SHIP AND OCEAN
The host, the hostess, and the guest all remained on their feet in the
noble hall of the Wilbrahams, it not being good etiquette to sit at
removals, even when company calls. Emanuel, fortunately for him, was
adept at perambulation with a full cup of tea in one hand and a hat or
so in the other. There were two things which he really could do--one was
to sing a sentimental song without laughing, and the other was to
balance a cup of tea. And it was only when he was doing the one or the
other that he genuinely lived. During the remainder of his existence he
was merely a vegetable inside a waistcoat. He held his cup without a
tremor while Helen charmingly introduced into it her teaspoon and
stirred up the sugar. Then, after he had sipped and pronounced the
result excellent, he began to admire the Hall and the contents of the
Hall. A proof of his real Christian charity was that, whereas he had
meant to have that Hall for himself, he breathed no word of envy nor
discontent. He praised everything; and presently he arrived at the ship
and ocean, and praised that. He particularly praised the waves.
The heart of James instantly and instinctively softened towards him. For
the realism of those foaming waves had always struck James as the final
miracle of art. And, moreover, this was the first time that any of
Helen's haughty "set" had ever deigned to recognise the merits of the
ship and ocean.
"Where shouldst hang it, Master Prockter?" James genially asked.
"Hang it, uncle?" exclaimed Helen. "Are you going to hang it? Aren't you
going to keep it on the table in your own room?"
She was hoping that it might occupy a position not too prominent. She
did not intend it to be the central decorative attraction of the palace.
"It ought to be hung," said Emanuel. "See, here are the little iron
things for the nails."
This gift of observation pleased James. Emanuel was indeed beginning to
show quite an intelligent interest in the ship and ocean.
"Of course it must be hung," said he.
He was very human, was Jimmy Ollerenshaw. For at least twenty-five years
he had possessed the ship and ocean, and cherished it, always meaning
one day to hang it against the wall as it deserved. And yet he had never
arrived at doing so, though the firm resolution to do so had not a whit
weakened in his mind. And now he was absolutely decided, with the whole
force of his will behind him, to hang the ship and ocean at once.
"There! under the musicians' gallery wouldn't be a bad place, would it,
Mr. Ollerenshaw?" Emanuel suggested, respectfully.
James trained his eye on the spot. "The very thing, lad!" said he, with
enthusiasm.
"Lad!" Helen had not recovered from a private but extreme astonishment
at this singular mark of paternal familiarity to Emanuel when there was
another and a far louder ring at the door.
Georgiana minced and tripped out of her retreat, and opened the majestic
portal to a still greater surprise for Helen. The ringer was Mr. Andrew
Dean--Mr. Andrew Dean with his dark, quasi-hostile eyes, and his heavy
shoulders, and his defiant, suspicious bearing--Mr. Andrew Dean in
workaday clothes and with hands that could not be called clean. Andrew
stared about him like a scout, and then advanced rapidly to Helen and
seized her hand, hurting it.
"I was just passing," said he, in a hoarse voice. "I expected you'd be
in a bit of a mess, so I thought I might be useful. How d'ye do, Mr.
Ollerenshaw?" And he hurt James's hand also.
"It's very kind of you," Helen remarked, flushing.
"How do, Prockter?" Andrew jerked out at Emanuel, not taking his hand.
This abstention on Andrew's part from physical violence was capable of
two interpretations. The natural interpretation was that Andrew's social
methods were notoriously casual and capricious. The interesting
interpretation was that a failure of the negotiations between Emanuel
and Andrew for a partnership--a failure which had puzzled Bursley--had
left rancour behind it.
Emanuel, however, displayed no symptom of being disturbed. His blandness
remained intact. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was mysteriously electric.
Helen felt it to be so, and an atmosphere which is deemed to be electric
by even one person only, _ipso facto_, is electric. As for James
Ollerenshaw, he was certainly astonished by the visit of Andrew Dean;
but, being absorbed in the welfare of his ship and ocean, he permitted
his astonishment to dissolve in a vague satisfaction that, anyhow,
Helen's unexplained quarrel with Andrew Dean was really at an end. This
call was assuredly Andrew's way of expiatory repentance.
