Sailor's Knots (Entire Collection)

“That’s him,” said both together.

They stood regarding him in a fashion unmistakably hostile. Mr. Carter, with an uneasy smile, awaited developments.

“What have you got to say for yourself?” demanded the elder man, at last. “Do you call yourself a man?”

“I don’t call myself anything,” said the puzzled Mr. Carter. “Perhaps you’re mistaking me for somebody else.”

“Didn’t I tell you,” said the younger man, turning to the other—“didn’t I tell you he’d say that?”

“He can say what he likes,” said the other, “but we’ve got him now. If he gets away from me he’ll be cleverer than what he thinks he is.”

“What are we to do with him now we’ve got him?” inquired his son.

The elder man clenched a huge fist and eyed Mr. Carter savagely. “If I was just considering myself,” he said, “I should hammer him till I was tired and then chuck him into the sea.”

His son nodded. “That wouldn’t do Nancy much good, though,” he remarked.

“I want to do everything for the best,” said the other, “and I s’pose the right and proper thing to do is to take him by the scruff of his neck and run him along to Nancy.”

“You try it,” said Mr. Carter, hotly. “Who is Nancy?”

The other growled, and was about to aim a blow at him when his son threw himself upon him and besought him to be calm.

“Just one,” said his father, struggling, “only one. It would do me good; and perhaps he’d come along the quieter for it.”

“Look here!” said Mr. Carter. “You’re mistaking me for somebody else, that’s what you are doing. What am I supposed to have done?”

“You’re supposed to have come courting my daughter, Mr. Somebody Else,” said the other, re-leasing himself and thrusting his face into Mr. Carter’s, “and, after getting her promise to marry you, nipping off to London to arrange for the wedding. She’s been mourning over you for four years now, having an idea that you had been made away with.”

“Being true to your memory, you skunk,” said the son.

“And won’t look at decent chaps that want to marry her,” added the other.

“It’s all a mistake,” said Mr. Carter. “I came down here this morning for the first time in my life.”

“Bring him along,” said the son, impatiently. “It’s a waste of time talking to him.”

Mr. Carter took a step back and parleyed. “I’ll come along with you of my own free will,” he said, hastily, “just to show you that you are wrong; but I won’t be forced.”

He turned and walked back with them towards the town, pausing occasionally to admire the view. Once he paused so long that an ominous growl arose from the elder of his captors.

“I was just thinking,” said Mr. Carter, eying him in consternation; “suppose that she makes the same mistake that you have made? Oh, Lord!”

“Keeps it up pretty well, don’t he, Jim?” said the father.

The other grunted and, drawing nearer to Mr. Carter as they entered the town, stepped along in silence. Questions which Mr. Carter asked with the laudable desire of showing his ignorance concerning the neighborhood elicited no reply. His discomfiture was increased by the behavior of an elderly boatman, who, after looking at him hard, took his pipe from his mouth and bade him “Good-evening.” Father and son exchanged significant glances.

They turned at last into a small street, and the elder man, opening the door of a neat cottage, laid his hand on the prisoner’s shoulder and motioned him in. Mr. Carter obeyed, and, entering a spotless living-room, removed his hat and with affected composure seated himself in an easy-chair.

“I’ll go up and tell Nan,” said Jim. “Don’t let him run away.”

He sprang up the stairs, which led from a corner of the room, and the next moment the voice of a young lady, laboring under intense excitement, fell on the ears of Mr. Carter. With a fine attempt at unconcern he rose and inspected an aged engraving of “The Sailor’s Return.”

“She’ll be down in a minute,” said Jim, returning

“P’r’aps it’s as well that I didn’t set about him, after all,” said his father. “If I had done what I should like to do, his own mother wouldn’t have known him.”

Mr. Carter sniffed defiantly and, with a bored air, resumed his seat. Ten minutes passed—fifteen; at the end of half an hour the elder man’s impatience found vent in a tirade against the entire sex.

“She’s dressing up; that’s what it is,” explained Jim. “For him!”

A door opened above and a step sounded on the stairs. Mr. Carter looked up uneasily, and, after the first sensation of astonishment had passed, wondered vaguely what his double had run away for. The girl, her lips parted and her eyes bright, came swiftly down into the room.

“Where is he?” she said, quickly.

“Eh?” said her father, in surprise. “Why, there! Can’t you see?”

The light died out of the girl’s face and she looked round in dismay. The watchful Mr. Carter thought that he also detected in her glance a spice of that temper which had made her relatives so objectionable.

“That!” she said, loudly. “That! That’s not my Bert!”

“That’s what I told ‘em,” said Mr. Carter, deferentially, “over and over again.”

“What!” said her father, loudly. “Look again.”

“If I looked all night it wouldn’t make any difference,” said the disappointed Miss Evans. “The idea of making such a mistake!”

“We’re all liable to mistakes,” said Mr. Carter, magnanimously, “even the best of us.”

“You take a good look at him,” urged her brother, “and don’t forget that it’s four years since you saw him. Isn’t that Bert’s nose?”

“No,” said the girl, glancing at the feature in question, “not a bit like it. Bert had a beautiful nose.”

“Look at his eyes,” said Jim.

Miss Evans looked, and meeting Mr. Carter’s steady gaze tossed her head scornfully and endeavored to stare him down. Realizing too late the magnitude of the task, but unwilling to accept defeat, she stood confronting him with indignant eyes.

“Well?” said Mr. Evans, misunderstanding.

“Not a bit like,” said his daughter, turning thank-fully. “And if you don’t like Bert, you needn’t insult him.”

She sat down with her back towards Mr. Carter and looked out at the window.

“Well, I could ha’ sworn it was Bert Simmons,” said the discomfited Mr. Evans.

“Me, too,” said his son. “I’d ha’ sworn to him anywhere. It’s the most extraordinary likeness I’ve ever seen.”

He caught his father’s eye, and with a jerk of his thumb telegraphed for instructions as to the disposal of Mr. Carter.