At Sunwich Port, Complete

“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.

“Thank you,” returned Hardy, wilfully misunderstanding, “but I am in no hurry.”

He gazed at her with admiration. The cold air had heightened her colour, and the brightness of her eyes shamed the solitary candle which lit up the array of burnished metal on the mantelpiece.

“I hope you enjoyed your visit to London,” he said.

Before replying Miss Nugent favoured him with a glance designed to express surprise at least at his knowledge of her movements. “Very much, thank you,” she said, at last.

Mr. Hardy, still looking at her with much comfort to himself, felt an insane desire to tell her how much she had been missed by one person at least in Sunwich. Saved from this suicidal folly by the little common sense which had survived the shock of her sudden appearance, he gave the information indirectly.

“Quite a long stay,” he murmured; “three months and three days; no, three months and two days.”

A sudden wave of colour swept over the girl’s face at the ingenuity of this mode of attack. She was used to attention and took compliments as her due, but the significant audacity of this one baffled her. She sat with downcast eyes looking at the fender occasionally glancing from the corner of her eye to see whether he was preparing to renew the assault. He had certainly changed from the Jem Hardy of olden days. She had a faint idea that his taste had improved.

“Wilks keeps his house in good order,” said Hardy, looking round.

“Yes,” said the girl.

“Wonder why he never married,” said Hardy, musingly; “for my part I can’t understand a man remaining single all his life; can you?”

“I never think of such things,” said Miss Nugent, coldly—and untruthfully.

“If it was only to have somebody to wait on him and keep his house clean,” pursued Hardy, with malice.

Miss Nugent grew restless, and the wrongs of her sex stirred within her. “You have very lofty ideas on the subject,” she said, scornfully, “but I believe they are not uncommon.”

“Still, you have never thought about such things, you know,” he reminded her.

“And no doubt you have devoted a great deal of time to the subject.”

Hardy admitted it frankly. “But only since I returned to Sunwich,” he said.

“Caused by the spectacle of Sam’s forlorn condition, I suppose,” said Miss Nugent.

“No, it wasn’t that,” he replied.

Miss Nugent, indignant at having been drawn into such a discussion, lapsed into silence. It was safer and far more dignified, but at the same time she yearned for an opportunity of teaching this presumptuous young man a lesson. So far he had had it all his own way. A way strewn with ambiguities which a modest maiden had to ignore despite herself.

“Of course, Wilks may have had a disappointment,” said Hardy, with the air of one willing to make allowances.

“I believe he had about fifty,” said the girl, carelessly.

Hardy shook his head in strong disapproval. “No man should have more than one,” he said, firmly; “a man of any strength of will wouldn’t have that.”