"The very thing!" he repeated, glancing at Emanuel as if in expectation.
Emanuel did not seem to comprehend that aught was expected of him. He
amiably stood, with hands still appropriately gloved, and his kindly
glance wandered between the ship and ocean and the spot which he had hit
on for the ship and ocean's last resting-place.
"Where's the steps, Helen?" James inquired, and, after a brief silence:
"Georgiana!" he yelled.
The girl flew in.
"Bring us a pair o' steps," said he.
Followed an unsuccessful search for the pair of steps, which Andrew Dean
ultimately discovered in a corner of the hall itself, lying flat behind
a vast roll of carpet which was included in the goods purchased for
seven thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. The steps being found,
Georgiana explained at length how she distinctly remembered seeing one
of the men put them behind the roll of carpet.
"Now, what is it?" Andrew vigorously questioned. He was prepared,
evidently, to do anything that a man may do with a pair of steps. When
the operation was indicated to him, his first act was to take off his
coat, which he threw on the floor.
"Hammer! Nails!" he ejaculated. And Georgiana, intimidated by his tone,
contrived to find both hammer and nails. It is true that the hammer was
a coal hammer.
And in a remarkably short space of time he was balanced on the summit of
the steps with a nail in one hand, a hammer in the other, a pencil
behind his ear, and another nail in his mouth. The other three encircled
him from below, with upturned faces and open mouths, like young birds
expecting food. (Not that young birds expecting food wear gloves so
appropriate to the occasion as were Emanuel's.) James Ollerenshaw was
impressed by the workmanlike manner in which Andrew measured the width
of the glass box and marked it off on the wall before beginning to knock
nails. The presence of one nail in Andrew's mouth while he was knocking
in the other with a coal hammer, prevented him from outraging the social
code when the coal hammer embraced his fingers as well as the nail in
the field of its activity. Unhappily, when it came to the second nail,
no such hindrance operated.
The nails, having been knocked in, were duly and satisfactorily tested.
Then solemnly James seized the glass box containing the ship and ocean,
and bore it with all possible precautions to the pair of steps in front
of the great doors. Andrew descended two storeys, and, bending his body,
received the box from James as a parson receives a baby at the font. He
then remounted. The steps rocked.
"I'd happen better hold 'em," said James.
"It'll be all right," said Andrew.
"I'll hold them," said Emanuel, hastening forward.
The precise cause of the accident will probably never be known, but no
sooner did Emanuel lay his gloved hand on the steps than the whole
edifice, consisting of steps, Andrew, and ship and ocean tottered and
fell.
"Clumsy fool!" Andrew was distinctly heard to exclaim during his swift
passage to the floor.
The ship and ocean were incurably disintegrated into a mess of coloured
cardboard, linen, and sticks.
And catastrophes even more dreadful might have occurred had it not been
for the calm and wise tact of Helen. Where a person is pleased by an
event, that person can usually, without too much difficulty, exercise a
calm and wise tact upon other persons whom the event has not pleased.
And Helen was delighted by the catastrophe to the ship and ocean. The
ship and ocean had formed no part in her scheme for the decoration of
the hall; her one poor solace had been that the relative proportions of
the hall and of the ship and ocean were such that even a careful
observer might have spent hours in the former without discovering the
latter; on the other hand, some blundering ninny might have lighted
instantly on the ship and ocean, and awkwardly inquired what it was
doing there. So Helen was really enchanted by the ruin. She handled her
men with notable finesse: Uncle James savage and vindictive, but
uncertain upon whom to pour out his anger; Emanuel nursing his injured
innocence; and Andrew Dean nursing his elbow, his head, and vengeance.
She also found a moment in which to calm Georgiana, who had run flying
and hysterical into the hall at the sound of the smash.
Even the steps were broken.
After a time harmony was established, both Uncle James and Emanuel
being, at bottom, men of peace. But it was undeniable that Uncle James
had lost more than gold, and that Emanuel had been touched in a perilous
place--his conceit of himself.
Then Georgiana swept up the ship and ocean, and James retired to his own
little room, where he assumed his Turkish cap, and began to arrange his
personal effects in a manner definite and final, which would be a law
for ever to the servants of Wilbraham Hall.
