The brig _Elizabeth Barstow_ came up the river as though in a hurry
to taste again the joys of the Metropolis. The skipper, leaning on the
wheel, was in the midst of a hot discussion with the mate, who was
placing before him the hygienic, economical, and moral advantages of
total abstinence in language of great strength but little variety.
"Teetotallers eat more," said the skipper, finally.
The mate choked, and his eye sought the galley. "Eat more?" he
spluttered. "Yesterday the meat was like brick-bats; to-day it tasted
like a bit o' dirty sponge. I've lived on biscuits this trip; and the
only tater I ate I'm going to see a doctor about direckly I get ashore.
It's a sin and a shame to spoil good food the way 'e does."
"The moment I can ship another cook he goes," said the skipper. "He
seems busy, judging by the noise."
"I'm making him clean up everything, ready for the next," explained the
mate, grimly. "And he 'ad the cheek to tell me he's improving--
improving!"
"He'll go as soon as I get another," repeated the skipper, stooping and
peering ahead. "I don't like being poisoned any more than you do. He
told me he could cook when I shipped him; said his sister had taught
him."
The mate grunted and, walking away, relieved his mind by putting his
head in at the galley and bidding the cook hold up each separate utensil
for his inspection. A hole in the frying-pan the cook modestly
attributed to elbow-grease.
The river narrowed, and the brig, picking her way daintily through the
traffic, sought her old berth at Buller's Wharf. It was occupied by a
deaf sailing-barge, which, moved at last by self-interest, not
unconnected with its paint, took up a less desirable position and
consoled itself with adjectives.
The men on the wharf had gone for the day, and the crew of the
_Elizabeth Barstow_, after making fast, went below to prepare
themselves for an evening ashore. Standing before the largest saucepan-
lid in the galley, the cook was putting the finishing touches to his
toilet.
A light, quick step on the wharf attracted the attention of the skipper
as he leaned against the side smoking. It stopped just behind him, and
turning round he found himself gazing into the soft brown eyes of the
prettiest girl he had ever seen.
"Is Mr. Jewell on board, please?" she asked, with a smile.
"Jewell?" repeated the skipper. "Jewell? Don't know the name."
"He was on board," said the girl, somewhat taken aback. "This is the
_Elizabeth Barstow_, isn't it?"
"What's his Christian name?" inquired the skipper, thoughtfully.
"Albert," replied the girl. "Bert," she added, as the other shook his
head.
"Oh, the cook!" said the skipper. "I didn't know his name was Jewell.
Yes, he's in the galley."
He stood eyeing her and wondering in a dazed fashion what she could see
in a small, white-faced, slab-sided--
The girl broke in upon his meditations. "How does he cook?" she
inquired, smiling.
He was about to tell her, when he suddenly remembered the cook's
statement as to his instructor.
"He's getting on," he said, slowly; "he's getting on. Are you his
sister?"
The girl smiled and nodded. "Ye--es," she said, slowly. "Will you tell
him I am waiting for him, please?"
The skipper started and drew himself up; then he walked forward and put
his head in at the galley.
"Bert," he said, in a friendly voice, "your sister wants to see you."
"_Who?_" inquired Mr. Jewell, in the accents of amazement. He put
his head out at the door and nodded, and then, somewhat red in the face
with the exercise, drew on his jacket and walked towards her. The
skipper followed.
"Thank you," said the girl, with a pleasant smile.
"You're quite welcome," said the skipper.
Mr. Jewell stepped ashore and, after a moment of indecision, shook hands
with his visitor.
"If you're down this way again," said the skipper, as they turned away,
"perhaps you'd like to see the cabin. We're in rather a pickle just now,
but if you should happen to come down for Bert to-morrow night--"
The girl's eyes grew mirthful and her lips trembled. "Thank you," she
said.
"Some people like looking over cabins," murmured the skipper.
He raised his hand to his cap and turned away. The mate, who had just
come on deck, stared after the retreating couple and gave vent to a low
whistle.
"What a fine gal to pick up with Slushy," he remarked.
