A SKIRMISH WITH LIGHT WORDS
“This is Captain Scoble’s stateroom, mother,” said Louis, as he seated
himself.
“Then I must move,” she added.
“No, you shall not move, mother; there is another room in the cabin,
and he may sleep there, for I will not permit you to be turned out of
this one,” replied Louis, as he began to make a careful survey of his
surroundings.
“You talk as though you were the captain, my son. Do not quarrel with
Scoble if you can help it,” she pleaded.
“I will not; but I shall not submit, or bow my head to him.”
Louis had not asked for the captain’s room without a purpose, which he
was now carrying out. Under the berth he saw a trunk; he drew it out
and opened it. He found nothing but a thin package of letters which he
cared to possess, and he slid it into his pocket.
“What are you doing, Louis?” asked Mrs. Belgrave, whose attention had
been attracted to his operations.
“Preparing for the future, mother; nothing more. But don’t ask me any
questions. Scoble must soon come down into the cabin, and I wish to be
prepared for him.”
She said nothing more, though she watched him closely till they were
disturbed by a knock at the door. It was Bickling with the tea, which
Louis handed to his mother, and closed the door. While she was drinking
the contents of the cup, her son busied himself in ransacking a case of
drawers in front of the berth. In one of them he found two revolvers of
twice the size of the one he carried, and two boxes of cartridges. He
took possession of these, and closed the drawer from which he had taken
them.
“Do you think it is right for you to look into the drawers of other
people, Louis?” asked Mrs. Belgrave, as she finished drinking her tea.
“Here is what I found in one of them, mother; do you think I had better
put them back?” he replied, showing her the pistols and the ammunition.
“Shall I leave them for Scoble to use when he wants to get nearer
to the missing million? as probably he still regards it; for I am
confident Frinks brought him no report of the finding of it.”
“No; throw them overboard!” exclaimed she, as she sank back in the
berth.
“I will not throw them overboard; but I must leave you.”
The cook had left the cabin; and he carried the revolvers to Captain
Ringgold, giving him no explanation in regard to them. When he returned
to the first cabin, Captain Scoble was just coming down the stairs.
He looked better-natured than when the passenger had last seen
him, possibly because he did not find himself in the presence of a
rebellious subject.
“How is your mother, Louis?” asked Captain Scoble, halting at the foot
of the steps, and looking the young man full in the face, as though he
had nothing to blush for.
“She is better,” replied the passenger, gently enough; for he had
resolved to be as firm as a rock, even while he was conciliatory. “She
would have left her berth, but the vessel began to roll worse than
ever, and she had to remain where she was.”
“The Maud rolled worse while we were reefing, for we had to throw her
up into the wind,” added the captain; and the listener thought he had
never seen him in a pleasanter frame of mind; and he was sure he must
have given himself a severe course of training before he came below.
“I noticed that she rolled very badly at one time.”
“My stupid mate ought to have reefed her before,” said Scoble. “He is
not much of a sailor when called upon to act on his own responsibility,
though he does very well under the direction of one who knows his
business.”
“I supposed Mr. Fobbington was a very skilful seaman,” replied Louis.
“Who?” demanded the captain, looking as though he had never heard the
name before.
“I beg your pardon: I mean Mr. Frinks, who, in a fit of pleasantry,
assumed the name of ‘Fobbington,’ just as, on a former occasion, you
took the name of Farrongate,” answered the passenger with a chuckle.
Scoble frowned so that his brow was covered with wrinkles at the
allusion to the name under which he had married Mrs. Belgrave, and
conducted all his operations as a jockey and pool manager. But he
evidently realized that he could not make anything by assuming a stormy
attitude with his present customer, and the wrinkles were suddenly
banished from his brow.
“Mr. Frinks is not much of a sailor,” repeated the captain, choking
down the passion that began to boil up.
“Not much of a sailor!” exclaimed Louis, who was playing a part as
really as the commander of the Maud. “Why, he speaks French like a
native.”
“I know he does, for I have talked with him in that language myself;
but we Englishmen don’t go to France to look for our sailors,” replied
Scoble, with a fine show of self-sufficiency, for his knowledge of
French consisted of half a dozen phrases he had picked up.
“I thought he had learned his French so thoroughly that he must have
made himself equally proficient in his seamanship.”
“Not at all. Frinks is the son of a merchant who spent a good deal of
money on his education. He died about three years ago, leaving his son
about ten thousand pounds. Frinks bought a yacht, and learned something
about a vessel. He ran through his money in two years, and has been a
sort of vagabond ever since. I took pity on him and made him mate of
the Maud.”
“He knows how to play the gentleman whether he is competent to play the
_rôle_ of mate or not,” added Louis. “He managed the little comedy you
laid out for him at the Park, as the presence of my mother and myself
on board of the Maud abundantly proves.”
