The Lady of the Barge and Others, Entire Collection

“I’ve got a berth ashore, sir,” says Bill, “and I wanted to ask a favour, sir.”

The second mate growled and walked off a pace or two.

“I’ve never been so ‘appy as I’ve been on this ship,” says Bill; “none of us ‘ave. We was saying so the other night, and everybody agreed as it was owing to you, sir, and your kindness to all of us.”

The second mate coughed, but Bill could see as ‘e was a bit pleased.

“The feeling came over me,” says Bill, “that when I leave the sea for good I’d like to ‘ave something o’ yours to remember you by, sir. And it seemed to me that if I ‘ad your—mattress I should think of you ev’ry night o’ my life.”

“My wot?” says the second mate, staring at ‘im. “Your mattress, sir,” says Bill. “If I might make so bold as to offer a pound for it, sir. I want something wot’s been used by you, and I’ve got a fancy for that as a keepsake.” The second mate shook ‘is ‘ead. “I’m sorry, Bill,” ‘e says, gently, “but I couldn’t let it go at that.”

“I’d sooner pay thirty shillin’s than not ‘ave it, sir,” says Bill, ‘umbly.

“I gave a lot of money for that mattress,” says the mate, ag’in. “I forgit ‘ow much, but a lot. You don’t know ‘ow valuable that mattress is.”

“I know it’s a good one, sir, else you wouldn’t ‘ave it,” says Bill. “Would a couple o’ pounds buy it, sir?”

The second mate hum’d and ha’d, but Bill was afeard to go any ‘igher. So far as ‘e could make out from Jimmy, the mattress was worth about eighteen pence—to anybody who wasn’t pertiklar.

“I’ve slept on that mattress for years,” says the second mate, looking at ‘im from the corner of ‘is eye. “I don’t believe I could sleep on another. Still, to oblige you, Bill, you shall ‘ave it at that if you don’t want it till we go ashore?”

“Thankee, sir,” says Bill, ‘ardly able to keep from dancing, “and I’ll ‘and over the two pounds when we’re paid off. I shall keep it all my life, sir, in memory of you and your kindness.”

“And mind you keep quiet about it,” says the second mate, who didn’t want the skipper to know wot ‘e’d been doing, “because I don’t want to be bothered by other men wanting to buy things as keepsakes.”

Bill promised ‘im like a shot, and when ‘e told me about it ‘e was nearly crying with joy.

“And mind,” ‘e says, “I’ve bought that mattress, bought it as it stands, and it’s got nothing to do with Jimmy. We’ll each pay a pound and halve wot’s in it.”

He persuaded me at last, but that boy watched us like a cat watching a couple of canaries, and I could see we should ‘ave all we could do to deceive ‘im. He seemed more suspicious o’ Bill than me, and ‘e kep’ worrying us nearly every day to know what we were going to do.

We beat about in the channel with a strong ‘ead-wind for four days, and then a tug picked us up and towed us to London.

The excitement of that last little bit was ‘orrible. Fust of all we ‘ad got to get the mattress, and then in some way we ‘ad got to get rid o’ Jimmy. Bill’s idea was for me to take ‘im ashore with me and tell ‘im that Bill would join us arterwards, and then lose ‘im; but I said that till I’d got my share I couldn’t bear to lose sight o’ Bill’s honest face for ‘alf a second.

And, besides, Jimmy wouldn’t ‘ave gone.

All the way up the river ‘e stuck to Bill, and kept asking ‘im wot we were to do. ‘E was ‘alf crying, and so excited that Bill was afraid the other chaps would notice it.

We got to our berth in the East India Docks at last, and arter we were made fast we went below to ‘ave a wash and change into our shoregoing togs. Jimmy watched us all the time, and then ‘e comes up to Bill biting ‘is nails, and says:

“How’s it to be done, Bill?”

“Hang about arter the rest ‘ave gone ashore, and trust to luck,” says Bill, looking at me. “We’ll see ‘ow the land lays when we draw our advance.”

We went down aft to draw ten shillings each to go ashore with. Bill and me got ours fust, and then the second mate who ‘ad tipped ‘im the wink followed us out unconcerned-like and ‘anded Bill the mattress rolled up in a sack.

“‘Ere you are, Bill,” ‘e says.

“Much obliged, sir,” says Bill, and ‘is ‘ands trembled so as ‘e could ‘ardly ‘old it, and ‘e made to go off afore Jimmy come on deck.

