more surprised before I’ve done with you,” said the lady, with emotion. “My Fred’s in there, and you know it.”
“Your Fred!” said Fraser, in great surprise.
“Mr. Robinson,” said the visitor, correcting herself.
“I tell you there’s nobody in there except the skipper,” said the mate.
“You said it was the pantry just now,” exclaimed the other, sharply.
“The skipper sleeps in the pantry so’s he can keep his eye on the meat,” explained Fraser.
The visitor looked at him angrily. “What sort of a man is he?” she enquired, suddenly.
“You’ll soon know if he comes out,” said the mate. “He’s the worst-tempered man afloat, I should think. If he comes out and finds you here, I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” said the other, with spirit. “What do you call him? Skipper?”
The mate nodded, and the visitor tapped loudly at the door. “Skipper!” she cried, “Skipper!”
No answer being vouchsafed, she repeated her cry in a voice louder than before.
“He’s a heavy sleeper,” said the perturbed Fraser; “better go away, there’s a good girl.”
The lady, scornfully ignoring him, rapped on the door and again called upon its occupant. Then, despite her assurance, she sprang back with a scream as a reply burst through the door with the suddenness and fury of a thunder-clap.
“Halloa!” it said.
“My goodness,” said the visitor, aghast. “What a voice! What a terrible voice!”
She recovered herself and again approached the door.
“Is there a gentleman named Robinson in there?” she asked, timidly.
“Gentleman named who?” came the thunderclap again.
“Robinson,” said the lady, faintly.
“No! No!” said the thunder-clap. Then—“Go away,” it rumbled. “Go away.”
The reverberation of that mighty voice rolled and shook through the cabin. It even affected the mate, for the visitor, glancing towards him, saw that he had nervously concealed himself beneath the bedclothes, and was shaking with fright.
“I daresay his bark is worse than his bite,” said the visitor, trembling; “anyway, I’m going to stay here. I saw Mr. Robinson come here, and I believe he’s got him in there. Killing him, perhaps. Oh! Oh!”
To the mate’s consternation she began to laugh, and then changed to a piercing scream, and, unused to the sex as he was, he realised that this was the much-dreaded hysteria of which he had often heard, and he faced her with a face as pallid as her own.
“Chuck some water over yourself,” he said, hastily, nodding at a jug which stood on the table. “I can’t very well get up to do it myself.”
The lady ignored this advice, and by dint of much strength of mind regained her self-control. She sat down on the locker again, and folding her arms showed clearly her intention to remain.
Half an hour passed; the visitor still sat grimly upright. Twice she sniffed slightly, and, with a delicate handkerchief, pushed up her veil and wiped away the faint beginnings of a tear.
“I suppose you think I’m acting strangely?” she said, catching the mate’s eye after one of these episodes.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” said the mate, with studied politeness; “don’t mind hurting my feelings or taking my character away.”
“Pooh! you’re a man,” said the visitor, scornfully; “but character or no character, I’m going to see into that room before I go away, if I sit here for three weeks.”
“How’re you going to manage about eating and drinking all that time?” enquired Fraser.
“How are you?” said the visitor; “you can’t get up while I’m here, you know.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said the mate, vaguely.
“I’m sure I don’t want to annoy anybody,” said the visitor, softly, “but I’ve had a lot of trouble, young man, and what’s worse, I’ve been made a fool of. This day three weeks ago I ought to have been married.”
“I’m