A Master Of Craft

“I thought you wanted Miss Wheeler for number four,” said the mate, calmly. “You know what a chap you are, cap’n.”

His companion stopped and regarded him in speechless amaze, then realising a vocabulary to which Miss Wheeler had acted as a safety-valve all the evening, he turned up a side street and stamped his way back to the Foam alone.

CHAPTER V

THE same day that Flower and his friends visited the theatre, Captain Barber gave a small and select tea-party. The astonished Mrs. Banks had returned home with her daughter the day before to find the air full of rumours about Captain Barber and his new housekeeper. They had been watched for hours at a time from upper back windows of houses in the same row, and the professional opinion of the entire female element was that Mrs. Church could land her fish at any time she thought fit.

“Old fools are the worst of fools,” said Mrs. Banks, tersely, as she tied her bonnet strings; “the idea of Captain Barber thinking of marrying at his time of life.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” enquired her daughter.

“Why because he’s promised to leave his property to Fred and you, of course,” snapped the old lady; “if he marries that hussy it’s precious little you and Fred will get.”

“I expect it’s mostly talk,” said her daughter calmly, as she closed the street door behind her indignant parent. “People used to talk about you and old Mr. Wilders, and there was nothing in it. He only used to come for a glass of your ale.”

This reference to an admirer who had consumed several barrels of the liquor in question without losing his head, put the finishing touch to the elder lady’s wrath, and she walked the rest of the way in ominous silence.

Captain Barber received them in the elaborate velvet smoking-cap with the gold tassel which had evoked such strong encomiums from Mrs. Church, and in a few well-chosen words—carefully rehearsed that afternoon—presented his housekeeper.

“Will you come up to my room and take your things off?” enquired Mrs. Church, returning the old lady’s hostile stare with interest.

“I’ll take mine off down here, if Captain Barber doesn’t mind,” said the latter, subsiding into a chair with a gasp. “Him and me’s very old friends.”

She unfastened the strings of her bonnet, and, taking off that article of attire, placed it in her lap while she unfastened her shawl. She then held both out to Mrs. Church, briefly exhorting her to be careful.

“Oh, what a lovely bonnet,” said that lady, in false ecstasy. “What a perfect beauty! I’ve never seen anything like it before. Never!”

Captain Barber, smiling at the politeness of his housekeeper, was alarmed and perplexed at the generous colour which suddenly filled the old lady’s cheeks.

“Mrs. Banks made it herself,” he said, “she’s very clever at that sort of thing.”

“There, do you know I guessed as much,” said Mrs. Church, beaming; “directly I saw it, I said to myself: ‘That was never made by a milliner. There’s too much taste in the way the flowers are arranged.’”

Mrs. Banks looked at her daughter, in a mute appeal for help.

“I’ll take yours up, too, shall I?” said the amiable housekeeper, as Mrs. Banks, with an air of defying criticism, drew a cap from a paper-bag and put it on.

“I’ll take mine myself, please,” said Miss Banks, with coldness.

“Oh, well, you may as well take them all then,” said Mrs. Church, putting the mother’s bonnet and shawl in her arms. “I’ll go and see that the kettle boils,” she said, briskly.

She returned a minute or two later with the teapot, and setting chairs, took the head of the table.

“And how’s the leg?” enquired Captain Barber, misinterpreting Mrs. Banks’ screwed-up face.

“Which one?” asked Mrs. Banks, shortly.

“The bad ‘un,” said the captain.

“They’re both bad,” said Mrs. Banks more shortly than before, as she noticed that Mrs. Church had got real lace in her cuffs and was pouring out the tea in full consciousness of the fact.

“Dear, dear,” said the Captain sympathetically.

“Swollen?” enquired Mrs. Church, anxiously.

“Swelled right out of shape,” exclaimed Captain Barber, impressively; “like pillars almost they are.”

“Poor thing,” said Mrs. Church, in a voice which made Mrs. Banks itch to slap her. “I knew a lady once just the same, but she was a drinking woman.”

Again Mrs. Banks at a loss for words, looked at her daughter for assistance.

“Dear me, how dreadful it must be to know such people,” said Mrs. Banks, shivering.

“Yes,” sighed the other. “It used to make me feel sorry for her—they were utterly shapeless, you know. Horrid!”

“That’s how Mrs. Banks’ are,” said the Captain, nodding sagely. “You look ‘ot, Mrs. Banks. Shall I open the winder a bit?”

“I’ll thank you not to talk about me like that, Captain Barber,” said Mrs. Banks, the flowers on her hat trembling.

“As you please, ma’am,” said Captain Barber, with a stateliness which deserved a better subject. “I was only repeating what Dr. Hodder told me in your presence.”

Mrs. Banks made no reply, but created a diversion by passing her cup up for more tea; her feelings, when Mrs. Church took off the lid of the teapot and poured in about a pint of water before helping her, belonging to that kind known as in-describable.

“Water bewitched, and tea begrudged,” she said, trying to speak jocularly.

“Well, the fourth cup never is very good, is it,” said Mrs. Church, apologetically. “I’ll put some more tea in, so that your next cup’ll be better.”

As a matter of fact it was Mrs. Banks’ third cup, and she said so, Mrs. Church receiving the correction with a polite smile, more than tinged with incredulity.

“It’s wonderful what a lot of tea is drunk,” said Captain Barber, impressively, looking round the table.

“I’ve heard say it’s like spirit drinking,” said Mrs. Church; “they say it gets such a hold of people that they can’t give it up. They’re just slaves to it, and they like it brown and strong like brandy.”

Mrs. Banks, who had been making noble efforts, could contain herself no longer. She put down the harmless beverage which had just been handed to her, and pushed her chair back from the table.

“Are you speaking of me, young woman?” she asked, tremulous with indignation.

“Oh, no, certainly not,” said Mrs. Church, in great distress. “I never thought of such a thing. I was alluding to the people Captain Barber was talking of—regular tea-drinkers, you know.”

“I know what you mean, ma’am,” said Mrs. Banks fiercely.

“There, there,” said Captain Barber, ill-advisedly.

“Don’t you say ‘there, there,’ to me, Captain Barber, because I won’t have it,” said the old lady, speaking with great rapidity; “if you think that I’m going to sit here and be insulted by—by that woman, you’re mistaken.”

“You’re quite mistook, Mrs. Banks,” said the Captain, slowly. “I’ve heard everything she said, and, where the insult comes in, I’m sure I don’t know. I don’t think I’m wanting in common sense, ma’am.”

He patted the housekeeper’s hand kindly, and, in full view of the indignant Mrs. Banks, she squeezed his in return and gazed at him affectionately. There is nothing humourous to the ordinary person in a teacup, but Mrs. Banks, looking straight into hers, broke into a short, derisive laugh.