"I've got letters for 'ee."
"All right my hearty! I'll send for 'em."
In less than five minutes the boat of the _Evening Star_ was launched
over the side, stern-foremost, and she had scarce got fairly afloat on
the dancing waves when Joe and Luke "swarmed" into her, had the oars out
and were sweeping off so as to intercept Peter's vessel They soon
reached her, received a packet wrapped up in a bit of newspaper, and
quickly returned.
The packet contained two letters--one for the skipper, the other for the
mate--from their respective wives.
"Joe," said the skipper, when he had perused his letter, "come down
below. I want to speak to 'ee."
"That's just what I was goin' to say to yourself, for the letter from my
missis says somethin' that consarns you."
When master and mate were alone together in the cabin, each read to the
other his letter.
"My missis," said the skipper, unfolding his letter and regarding it
with a puzzled expression, "although she's had a pretty good edication,
has paid little attention to her pot-hooks--but this is how it runs--
pretty near. `Dear old man,' (she's always been an affectionate woman,
Joe, though I do treat her badly when I'm in liquor), `I hope you are
having a good time of it and that darling Billy likes the sea, and is a
good boy. My reason for writing just now is to tell you about that dear
sweet creature, Miss Ruth Dotropy. She has been down at Yarmouth again
on a visit, and of course she has been over to see me and Mrs Davidson,
in _such_ a lovely blue--' (ah! well, Joe, there's no need to read you
that bit; it's all about dress--as if dress could make Miss Ruth better
or worse! But women's minds will run on ribbons an' suchlike. Well,
after yawin' about for a bit, she comes back to the pint, an' steers a
straight course again. She goes on, after a blot or two that I can't
make nothin' of), `You'll be surprised to hear, David, that she's been
making some particular inquiries about you and me; which I don't
understand at all, and looking as if she knew a deal more than she cared
to tell. She's been asking Mrs Davidson too about it, and what puzzles
me most is--' There's another aggrawatin' blot here, Joe, so that I
can't make out what puzzles her. Look here. Can you spell it out?"
Joe tried, but shook his head.
"It's a puzzler to _her_," he said, "an' she's took good care to make it
a puzzler to everybody else, but go on."
"There's nothin' else to go on wi', Joe, for after steerin' past the
blot, she runs foul o' Miss Ruth's dress again, and the only thing worth
mentionin' is a post-script, where she says, `I think there's something
wrong, dear David, and I wish you was here.' That's all."
"Now, that is strange, for my missis writes about the wery same thing,"
said Joe, "only she seems to have gone in for a little more confusion
an' blots than your missis, an' that blessed little babby of ours is
always gittin' in the way, so she can't help runnin' foul of it, but
that same puzzler crops up every now an' then. See, here's what she
writes:--
"`Darlin' Joe,' (a touch more affectionate than yours--eh! skipper?) `if
our dear darlin' babby will let me, I'm a-goin' to write you a letter--
there, I know'd she wouldn't. She's bin and capsized the wash-tub,
though, as you know, she can't walk yet, but she rolls about most awful,
Joe, just what you say the _Evening Star_ does in a gale on the North
Sea. An' she's got most dreadful heels--oh! you've no idear! Whativer
they comes down upon goes--' There's a big blot here," said Joe, with a
puzzled look, "`goes--whativer they comes down upon goes--' No, I can't
make it out."
"`Goes to sticks an' stivers,' p'raps," said the skipper.
"No, my Maggie never uses words like that," said Joe with decision.
"`Goes all to smash,' then," suggested the skipper.
"No, nor it ain't that; my Maggie's too soft-tongued for that."
"Well, you know, things must go somewhere, or somehow, Joe, when such a
pair o' heels comes down on 'em--but steer clear o' the blot and the
babby, an' see what comes next."
"`Well,'" continued Joe, reading on, "`I was goin' to tell you, when
babby made that last smash, ("I _told_ you it was a smash," said David,
softly), that dear Miss Ruth has bin worritin' herself--if babby would
only keep quiet for two minutes--worritin' herself about Mrs Bright in
a way that none of us can understand. She's anxious to make inquiries
about her and her affairs in a secret sort o' way, but the dear young
lady is so honest--there's babby again! Now, I've got her all right.
It was the milk-can this time, but there warn't much in it, an' the
cat's got the benefit. Well, darlin' Joe, where was I--oh, the dear
young lady's so honest an' straitfor'ard, that even a child could see
through her, though none of us can make out what she's drivin' at.
Yesterday she went to see Mrs Bright, an' took a liar with her--'"
"Hallo! Joe, surely she'd niver do that," said the skipper in a
remonstrative tone.
"She means a lawyer," returned Joe, apologetically, "but Maggie niver
could spell that word, though I've often tried to teach 'er--`Maggie,'
says I, `you mustn't write _liar_, but _law-yer_.'
"`La! yer jokin',' says she.
"`No,' says I, `I'm not, that's the way to spell it,' an' as Maggie's a
biddable lass, she got to do it all right, but her memory ain't over
strong, so, you see, she's got back to the old story. Howsever, she
don't really mean it, you know."
"Just so," returned the skipper, "heave ahead wi' the letter, Joe."
Knitting his brows, and applying himself to the much-soiled and crumpled
sheet, the mate continued to read:--
"`An' the liar he puzzled her with all sorts o' questions, just as if he
was a schoolmaster and she a school-girl. He bothered her to that
extent she began to lose temper, ("he better take care," muttered the
skipper, chuckling), but Miss Ruth she sees that, an' putt a stop to it
in her own sweet way, ("lucky for the liar," muttered the skipper), an'
so they went away without explainin'. We've all had a great talk over
it, an' we're most of us inclined to think--oh! that babby, she's bin an
rammed her darlin' futt into the tar-bucket! but it ain't much the
worse, though it's cost about half-a-pound o' butter to take it off, an'
that ain't a joke wi' butter at 1 shilling, 4 pence a pound, an' times
so bad--well, as I was goin' to say, if that blessed babby would only
let me, we're all inclined to think it must have somethin' to do wi'
that man as David owes money to, who said last year that he'd sell his
smack an' turn him an' his family out o' house an' home if he didn't pay
up, though what Miss Ruth has to do wi' that, or how she come for to
know it we can't make out at all.'"
"The blackguard!" growled the skipper, fiercely, referring to `that
man,' "if I only had his long nose within three futt o' my fist, I'd let
him feel what my knuckles is made of!"
"Steamer in sight, father," sang out Billy at that moment down the
companion-hatch.
The conference being thus abruptly terminated, the skipper and mate of
the _Evening Star_ went on deck to give orders for the immediate hauling
up of the trawl and to "have a squint" at the steamer, which was seen at
that moment like a little cloud on the horizon.