"It's his sister," said the skipper, somewhat sharply.
"The one that taught him to cook?" said the other, hastily. "Here! I'd
like five minutes alone with her; I'd give 'er a piece o' my mind that
'ud do her good. I'd learn 'er. I'd tell her wot I thought of her."
"That'll do," said the skipper; "that'll do. He's not so bad for a
beginner; I've known worse."
"Not so bad?" repeated the mate. "Not so bad? Why"--his voice trembled--
"ain't you going to give 'im the chuck, then?"
"I shall try him for another vy'ge, George," said the skipper. "It's
hard lines on a youngster if he don't have a chance. I was never one to
be severe. Live and let live, that's my motto. Do as you'd be done by."
"You're turning soft-'arted in your old age," grumbled the mate.
"Old age!" said the other, in a startled voice. "Old age! I'm not
thirty-seven yet."
"You're getting on," said the mate; "besides, you look old."
The skipper investigated the charge in the cabin looking-glass ten
minutes later. He twisted his beard in his hand and tried to imagine how
he would look without it. As a compromise he went out and had it cut
short and trimmed to a point. The glass smiled approval on his return;
the mate smiled too, and, being caught in the act, said it made him look
like his own grandson.
It was late when the cook returned, but the skipper was on deck, and,
stopping him for a match, entered into a little conversation. Mr.
Jewell, surprised at first, soon became at his ease, and, the talk
drifting in some unknown fashion to Miss Jewell, discussed her with
brotherly frankness.
"You spent the evening together, I s'pose?" said the skipper,
carelessly.
Mr. Jewell glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Cooking," he
said, and put his hand over his mouth with some suddenness.
By the time they parted the skipper had his hand in a friendly fashion
on the cook's shoulder, and was displaying an interest in his welfare as
unusual as it was gratifying. So unaccustomed was Mr. Jewell to such
consideration that he was fain to pause for a moment or two to regain
control of his features before plunging into the lamp-lit fo'c'sle.
[Illustration: "The mate smiled too."]
The mate made but a poor breakfast next morning, but his superior, who
saw the hand of Miss Jewell in the muddy coffee and the cremated bacon,
ate his with relish. He was looking forward to the evening, the cook
having assured him that his sister had accepted his invitation to
inspect the cabin, and indeed had talked of little else. The boy was set
to work house-cleaning, and, having gleaned a few particulars, cursed
the sex with painstaking thoroughness.
It seemed to the skipper a favorable omen that Miss Jewell descended the
companion-ladder as though to the manner born; and her exclamations of
delight at the cabin completed his satisfaction. The cook, who had
followed them below with some trepidation, became reassured, and seating
himself on a locker joined modestly in the conversation.
"It's like a doll's-house," declared the girl, as she finished by
examining the space-saving devices in the state-room. "Well, I mustn't
take up any more of your time."
"I've got nothing to do," said the skipper, hastily. "I--I was thinking
of going for a walk; but it's lonely walking about by yourself."
Miss Jewell agreed. She lowered her eyes and looked under the lashes at
the skipper.
"I never had a sister," continued the latter, in melancholy accents.
"I don't suppose you would want to take her out if you had," said the
girl.
The skipper protested. "Bert takes you out," he said.
"He isn't like most brothers," said Miss Jewell, shifting along the
locker and placing her hand affectionately on the cook's shoulder.
"If I had a sister," continued the skipper, in a somewhat uneven voice,
"I should take her out. This evening, for instance, I should take her to
a theatre."
Miss Jewell turned upon him the innocent face of a child. "It would be
nice to be your sister," she said, calmly.
The skipper attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. "Well, pretend
you are my sister," he said, at last, "and we'll go to one."
"Pretend?" said Miss Jewell, as she turned and eyed the cook. "Bert
wouldn't like that," she said, decidedly.
"N--no," said the cook, nervously, avoiding the skipper's eye.
"It wouldn't be proper," said Miss Jewell, sitting upright and looking
very proper indeed.
