Many Cargoes

“I couldn’t help it,” groaned the skipper; “she would come; she can be very determined when she likes. She’s awful gone on me, Bill.”

“So’s the other one apparently,” said the mate.

“I can’t think what it is the gals see in me,” said the other mournfully. “Can you?”

“No, I’m blamed if I can,” replied the mate frankly.

“I don’t take no credit for it, Bill,” said the skipper, “not a bit. My father was like it before me. The worry’s killing me.”

“Well, which are you going to have?” inquired the mate. “Which do you like the best?”

“I don’t know, an’ that’s a fact,” said the skipper. “They ‘ve both got money coming to ‘em; when I’m in Wales I like Mary Jones best, and when I’m in London it’s Janey Cooper. It’s dreadful to be like that, Bill.”

“It is,” said the mate drily. “I wouldn’t be in your shoes when those two gals meet for a fortune. Then you’ll have old Jones and her brothers to tackle, too. Seems to me things’ll be a bit lively.”

“I hev thought of being took sick, and staying in my bunk, Bill,” suggested Evans anxiously.

“An’ having the two of ‘em to nurse you,” retorted Bill. “Nice quiet time for an invalid.”

Evans made a gesture of despair.

“How would it be,” said the mate, after a long pause, and speaking very slowly; “how would it be if I took this one off your hands.”

“You couldn’t do it, Bill,” said the skipper decidedly. “Not while she knew I was above ground.” “Well, I can try,” returned the mate shortly. “I’ve took rather a fancy to the girl. Is it a bargain?”

“It is,” said the skipper, shaking hands upon it. “If you git me out of this hole, Bill, I’ll remember it the longest day I live.”

With these words he went below, and, after cautiously undoing W. H. Cooper, who had slept himself into a knot that a professional contortionist would have envied, tumbled in beside him and went to sleep.

His heart almost failed him when he encountered the radiant Jane at breakfast in the morning, but he concealed his feelings by a strong effort; and after the meal was finished, and the passengers had gone on deck, he laid hold of the mate, who was following, and drew him into the cabin.

“You haven’t washed yourself this morning,” he said, eyeing him closely. “How do you s’pose you are going to make an impression if you don’t look smart?”

“Well, I look tidier than you do,” growled the mate.

“Of course you do,” said the wily Evans. “I’m going to give you all the chances I can. Now you go and shave yourself, and here—take it.”

He passed the surprised mate a brilliant red silk tie, embellished with green spots.

“No, no,” said the mate deprecatingly.

“Take it,” repeated Evans; “if anything’ll fetch her it’ll be that tie; and here’s a couple of collars for you; they’re a new shape, quite the rage down Poplar way just now.”

“It’s robbing you,” said the mate, “and it’s no good either. I ain’t got a decent suit of clothes to my back.”

Evans looked up, and their eyes met; then, with a catch in his breath, he turned away, and after some hesitation went to his locker, and bringing out a new suit, bought for the edification of Miss Jones, handed it silently to the mate.

“I can’t take all these things without giving you something for ‘em,” said the mate. “Here, wait a bit.”

He dived into his cabin, and, after a hasty search, brought out some garments which he placed on the table before his commander.

“I wouldn’t wear ‘em, no, not to drown myself in,” declared Evans after a brief glance; “they ain’t even decent.”

“So much the better,” said the mate; “it’ll be more of a contrast with me.”

After a slight contest the skipper gave way, and the mate, after an elaborate toilette, went on deck and began to make himself agreeable, while his chief skulked below trying to muster up courage to put in an appearance.

“Where’s the captain?” inquired Miss Cooper, after his absence had been so prolonged as to become noticeable.

“He’s below, dressin’, I b’leeve,” replied the mate simply.

Miss Cooper, glancing at his attire, smiled softly to herself, and prepared for something startling, and she got it; for a more forlorn, sulky-looking object than the skipper, when he did appear, had never been seen on the deck of the Falcon, and his London betrothed glanced at him hot with shame and indignation.

“Whatever have you got those things on for?” she whispered.

“Work, my dear—work,” replied the skipper.

“Well, mind you don’t lose any of the pieces,” said the dear suavely; “you mightn’t be able to match that cloth.”

“I’ll look after that,” said the skipper, reddening. “You must excuse me talkin’ to you now. I’m busy.”

Miss Cooper looked at him indignantly, and, biting her lip, turned away, and started a desperate flirtation with the mate, to punish him. Evans watched them with mingled feelings as he busied himself with various small jobs on the deck, his wrath being raised to boiling point by the behaviour of the cook, who, being a poor hand at disguising his feelings, came out of the galley several times to look at him.

From this incident a coolness sprang up between the skipper and the girl, which increased hourly. At times the skipper weakened, but the watchful mate was always on hand to prevent mischief. Owing to his fostering care Evans was generally busy, and always gruff; and Miss Cooper, who was used to the most assiduous attentions from him, knew not whether to be most bewildered or most indignant. Four times in one day did he remark in her hearing that a sailor’s ship was his sweetheart, while his treatment of his small prospective brother in-law, when he expostulated with him on the state of his wardrobe, filled that hitherto pampered youth with amazement. At last, on the fourth night out, as the little schooner was passing the coast of Cornwall, the mate came up to him as he was steering, and patted him heavily on the back.

“It’s all right, cap’n,” said he. “You’ve lost the prettiest little girl in England.”

“What?” said the skipper, in incredulous tones.

“Fact,” replied the other. “Here’s your ring back. I wouldn’t let her wear it any longer.”

“However did you do it?” inquired Evans, taking the ring in a dazed fashion.

“Oh, easy as possible,” said the mate. “She liked me best, that’s all.”

“But what did you say to her?” persisted Evans.

The other reflected.

“I can’t call to mind exactly,” he said at length. “But, you may rely upon it, I said everything I could against you. But she never did care much for you. She told me so herself.”

“I wish you joy of your bargain,” said Evans solemnly, after a long pause.

“What do you mean?” demanded the mate sharply.

“A girl like that,” said the skipper, with a lump in his throat, “who can carry on with two men at once ain’t worth having. She’s not my money, that’s all.”

The mate looked at him in honest bewilderment.