'Holy Sailor!' said Geordie. And he stared aghast at a square piece
of paper which he had reason to believe represented £200. 'Holy
Sailor, what a pot o' money!' He gasped, and took another drink.
'I'm the owner of the _Patriarch_,' he said, and grasping all the
letters and his £200 draft he rammed them down into the bottom of his
inside breast-pocket. 'I'm the owner of--hic--the--hic--_Patriarch_.'
He came out of his corner and went to the bar.
'Gimme a drink, an expensive drink, one that'll cost five bob,' he
demanded of the barman.
'You'd better have a bottle o' brandy,' said the barman.
'I wants the best.'
'This is Hennessy's forty-star brandy,' said the liar behind the bar.
'There's no better in the world.'
And Geordie retreated with the bottle to his corner, and took a long
drink of a poisonous compound which contained as much insanity in it
as a small lunatic asylum. He came back to the bar presently, and
told the barman that he was a millionaire.
'I own half Newcastle and a lot of Bourke Street, Melbourne, and a
baker's dozen of ships, and lumps of London!' said Geordie.
'Lend me a thousand pounds till to-morrow,' said the barman.
'I like you--hic--I'll do it,' said Geordie; and with that he fell
headlong and forgot his wealth. They dragged him outside on the
verandah, and let him lie in the cool of the evening. He was picked
up there two hours later by Jack Braby and some of the starboard
watch, and taken on board.
'He let on he was a millionaire,' said the barman contemptuously.
Braby shook his head.
'Ah, he's liable to allow that when he's full, sir,' said Braby.
But that fatal bottle kept Geordie Potts wholly insensible till they
were outside the Heads again and on their way to England with the
smoke of the tugboat far astern. And presently the second mate, Mr.
Brose, who was a very rough sort of dog and had sweated his way up to
his present exalted rank from that of a fore-mast hand, hauled
Geordie out by the collar of his coat and had him brought to by means
of a bucketful of nice Bass's Strait water. Geordie gasped like a
dying dolphin, but came to rapidly.
'I'll teach you to get drunk, you swab,' said Brose. 'Take those wet
things off and turn to.'
And Geordie obeyed like a child in the presence of _force majeure_.
'Oh, Lord, I've a head,' he told his mates, 'and it seems to me that
I had a most extro'r'nary dream.'
'Wot did you dream of, old Cocklywax?' asked Braby, 'did you dream
you'd come in for old Tyser's money?'
And Geordie gasped.
'S'elp me,' he murmured, 's'elp me, did I dream?'
He dropped his marlinspike as if it were red-hot, and made a break
for the fo'c'sle and his wet coat.
'Now if so be I dreamed,' he said, 'there'll be nought in this
pocket. And if I didn't, I'm jiggered.'
He put his hand in and brought out a handful of damp and crushed
letters, and came out upon deck staggering. Mr. Brose saw him, and
was in his tracks like a fish-hawk on a herring-gull. Geordie saw
him coming, and stood open-mouthed.
'Oh, sir,' said Geordie, 'oh, sir----'
'Oh, blazes,' said Brose, 'what's your damned shenanakin' game? Get
to work, or I'll have you soused till you're half-dead.'
But Geordie could explain nothing.
'Oh, sir,' he stammered, and held up his papers, shaking them feebly.
And Brose shook him, anything but feebly, so that Geordie's teeth
chattered.
'If you please, sir,' he cried out at last, 'if you please, sir,
don't. I owns her.'
'You owns wot?' demanded Brose. And the rest of the men edged as
near as they dared.
'He's drunk still,' said Braby, as Brose shook his mate once more.
'I owns the bally _Patriarch_,' screamed Geordie, 'and all the rest
of 'em, and all my uncle's richness; and I won't be shook, I won't!'
And Brose let him go.
'You're mad,' said Brose, 'you're mad.'
'I ain't,' roared Geordie, who was fast recovering from the shock.
'I ain't. Take these, read 'em, read 'em out. Let the skipper read
'em. I owns the _Patriarch_, and the _Palermo_, and the _Proosian_,
and the whole line. The lawyers says so!'
He put the lot of damp letters into Mr. Brose's hands, and sat down
on the spare top-mast lashed under the rail.
'There's letters for the captain 'ere,' said Brose suspiciously.
''Ow did you get 'em?'
''Twas a youngster from the office gave 'em me,' replied Geordie,
'and I took a drink first and there was one for me, and it said so,
said I was the owner, said it plain.'
And when Brose had read the opened letter he gasped too, and went aft
to see the skipper. The rest of the watch gathered round Geordie,
and spoke in awestruck whispers.
'Is it true, Geordie?'
'Gospel,' said Geordie, 'it's swore to. They sends me two hundred
quid in a paper.'
'Show us,' said the starbowlines, 'show us.'
'It's in the paper the second greaser has,' said Geordie, 'it's wrote
"Pay George Potts, Esq., two hundred quid on the nail."'
'I'd never 'ave let Brose 'ave it,' said Braby, 'like as not 'e'll
keep it.'
'Then I'll sack him,' said Geordie firmly. 'Let him dare try to keep
it, and I'll sack him and not pay him no wages."
'This is a very strange game, this is,' said Braby. 'I never 'eard
tell of the likes. Did they put "Esk" on your letter?'