“He did very well so far; but he failed totally to obtain the
information I wanted. In fact, he could tell me nothing, though he
hung round the office of that old lobster, Squire Scarburn, and heard
some conversations that were of no consequence whatever to me. He knew
nothing about you except that you wanted to buy a vessel.”
“Possibly I may be able to give you the information you desire, Captain
Scoble,” suggested Louis.
“Why do you call me Captain Scoble?” demanded the commander of the
Maud, with a gathering frown on his brow. “You have always been
accustomed to call me Mr. Farrongate, and I desire still to be called
by that name.”
“I am sorry that I cannot accommodate you, Captain Scoble.”
“What is the reason you cannot?” demanded the captain, subduing a
rising flash of anger.
“I suppose you have heard of the German who explained why he called his
son Hans, for it is a very antiquated chestnut.”
“I can’t say that I ever heard the German’s reason.”
“Der reason vot ve call our boy Hans is dot’s his name. I can only
plead the same excuse.”
At this moment the cook appeared at the door with a dish of potatoes
and a pot of coffee, announcing that dinner was ready.
“If you will excuse me, Captain Scoble, I will look into the stateroom
and see how mother is getting along,” said the passenger, moving to the
door.
“Ask her to come out and have some dinner. I will order anything she
likes,” added the captain.
“I will deliver your message,” answered Louis, as he went into the room
without making any noise.
He crept gently to her berth, and found that she was asleep. As her
slumber was doubtless doing her more good than a dinner would, even if
she were disposed to eat it, he did not disturb her, withdrawing from
the room as silently as he had entered. He reported the result of his
visit to the captain.
“She will be better if she can sleep,” replied Scoble. “The best thing
in the world for her would be to get up and go on deck if she feels
able to do so.”
“She is not ready for that yet, Captain Scoble.”
“Scoble again!” exclaimed the master; and the passenger understood why
he was so anxious to resume his former name, for he desired above all
things in the world to effect a reconciliation with Mrs. Belgrave. “May
I ask you as a favor, Louis, to call me Captain Farrongate?”
“I am sorry it is not in my power in this matter to oblige you,”
replied the young man with courtly dignity. “Excuse me, but your mate
called you by your right name, and you did not notice the fact till
he had addressed you so half a dozen times; all of which goes to show
that you have been called by your proper name on your voyage to this
country.”
“You were always a bit of a lawyer, Louis, my son,” said Scoble,
laughing, evidently because he could see no way out of the dilemma. “We
won’t jaw any more about it just now, though it will be necessary for
me to pick up the point again at another time. Dinner is ready, my boy;
sit down and make yourself entirely at home.”
“I thank you, Captain Scoble; I am sorry that I cannot join you. I have
already lunched, and that will pass for dinner to-day,” replied Louis,
still retaining his admirable self-possession.
“If you have lunched, you must have done so very early, and it is time
for you to eat again. Sit down and take a slice of ham, which is better
than most of the ham you get in America.”
“I can most cheerfully testify that this particular one is an excellent
ham, for I made a very hearty lunch off of it. By the way, Captain
Scoble, where do you buy your hams?” asked Louis in an every-day,
matter-of-fact tone and manner.
“This is a Scotch ham, and I bought a large supply of them in
Southampton. The shop is just above the arch in the old court building;
you can easily find it, and buy a stock for yourself. I can assure you
there are no better hams in the world, though the French hams are very
good,” said Scoble, trying to keep even with his involuntary guest.
“Thank you, Captain Scoble. I judge that the Maud is bound to
Southampton, and I may step into the shop you mention and buy a supply
of hams. It will at least enable me to save my bacon out of this
scrape.”
“Oh, yes; you can get as good bacon as hams at that place,” laughed
Scoble. “I am very glad to learn that you made yourself at home on
board of my vessel, and helped yourself when you were hungry, just as
you did in the old house. But you had better sit down and take a cup of
coffee, if nothing more; for I can say that Bickling makes almost as
good coffee as your mother did when we all lived together.”
“Thank you, Captain Scoble; I will accept your invitation to that
extent,” replied Louis, as he seated himself opposite the master. “We
did not have any coffee at our lunch, and I have found that it goes
very well at sea.”
“I suppose when you use the plural number that you include your mother.
Was she able to join you?”
“I did not mention the lunch to her, though I sent for a cup of tea for
her.”
“That was right, my boy; I am glad you made yourself at home.”
It was really a combat between Scoble and Louis to see which should
display the greater good humor, though the captain had to struggle
at times to keep his temper in subjection. The time had come for the
jockey to begin upon the great undertaking that had brought him to
the United States in face of the danger of being arrested and sent to
Sing-Sing as an embezzler. Doubtless he believed he could win back his
wife if he could keep her away from her son.