"I--I meant Bert to come, too," said the skipper; "of course," he added.
The severity of Miss Jewell's expression relaxed. She stole an amused
glance at the cook and, reading her instructions in his eye, began to
temporize. Ten minutes later the crew of the _Elizabeth Barstow_ in
various attitudes of astonishment beheld their commander going ashore
with his cook. The mate so far forgot himself as to whistle, but with
great presence of mind cuffed the boy's ear as the skipper turned.
For some little distance the three walked along in silence. The skipper
was building castles in the air, the cook was not quite at his ease, and
the girl, gazing steadily in front of her, appeared slightly
embarrassed.
By the time they reached Aldgate and stood waiting for an omnibus Miss
Jewell found herself assailed by doubts. She remembered that she did not
want to go to a theatre, and warmly pressed the two men to go together
and leave her to go home. The skipper remonstrated in vain, but the cook
came to the rescue, and Miss Jewell, still protesting, was pushed on to
a 'bus and propelled upstairs. She took a vacant seat in front, and the
skipper and Mr. Jewell shared one behind.
The three hours at the theatre passed all too soon, although the girl
was so interested in the performance that she paid but slight attention
to her companions. During the waits she became interested in her
surroundings, and several times called the skipper's attention to smart-
looking men in the stalls and boxes. At one man she stared so
persistently that an opera-glass was at last levelled in return.
"How rude of him," she said, smiling sweetly at the skipper.
She shook her head in disapproval, but the next moment he saw her gazing
steadily at the opera-glasses again.
"If you don't look he'll soon get tired of it," he said, between his
teeth.
"Yes, perhaps he will," said Miss Jewell, without lowering her eyes in
the least.
The skipper sat in torment until the lights were lowered and the curtain
went up again. When it fell he began to discuss the play, but Miss
Jewell returned such vague replies that it was evident her thoughts were
far away.
"I wonder who he is?" she whispered, gazing meditatingly at the box.
"A waiter, I should think," snapped the skipper.
The girl shook her head. "No, he is much too distinguished-looking," she
said, seriously. "Well, I suppose he'll know me again."
The skipper felt that he wanted to get up and smash things; beginning
with the man in the box. It was his first love episode for nearly ten
years, and he had forgotten the pains and penalties which attach to the
condition. When the performance was over he darted a threatening glance
at the box, and, keeping close to Miss Jewell, looked carefully about
him to make sure that they were not followed.
"It was ripping," said the cook, as they emerged into the fresh air.
"Lovely," said the girl, in a voice of gentle melancholy. "I shall come
and see it again, perhaps, when you are at sea."
"Not alone?" said the skipper, in a startled voice.
"I don't mind being alone," said Miss Jewell, gently; "I'm used to it."
The other's reply was lost in the rush for the 'bus, and for the second
time that evening the skipper had to find fault with the seating
arrangements. And when a vacancy by the side of Miss Jewell did occur,
he was promptly forestalled by a young man in a check suit smoking a
large cigar.
They got off at Aldgate, and the girl thanked him for a pleasant
evening. A hesitating offer to see her home was at once negatived, and
the skipper, watching her and the cook until they disappeared in the
traffic, walked slowly and thoughtfully to his ship.
The brig sailed the next evening at eight o'clock, and it was not until
six that the cook remarked, in the most casual manner, that his sister
was coming down to see him off. She arrived half an hour late, and, so
far from wanting to see the cabin again, discovered an inconvenient love
of fresh air. She came down at last, at the instance of the cook, and,
once below, her mood changed, and she treated the skipper with a soft
graciousness which raised him to the seventh heaven. "You'll be good to
Bert, won't you?" she inquired, with a smile at that young man.
"I'll treat him like my own brother," said the skipper, fervently. "No,
better than that; I'll treat him like your brother."
The cook sat erect and, the skipper being occupied with Miss Jewell,
winked solemnly at the skylight.
"I know _you_ will," said the girl, very softly; "but I don't think
the men--"
"The men'll do as I wish," said the skipper, sternly. "I'm the master on
this ship--she's half mine, too--and anybody who interferes with him
interferes with me. If there's anything you don't like, Bert, you tell
me."
