This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler.
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
HAPPY RASCALS
“A book such as this restores the hope that the spirit of humor
has not wholly perished from the earth.”
—_Philadelphia Ledger_.
“Any reader who designs to have a most enjoyable time is urged to
get hold of ‘Happy Rascals’.”
—_The New York Times_.
“A solid chunk of entertainment from cover to cover.”
—_The Literary Review_, _New York Evening Post_.
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
“STRICTLY BUSINESS”
* * * * *
BY
F. MORTON HOWARD
AUTHOR OF “HAPPY RASCALS,” ETC.
* * * * *
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
* * * * *
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
* * * * *
Copyright, 1923
By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
* * * * *
_All rights reserved_
* * * * *
_Printed in the United States of America_
* * * * *
TO
David Whitelaw
* * * * *
CONTENTS
EPISODE PAGE
I. “STRICTLY BUSINESS” 1
II. A WATCHING BRIEF 27
III. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 53
IV. BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 75
V. A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 101
VI. “ALL’S FAIR—” 124
VII. HIDDEN TREASURE 144
VIII. A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 167
IX. THE GREEN EYES OF THE LITTLE BIRMINGHAM GOD 192
X. THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 215
_EPISODE I_
“STRICTLY BUSINESS”
In at least three inns, the landlords, on hearing the news, spoke words
of grave warning to their assistants. More than one inexperienced
tradesman, foolishly finding satisfaction in the tidings, began to
rummage eagerly among old accounts. In the local police-station, the
inspector instructed his subordinates to stand no nonsense. And the
harbour-master removed his rabbits from outside his kitchen door to an
apartment at the top of the house.
The “Jane Gladys,” after long absence, was back again in her home port.
Doomed to pleasant disappointment, however, were such good folks of
Shorehaven as anticipated any spectacular ill-conduct that evening on the
part of the returned crew. Before the rope fender of the despicable
“Jane Gladys” had rubbed the sides of the quay for five minutes, an
atmosphere of heavy gloom had settled upon the hardy mariners who peopled
her, and this though they had arrived in port in the best of spirits, and
were, moreover, furnished with several half-formulated plans of campaign
which only awaited the inspiration of environment to touch success in the
form of financial or liquid bonuses.
For the harbour-master, ever ready to placate the “Jane Gladys,” was
waiting on the quay for her with such correspondence as had come
addressed to her in her absence. And Captain Peter Putt, taking his mail
and sorting through it perfunctorily, found his attention arrested by an
envelope imperatively marked “Urgent.”
Ripping it open, he glanced rapidly through the missive it contained.
This done, he pushed his cap to the back of his head with a helpless
gesture, blowing stertorously, and then read the letter for a second
time.
After that, he stared about the vessel for some while, blinking
incredulously. At last, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm, he
summoned his crew about him. Leaving their labours to be completed by
indignant hands on the quay, they gathered round the plump little form of
Captain Dutt.
“Boys,” announced the skipper, simply, “the show’s bust!”
There was a startled, perplexed silence, and then the voice of Mr. Joseph
Tridge rose aggrievedly.
“What ’ave they been finding out about us now?” he wanted to know. “Some
folks is never ’appy without they’re trying to make mischief. What are
we supposed to ’ave done wrong now, eh?”
“It can’t be that chap we sold the fish to in Starcross,” declared Mr.
Horace Dobb, the cook. “Because I saw ’im the night before we left, and
’e never said a word about it to me. Kept ’is ’ead turned stiff the
other way all the time, in fact.”
“There was that chap in Teignmouth,” recalled the aged Mr. Samuel Clark,
uncomfortably. “You know, what we sold the—the tobaccer to.”
“’Im?” returned Horace, the cook, with scorn. “’E ’asn’t got a leg to
stand on. I never told ’im it was smuggled tobaccer, did I? I simply
said it was stuff that ’adn’t paid duty. No more it ’ad! Serves ’im
right for jumping to conclusions, just because a sailorman’s carrying a
parcel on a dark night!”
“Yes, boys,” said the skipper, with a long, quivering sigh, as one
awakening to cold reality from a happy dream, “it’s all over! All over!
Itchybod!” he remarked, with sad satisfaction in finding the word.
“Itchybod, that’s it!”
“And ’oo’s ’e?” truculently demanded Mr. Tridge. “What’s ’e got to say
against us? Why, I’ll take my oath I ain’t ever even ’eard of ’im
before!”
“It ain’t a ’im,” explained the skipper. “It’s a bit of clarsical
learning I’ve picked up in Latin, and it means ‘the game’s up.’ Boys,
prepare for the worst!”
“Which of us?” asked Mr. Horace Dobb, not without apprehension.
“All of us!” replied the skipper. “Our owner’s giving up business, and
’e’s goin to sell all ’is ships!”