Left with the two young men, Helen went from triumph to triumph. In
quite a few minutes she had them actually talking to each other. And she
ended by speeding them away together. And by the time they departed each
was convinced that Georgiana's apron, on Helen, was one of the most
bewitching manifestations of the inexpressibly feminine that he had ever
been privileged to see.
They took themselves off by a door at the farther end of the hall behind
the stairs, whence there was a short cut through the undulating grounds
to the main road.
Helen ascended to the state bedroom, where there was simply everything
to be done; Georgiana followed her, after having made up the fires, and,
while helping to unpack boxes, offered gossamer hints--fluffy, scarcely
palpable, elusive things--to her mistress that her real ambition had
always been to be a lady's-maid, and to be served at meals by the third,
or possibly the fourth, house-maid. And the hall of Wilbraham Hall was
abandoned for a space to silence and solitude.
Now, the window of Uncle James's little room was a little window that
lived modestly between the double pillars of the portico and the first
window of the great dining-room. Resting from his labours of sorting and
placing, he gazed forth at his domain, and mechanically calculated what
profit would accrue to him if he cut off a slip a hundred and fifty feet
deep along by the Oldcastle-road, and sold it in lots for villas, or
built villas and sold them on ninety-nine-year leases. He was engaged in
his happy exercise of mental arithmetic when he heard footsteps
crunching the gravel, and then a figure, which had evidently come round
by the north side from the back of the Hall, passed across the field of
James's vision. This figure was a walking baptism to the ground it trod.
It dripped water plenteously. It was, in a word, soaked, and its
garments clung to it. Its yellow chamois gloves clung to its hands. It
had no hat. It hesitated in front of the entrance.
Uncle James pushed up his window. "What's amiss, lad?" he inquired, with
a certain blandness of satisfaction.
"I fell into the Water," said Emanuel, feebly, meaning the sheet known
as Wilbraham Water, which diversified the park-like splendours of
Wilbraham Hall.
"How didst manage that?"
"The path is very muddy and slippery just there," said Emanuel.
"Hadn't you better run home as quick as may be?" James suggested.
"I can't," said Emanuel.
"Why not?"
"I've got no hat, and I'm all wet. And everybody in Oldcastle-road will
see me. Can you lend me a hat and coat?"
And all the while he was steadily baptising the gravel.
Uncle James's head disappeared for a moment, and then he threw out of
the window a stiff yellow mackintosh of great age. It was his
rent-collecting mackintosh. It had the excellent quality of matching the
chamois gloves.
Emanuel thankfully took it. "And what about a cap or something?" he
plaintively asked.
"Tak' this," said Uncle James, with remarkable generosity whipping the
Turkish cap from his own head, and handing it to Emanuel.
Emanuel hesitated, then accepted; and, thus uniquely attired, sped away,
still baptising.
At tea (tea proper) James recounted this episode to a somewhat taciturn
and preoccupied Helen.
"He didn't fall into the Water," said Helen, curtly. "Andrew Dean pushed
him in."
"How dost know that?"
"Georgiana and I saw it from my bedroom window. It was she who first saw
them fighting, or at any rate arguing. Then Andrew Dean 'charged' him
in, as if they were playing football, and walked on; and Emanuel
Prockter scrambled out."
"H'm!" reflected James. "Well, if ye ask me, lass, Emanuel brought that
on himsen. I never seed a man look a bigger foo' than Emanuel looked
when he went off in my mackintosh and Turkish cap."
"Your Turkish cap?"
"One of 'em."
"With the tassel?"
"Ay!"
"It's a great shame! That's what it is! I'm sure he didn't look a fool!
He's been very badly treated, and I'll--"
She rose from the table, in sudden and speechless indignation.
"You should ha' seen him, lass!" said James, and added: "I wish ye had!"
He tried to be calm. But she had sprung on him another of her
disconcerting surprises. Was it, after all, possible, conceivable, that
she was in love with Emanuel?
She sat down again. "I know why you say that, uncle"--she looked him in
the face, and put her elbows on the table. "Now, just listen to me!"
Highly perturbed, he wondered what was coming next.