Mr. Jewell, his small, black eyes sparkling, promised, and then,
muttering something about his work, exchanged glances with the girl and
went up on deck.
"It is a nice cabin," said Miss Jewell, shifting an inch and a half
nearer to the skipper. "I suppose poor Bert has to have his meals in
that stuffy little place at the other end of the ship, doesn't he?"
"The fo'c'sle?" said the skipper, struggling between love and
discipline. "Yes."
The girl sighed, and the mate, who was listening at the skylight above,
held his breath with anxiety. Miss Jewell sighed again and in an absent-
minded fashion increased the distance between herself and companion by
six inches.
"It's usual," faltered the skipper.
"Yes, of course," said the girl, coldly.
"But if Bert likes to feed here, he's welcome," said the skipper,
desperately, "and he can sleep aft, too. The mate can say what he
likes."
The mate rose and, walking forward, raised his clenched fists to heaven
and availed himself of the permission to the fullest extent of a
somewhat extensive vocabulary.
"Do you know what I think you are?" inquired Miss Jewell, bending
towards him with a radiant face.
"No," said the other, trembling. "What?"
The girl paused. "It wouldn't do to tell you," she said, in a low voice.
"It might make you vain."
"Do you know what I think you are?" inquired the skipper in his turn.
Miss Jewell eyed him composedly, albeit the corners of her mouth
trembled. "Yes," she said, unexpectedly.
Steps sounded above and came heavily down the companion-ladder. "Tide's
a'most on the turn," said the mate, gruffly, from the door.
The skipper hesitated, but the mate stood aside for the girl to pass,
and he followed her up on deck and assisted her to the jetty. For hours
afterwards he debated with himself whether she really had allowed her
hand to stay in his a second or two longer than necessary, or whether
unconscious muscular action on his part was responsible for the
phenomenon.
He became despondent as they left London behind, but the necessity of
interfering between a goggle-eyed and obtuse mate and a pallid but no
less obstinate cook helped to relieve him.
"He says he is going to sleep aft," choked the mate, pointing to the
cook's bedding.
"Quite right," said the skipper. "I told him to. He's going to take his
meals here, too. Anything to say against it?"
The mate sat down on a locker and fought for breath. The cook, still
pale, felt his small, black mustache and eyed him with triumphant
malice. "I told 'im they was your orders," he remarked.
"And I told him I didn't believe him," said the mate. "Nobody would.
Whoever 'eard of a cook living aft? Why, they'd laugh at the idea."
He laughed himself, but in a strangely mirthless fashion, and, afraid to
trust himself, went up on deck and brooded savagely apart. Nor did he
come down to breakfast until the skipper and cook had finished.
Mr. Jewell bore his new honors badly, and the inability to express their
dissatisfaction by means of violence had a bad effect on the tempers of
the crew. Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook could more than
hold his own, and, although the men doubted his ability at first, he was
able to prove to them by actual experiment that he could cook worse than
they supposed.
The brig reached her destination--Creekhaven--on the fifth day, and Mr.
Jewell found himself an honored guest at the skipper's cottage. It was a
comfortable place, but, as the cook pointed out, too large for one. He
also referred, incidentally, to his sister's love of a country life,
and, finding himself on a subject of which the other never tired, gave
full reins to a somewhat picturesque imagination.
They were back at London within the fortnight, and the skipper learned
to his dismay that Miss Jewell was absent on a visit. In these
circumstances he would have clung to the cook, but that gentleman,
pleading engagements, managed to elude him for two nights out of the
three.
On the third day Miss Jewell returned to London, and, making her way to
the wharf, was just in time to wave farewells as the brig parted from
the wharf.
[Illustration: "Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook could more
than hold his own."]
From the fact that the cook was not visible at the moment the skipper
took the salutation to himself. It cheered him for the time, but the
next day he was so despondent that the cook, by this time thoroughly in
his confidence, offered to write when they got to Creekhaven and fix up
an evening.