Then that fool of a mate kept us there while ‘e made a little speech. Twice Bill made to go off, but ‘e put ‘is ‘and on ‘is arm and kept ‘im there while ‘e told ‘im ‘ow he’d always tried to be liked by the men, and ‘ad generally succeeded, and in the middle of it up popped Master Jimmy.

He gave a start as he saw the bag, and ‘is eyes opened wide, and then as we walked forward ‘e put ‘is arm through Bill’s and called ‘im all the names ‘e could think of.

“You’d steal the milk out of a cat’s saucer,” ‘e says; “but mind, you don’t leave this ship till I’ve got my share.”

“I meant it for a pleasant surprise for you, Jimmy,” says Bill, trying to smile.

“I don’t like your surprises, Bill, so I don’t deceive you,” says the boy. “Where are you going to open it?”

“I was thinking of opening it in my bunk,” says Bill. “The perlice might want to examine it if we took it through the dock. Come on, Jimmy, old man.”

“Yes; all right,” says the boy, nodding ‘is ‘ead at ‘im. “I’ll stay up ‘ere. You might forget yourself, Bill, if I trusted myself down there with you alone. You can throw my share up to me, and then you’ll leave the ship afore I do. See?”

“Go to blazes,” says Bill; and then, seeing that the last chance ‘ad gone, we went below, and ‘e chucked the bundle in ‘is bunk. There was only one chap down there, and arter spending best part o’ ten minutes doing ‘is hair ‘e nodded to us and went off.

Half a minute later Bill cut open the mattress and began to search through the stuffing, while I struck matches and watched ‘im. It wasn’t a big mattress and there wasn’t much stuffing, but we couldn’t seem to see that money. Bill went all over it ag’in and ag’in, and then ‘e stood up and looked at me and caught ‘is breath painful.

“Do you think the mate found it?” ‘e says, in a ‘usky voice.

We went through it ag’in, and then Bill went half-way up the fo’c’s’le ladder and called softly for Jimmy. He called three times, and then, with a sinking sensation in ‘is stummick, ‘e went up on deck and I follered ‘im. The boy was nowhere to be seen. All we saw was the ship’s cat ‘aving a wash and brush-up afore going ashore, and the skipper standing aft talking to the owner.

We never saw that boy ag’in. He never turned up for ‘is box, and ‘e didn’t show up to draw ‘is pay. Everybody else was there, of course, and arter I’d got mine and come outside I see pore Bill with ‘is back up ag’in a wall, staring ‘ard at the second mate, who was looking at ‘im with a kind smile, and asking ‘im ‘ow he’d slept. The last thing I saw of Bill, the pore chap ‘ad got ‘is ‘ands in ‘is trousers pockets, and was trying ‘is hardest to smile back.

THE WELL

I

Two men stood in the billiard-room of an old country house, talking. Play, which had been of a half-hearted nature, was over, and they sat at the open window, looking out over the park stretching away beneath them, conversing idly.

“Your time’s nearly up, Jem,” said one at length, “this time six weeks you’ll be yawning out the honeymoon and cursing the man—woman I mean— who invented them.”

Jem Benson stretched his long limbs in the chair and grunted in dissent.

“I’ve never understood it,” continued Wilfred Carr, yawning. “It’s not in my line at all; I never had enough money for my own wants, let alone for two. Perhaps if I were as rich as you or Croesus I might regard it differently.”

There was just sufficient meaning in the latter part of the remark for his cousin to forbear to reply to it. He continued to gaze out of the window and to smoke slowly.

“Not being as rich as Croesus—or you,” resumed Carr, regarding him from beneath lowered lids, “I paddle my own canoe down the stream of Time, and, tying it to my friends’ door-posts, go in to eat their dinners.”

“Quite Venetian,” said Jem Benson, still looking out of the window. “It’s not a bad thing for you, Wilfred, that you have the doorposts and dinners—and friends.”

Carr grunted in his turn. “Seriously though, Jem,” he said, slowly, “you’re a lucky fellow, a very lucky fellow. If there is a better girl above ground than Olive, I should like to see her.”

“Yes,” said the other, quietly.

“She’s such an exceptional girl,” continued Carr, staring out of the window. “She’s so good and gentle. She thinks you are a bundle of all the virtues.”