'They done so,' said Geordie. 'I've seen uncle's letters, and they
done so to him.'
'Then it must be true,' said Braby; 'they on'y puts "Esk" on gents'
letters.'
And Williams the steward was observed coming for'ard scratching his
head.
'Where the 'ell am I?' asked Williams, 'and wot's the game? I'm sent
by the captain to say will "Mr." Potts step into the cabin.'
They all looked at Geordie.
'Mr. Potts--why, that's you, Geordie.'
'I s'pose it must be,' said the owner. 'Must I go, mates?'
'Of course,' cried Braby.
But Geordie fidgeted.
'I could go in if we was painting of her cabin,' he murmured, 'but to
talk with the skipper----'
That evidently disgruntled him.
''Tis your own cabin any'ow,' said Braby. 'I'd walk in like a lord.'
'Well, I s'pose I must,' said Geordie reluctantly, and he went aft
with Williams.
'And you're the owner?' asked Williams.
Geordie sighed.
'So it seems, stoo'ard,' he admitted.
'It beats the devil,' said Williams.
'So it does,' said Geordie, and the next moment he found himself
announced as Mr. Potts, and he stood before the captain with his cap
in his hand, looking as if he was about to be put in irons for
mutiny. But as a matter of fact, the old skipper was a deal more
nervous than he was.
'This seems all correct, Mr. Potts,' said Smith.
'Does it, sir?' asked Geordie, 'I'm very sorry, sir; but it ain't my
fault, sir. I never meant--at least, I never allowed my uncle would
do it, because my father, sir, said he was a blood-sucker, and they
fought and I hit uncle with a brick, sir, to make him let go of
father's beard.'
'Ah, yes, to be sure,' said the captain nervously, 'but I'm thinking
what to do. It's a very anomalous situation for you to be here,
Potts--Mr. Potts, I mean.'
But Geordie held up his hand.
'I'd _much_ rather be Potts, sir, thanking you all the same.'
'I couldn't do it,' replied the skipper. 'I was thinking that you
might like me to put back to Melbourne?'
'Wot for, sir?' demanded the owner.
'So that you could go home in a P. & O. boat,' said old Smith.
'Thanking you kindly, sir,' replied Geordie, 'I'd rather stay in the
_Patriarch_. I don't like steamers, and never did.'
He had a vague notion that the skipper wanted him to go home before
the mast in one.
'Then you wish me not to put back, Mr. Potts?' said Smith.
'I'd very much rather not, sir,' replied Geordie. 'I'm very happy
here, sir, and takin' it all round, the _Patriarch's_ a comfortable
ship, sir. May I go for'ard now, sir?'
He made a step for the cabin door.
'Oh dear, oh dear,' said old Smith, 'you mustn't. You must have a
berth here, and be a passenger.'
The skipper's obvious nervousness was not without its effect upon the
new owner. For old Smith knew that if he lost his present billet he
was not likely to find another one, and he had nothing saved to speak
of. So somehow, and without knowing why, Geordie, without being in
the least disrespectful, was more decided in his answer than he would
have been if the 'old man' had showed himself as hard and severe as
usual.
'Not me,' said Geordie, 'not me, sir. I wouldn't, and I couldn't.
I'd be that uncomfortable--oh, a passenger, good Lord, no!'
'But bein' owner, you can't stay for'ard,' urged the skipper.
'Oh yes, I can, sir,' said Geordie, 'I'd prefer it.'
Smith sighed.
'If you prefer it, of course you must. But if you change your mind,
you'll let me know.'
'Right, I will--sir,' said Geordie.
The skipper walked with him to the cabin door.
'And if you don't want to work, Mr. Potts, I dare say we can get on
without your services, though we shall miss them,' he said anxiously.
'I couldn't lie about and do nix,' replied Geordie, 'I'd die of it.'
And away he went for'ard, while the skipper and Mr. Brose, and Mr.
Ware, waked out of his watch below to hear the extraordinary news,
discussed the situation.
'And 'ave I to call 'im Mr. Potts?' asked Brose with a pathetic air
of disgust.
'I say so,' replied the skipper, 'I can't afford, Brose, as you know,
to lose this job, and old Tyser promised me a kind of marine
superintendent's billet when I left the _Patriarch_, and I dessay
this young chap will act decent about it.'
'I'm damned,' said Ware. 'I'm damned and glad too that he ain't in
my watch. This is hard lines on you, Mr. Brose.'
'If you please, Mr. Potts, will you be so good has to be so kind has
to be so hobliging has to go and over'aul the gear on the main,'
piped Brose in furious mockery. 'Oh, this is 'ard!'
'Far from it,' said old Smith, 'you ought to be proud. It ain't
every second mate has a millionaire owner in his watch.'
But Brose was sullen.
'You mark me, this josser won't do no 'and's turn that he don't like.'
And for'ard the crowd said the same. As a result, for at least ten
days Geordie Potts worked very well indeed. But of course, Brose,
under the skipper's orders, gave him all the soft jobs that were
going. The second mate got into a mode of exaggerated courtesy which
was almost painful.
'Be so good, Mister Potts, as to put a nice neat Matthew Walker on
this 'ere laniard.'