"And there's really no need for you to come, Bert," said the skipper,
cheering up.
Mr. Jewell shook his head. "She wouldn't go without me," he said,
gravely. "You've no idea 'ow particular she is. Always was from a
child."
"Well, we might lose you," said the skipper, reflecting. "How would that
be?"
"We might try it," said the cook, without enthusiasm.
To his dismay the skipper, before they reached London again, had
invented at least a score of ways by which he might enjoy Miss Jewell's
company without the presence of a third person, some of them so
ingenious that the cook, despite his utmost efforts, could see no way of
opposing them.
The skipper put his ideas into practice as soon as they reached London.
Between Wapping and Charing Cross he lost the cook three times. Miss
Jewell found him twice, and the third time she was so difficult that the
skipper had to join in the treasure-hunt himself. The cook listened
unmoved to a highly-colored picture of his carelessness from the lips
of Miss Jewell, and bestowed a sympathetic glance upon the skipper as
she paused for breath.
"It's as bad as taking a child out," said the latter, with well-affected
indignation.
"Worse," said the girl, tightening her lips.
With a perseverance worthy of a better cause the skipper nudged the
cook's arm and tried again. This time he was successful beyond his
wildest dreams, and, after ten minutes' frantic search, found that he
had lost them both. He wandered up and down for hours, and it was past
eleven when he returned to the ship and found the cook waiting for him.
"We thought something 'ad happened to you," said the cook. "Kate has
been in a fine way about it. Five minutes after you lost me she found
me, and we've been hunting 'igh and low ever since."
Miss Jewell expressed her relief the next evening, and, stealing a
glance at the face of the skipper, experienced a twinge of something
which she took to be remorse. Ignoring the cook's hints as to theatres,
she elected to go for a long 'bus ride, and, sitting in front with the
skipper, left Mr. Jewell to keep a chaperon's eye on them from three
seats behind.
Conversation was for some time disjointed; then the brightness and
crowded state of the streets led the skipper to sound his companion as
to her avowed taste for a country life.
"I should love it," said Miss Jewell, with a sigh. "But there's no
chance of it; I've got my living to earn."
"You might--might marry somebody living in the country," said the
skipper, in trembling tones.
Miss Jewell shuddered. "Marry!" she said, scornfully.
"Most people do," said the other.
"Sensible people don't," said the girl. "You haven't," she added, with a
smile.
"I'm very thankful I haven't," retorted the skipper, with great meaning.
"There you are!" said the girl, triumphantly.
"I never saw anybody I liked," said the skipper, "be--before."
"If ever I did marry," said Miss Jewell, with remarkable composure, "if
ever I was foolish enough to do such a thing, I think I would marry a
man a few years younger than myself."
"Younger?" said the dismayed skipper.
Miss Jewell nodded. "They make the best husbands," she said, gravely.
The skipper began to argue the point, and Mr. Jewell, at that moment
taking a seat behind, joined in with some heat. A more ardent supporter
could not have been found, although his repetition of the phrase "May
and December" revealed a want of tact of which the skipper had not
thought him capable. What had promised to be a red-letter day in his
existence was spoiled, and he went to bed that night with the full
conviction that he had better abandon a project so hopeless.
With a fine morning his courage revived, but as voyage succeeded voyage
he became more and more perplexed. The devotion of the cook was patent
to all men, but Miss Jewell was as changeable as a weather-glass. The
skipper would leave her one night convinced that he had better forget
her as soon as possible, and the next her manner would be so kind, and
her glances so soft, that only the presence of the ever-watchful cook
prevented him from proposing on the spot. The end came one evening in
October. The skipper had hurried back from the City, laden with stores,
Miss Jewell having, after many refusals, consented to grace the tea-
table that afternoon. The table, set by the boy, groaned beneath the
weight of unusual luxuries, but the girl had not arrived. The cook was
also missing, and the only occupant of the cabin was the mate, who,
sitting at one corner, was eating with great relish.
