Sea Urchins

“Thirty fiddlesticks,” retorted Tweedie; “there you are in black and white—sixty-three pounds eighteen shillings and tenpence ha’penny.”

“And is that what Mas’r Edward wants?” inquired Captain Fazackerly, gasping.

“Yes; that’s a properly drawn up disbursement sheet,” said Tweedie in satisfied tones. “You see how it simplifies matters. The governor can see at a glance how things stand, while, if you trusted to your memory, you might forget something, or else claim something you didn’t have.”

“I ought to have had them things afore,” said Captain Fazackerly, shaking his head solemnly. “I’d ha’ been riding in my carriage by now.”

“Never ye dream of having another v’y’ge without one,” said Tweedie. “I doubt whether it’s lawful to render an account without one.”

He folded the paper, and handed it to his friend, who, after inspecting it with considerable pride, tucked it carefully away in his breast pocket.

“Take it up in the morning,” said Tweedie. “We’ll have a bit o’ tea down here, and then we’ll go round a bit afterwards.”

Captain Fazackerly having no objection, they had tea first, and then, accompanied by the first mate, went out to christen the disbursement sheet. The ceremony, which was of great length, was solemnly impressive towards the finish. Captain Tweedie, who possessed a very sensitive, highly-strung nature, finding it necessary to put a licensed victualler out of his own house before it could be completed to his satisfaction.

The one thing which Captain Fazackerly remembered clearly the next morning when he awoke was the disbursement sheet. He propped it against the coffee-pot during breakfast, and read selections to his admiring mate, and after a refreshing toilet, proceeded to the office. Simmons was already there, and before the skipper could get to the purpose of his visit, the head of the firm arrived.

“I’ve just brought the disbursement sheet you asked for, sir,” said the skipper, drawing it from his pocket.

“Ah! you’ve got it, then,” said the new governor, with a gracious smile; “you see it wasn’t so much trouble after all.”

“I don’t mind the trouble, sir,” interrupted Captain Fazackerly.

“You see it puts things on a better footing,” said the other. “I can see at a glance now how things stand, and Simmons can enter the items straight away into the books of the firm. It’s more satisfactory to both of us. Sit down, cap’n.”

The captain sat down, his face glowing with this satisfactory recognition of his work.

“I met Cap’n Hargreaves as I was a-coming up,” he said; “and I explained to him your ideas on the subject, an’ he went straight back, as straight as he could go, to make out his disbursement sheet.”

“Ah! we shall soon have things on a better footing now,” said the governor, unfolding the paper, while the skipper gazed abstractedly through the small, dirty panes of the office window at the bustle on the quay below.

For a short space there was silence in the office, broken only by the half-audible interjections of the reader. Then he spoke.

“Simmons!” he said sharply.

The old clerk slipped from his stool, and obeying the motions of his employer inspected, in great astonishment, the first disbursement sheet which had ever entered the office. He read through every item in an astonished whisper, and, having finished, followed the governor’s example and gazed at the heavy figure by the window.

“Captain Fazackerly,” said his employer, at length, breaking a painful silence.

“Sir,” said the captain, turning his head a little.

“I’ve been talking with Simmons about these disbursement sheets,” said the owner, somewhat awkwardly; “Simmons is afraid they’ll give him a lot of extra trouble.”

The captain turned his head a little more, and gazed stolidly at the astonished Simmons.

“A man oughtn’t to mind a little extra trouble if the firm wishes it,” he said somewhat severely.

“He’s afraid it would throw his books out a bit,” continued the owner, deftly avoiding the gaze of the injured clerk. “You see, Simmons’ book-keeping is of the old-fashioned kind, cap’n, star-fishes and all that kind of thing,” he continued, incoherently, as the gaze of Simmons, refusing to be longer avoided, broke the thread of his discourse. “So I think we’ll put the paper on the fire, cap’n, and do business in the old way. Have you got the money with you?”

“I have, sir,” said Fazackerly, feeling in his pocket, as he mournfully watched his last night’s work blazing up the chimney.

“Fire away, then,” said the owner, almost cordially.

Captain Fazackerly advanced to the table, and clearing his throat, fixed his eyes in a reflective stare on the opposite wall and commenced:—

“Blown away fore lower topsail, fore-staysail, and carried away lifts to staysail. To sailmaker for above, eleven pounds eighteen shillings and ten-pence,” he said, with relish. “Tug out to the bar, three pounds. To twenty-eight pounds black soot, I mean paint—”

RULE OF THREE

The long summer day had gone and twilight was just merging into night. A ray of light from the lantern at the end of the quay went trembling across the sea, and in the little harbour the dusky shapes of a few small craft lay motionless on the dark water.

The master of the schooner Harebell came slowly towards the harbour, accompanied by his mate. Both men had provided ashore for a voyage which included no intoxicants, and the dignity of the skipper, always a salient feature, had developed tremendously under the influence of brown stout. He stepped aboard his schooner importantly, and then, turning to the mate, who was about to follow, suddenly held up his hand for silence.

“What did I tell you?” he inquired severely as the mate got quietly aboard.

“About knocking down the two policemen?” guessed the mate, somewhat puzzled.

“No,” said the other shortly. “Listen.”

The mate listened. From the foc’sle came low gruff voices of men, broken by the silvery ring of women’s laughter.

“Well, I’m a Dutchman,” said the mate the air of one who felt he was expected to say something.

“After all I said to ‘em,” said the skipper with weary dignity. “You ‘eard what I said to them Jack?”

“Nobody could ha’ swore louder,” testified the mate.

“An’ here they are,” said the skipper, “defying of me. After all I said to ‘em. After all the threats I—I employed.”

“Employed,” repeated the mate with relish.

“They’ve been and gone and asked them females down the foc’sle again. You know what I said I’d do, Jack, if they did.”

“Said you’d eat ‘em without salt,” quoted the other helpfully.

“I’ll do worse than that, Jack,” said the skipper after a moment’s discomfiture. “What’s to hinder us casting off quietly and taking them along with us?

“If you ask me,” said the mate, “I should think you couldn’t please the crew better.”

“Well, we’ll see,” said the other, nodding sagaciously, “don’t make no noise, Jack.”

He set an example of silence himself, and aided by the mate, cast off the warps which held his unconscious visitors to their native town, and the wind being off the shore the little schooner drifted silently away from the quay.

The skipper went to the wheel, and the noise of the mate hauling on the jib brought a rough head out of the foc’sle, the owner of which, after a cry to his mates below, sprang up on deck and looked round in bewilderment.

“Stand by, there!” cried the skipper as the others came rushing on deck. “Shake ‘em out.”

“Beggin’ your pardin’, sir,” said one of them with more politeness in his tones than he had ever used before, “but—”