"Ain't you going to get your tea?" he inquired.
"No hurry," said the skipper, somewhat incensed at his haste. "It
wouldn't have hurt _you_ to have waited a bit."
"Waited?" said the other. "What for?"
"For my visitors," was the reply.
The mate bit a piece off a crust and stirred his tea. "No use waiting
for them," he said, with a grin. "They ain't coming."
"What do you mean?" demanded the skipper.
"I mean," said the mate, continuing to stir his tea with great
enjoyment--"I mean that all that kind'artedness of yours was clean
chucked away on that cook. He's got a berth ashore and he's gone for
good. He left you 'is love; he left it with Bill Hemp."
"Berth ashore?" said the skipper, staring.
"Ah!" said the mate, taking a large and noisy sip from his cup. "He's
been fooling you all along for what he could get out of you. Sleeping
aft and feeding aft, nobody to speak a word to 'im, and going out and
being treated by the skipper; Bill said he laughed so much when he was
telling 'im that the tears was running down 'is face like rain. He said
he'd never been treated so much in his life."
"That'll do," said the skipper, quickly.
"You ought to hear Bill tell it," said the mate, regretfully. "I can't
do it anything like as well as what he can. Made us all roar, he did.
What amused 'em most was you thinking that that gal was cookie's
sister."
The skipper, with a sharp exclamation, leaned forward, staring at him.
"They're going to be married at Christmas," said the mate, choking in
his cup.
The skipper sat upright again, and tried manfully to compose his
features. Many things he had not understood before were suddenly made
clear, and he remembered now the odd way in which the girl had regarded
him as she bade him good-night on the previous evening. The mate eyed
him with interest, and was about to supply him with further details when
his attention was attracted by footsteps descending the companion-
ladder. Then he put down his cup with great care, and stared in stolid
amazement at the figure of Miss Jewell in the doorway.
"I'm a bit late," she said, flushing slightly.
She crossed over and shook hands with the skipper, and, in the most
natural fashion in the world, took a seat and began to remove her
gloves. The mate swung round and regarded her open-mouthed; the skipper,
whose ideas were in a whirl, sat regarding her in silence. The mate was
the first to move; he left the cabin rubbing his shin, and casting
furious glances at the skipper.
"You didn't expect to see me?" said the girl, reddening again.
"No," was the reply.
The girl looked at the tablecloth. "I came to beg your pardon," she
said, in a low voice.
"There's nothing to beg my pardon for," said the skipper, clearing his
throat. "By rights I ought to beg yours. You did quite right to make fun
of me. I can see it now."
"When you asked me whether I was Bert's sister I didn't like to say
'no,' continued the girl; "and at first I let you come out with me for
the fun of the thing, and then Bert said it would be good for him, and
then--then--"
"Yes," said the skipper, after a long pause.
The girl broke a biscuit into small pieces, and arranged them on the
cloth. "Then I didn't mind your coming so much," she said, in a low
voice.
The skipper caught his breath and tried to gaze at the averted face.
The girl swept the crumbs aside and met his gaze squarely. "Not quite so
much," she explained.
"I've been a fool," said the skipper. "I've been a fool. I've made
myself a laughing-stock all round, but if I could have it all over again
I would."
"That can never be," said the girl, shaking her head. "Bert wouldn't
come."
[Illustration: "'Good-by,' he said, slowly; 'and I wish you both every
happiness.'"]
"No, of course not," asserted the other.
The girl bit her lip. The skipper thought that he had never seen her
eyes so large and shining. There was a long silence.
"Good-by," said the girl at last, rising.
The skipper rose to follow. "Good-by," he said, slowly; "and I wish you
both every happiness."
"Happiness?" echoed the girl, in a surprised voice. "Why?"
"When you are married."
"I am not going to be married," said the girl. "I told Bert so this
afternoon. Good-by."
The skipper actually let her get nearly to the top of the ladder before
he regained his presence of mind. Then, in obedience to a powerful tug
at the hem of her skirt, she came down again, and accompanied him meekly
back to the cabin.
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