Again there was a hush, and then, from the hinder spaces of this period
of shock, there crept forth the voice of Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook,
attuned to a sweet reasonableness.
“We’ll be all right,” he contended. “Just as if anybody would ever buy
the old ‘Jane Gladys’!”
“Except,” slowly said Mr. Clark, “to break ’er up!”
As some ill-omened sound in the still watches of the night may paralyze
its hearers into a cold, suffocating inaction, so did the grisly words of
Mr. Clark bring his companions to silent, wide-eyed consternation. The
debonair Mr. Peter Lock was the first to recover, but, though he roundly
stigmatized Mr. Clark as being a gloomy old horror, there was no
elasticity in his tone, and his effort to exhibit unconcern by lighting a
cigarette was marred by the manifest shaking of his fingers.
“Well, there it is, boys,” presently said the skipper, with an
unconvincing attempt at briskness. “It’s as much a surprise to me as it
is to you. For myself, I shan’t go to sea again after the next trip.
The owner’s fixing me up a bit of a pension. And as for you chaps well,
if you’ll take my advice, you’ll start looking round for fresh jobs
without delay.”
“And they’ll take some finding,” stated Mr. Horace Dobb. “’Oo is likely
to engage us off the ‘Jane Gladys’ I’d like to know?” he asked the
skipper, with some indignation.
“Some’ow the fact that we’ve sailed on the ‘Jane Gladys’ doesn’t seem to
be a recommendation,” mentioned Mr. Clark, regretfully.
“Contrariwise!” said Mr. Tridge, tersely.
“She might be bought up and repaired and repainted and refitted,”
ventured Captain Butt, but with no great hope.
“’Er new owners would never keep us on, though,” frankly opined Mr.
Tridge. “They’ll ’ave ’eard too much about us.”
“Ho, hindeed?” said Horace, loftily. “Well, in that case, I don’t know
as I’m anxious to sail under folks what listen to gossip.”
“Luckily, we’ve got a full week before we leaves ’ere again,” remarked
the skipper. “That’ll give you time to keep your ears open, and, if any
of you finds anything to suit you meantime, I shan’t stand in the way of
you leaving when you want to. And it’ll be about two months before the
‘Jane Gladys’ is put up for auction, so you’ll ’ave plenty of time to go
on looking round.”
“And so we shall after them two months,” dismally foretold Mr. Samuel
Clark. “When first I come on this boat, twenty-seven years ago,” he told
the skipper, reproachfully, “I was given to understand it was a permanent
job. If I’d known—”
“Well, there it is,” said Captain Dutt, again rather lamely, “and it
can’t be helped.”
He waited a little while, uncomfortably conscious of the unhappy visages
of his crew. Then, with symptoms of commendable emotion, he scuttled to
his cabin. The mate, hitherto silent, addressed to the crew a few words
of sympathy with himself, and followed his superior.
The four sailormen of the “Jane Gladys,” bleakly regarding each other,
expressed their feelings in this crisis in a sort of forceful, rumbling
fugue. This done, they sulkily retired to their bunks, to lie down and
meditate over the impending upheaval in their affairs.
But before long Mr. Clark began to snore challengingly, while Mr. Lock
sought distraction of mind by rising and performing a number of arias on
his melodeon, whereat Mr. Tridge, a slave to music, sat up and joined his
voice to the harmony in a melancholy wail which he called “tenor.”
Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook, was a man of temperament, and he found himself
keenly resenting these encroachments on his ruminations. A person who
openly plumed himself on the possession of superior brain power, he now
desired opportunity to explore this gift to the fullest. Also, he had in
his pocket a shilling which he preferred to spend privily, rather than in
the company of Mr. Clark, who had but ninepence, or of Mr. Lock, whose
sole wealth was fourpence, or of Mr. Tridge, who had nothing at all.
Wherefore, then, Mr. Horace Dobb, crying aloud his utmost annoyance at
this disturbal of his peace, bounced from his bunk and repaired to the
bar-parlour of the “Jolly Sailors,” a discreet inn on the quayside which
gave promise of being an excellent refuge where a man, equipped with a
shilling, and an anxiety about an unsettled future, might commune
comfortably with his thoughts.
In this sanctuary the cook of the “Jane Gladys” remained for some while,
with his cogitations becoming lighter and lighter in texture with every
lift of his glass, till presently he had reverted to the normal, and was
once again looking on the world as nothing more formidable than a vast
territory bristling with chances for a quick-witted sea-cook to grasp.
And, therefore, when the door opened to admit Captain Simon Gooster, of
the “Alert,” it was but natural that Horace’s bouyant imagination should
present to him the bulky figure of the new-comer as not being alone, but
as stalking in arm-in-arm with smiling Opportunity.
“Evening, sir,” said Horace, very respectfully. Captain Gooster nodded,
glanced at the measure which Horace had hastily emptied, and then,
disappointedly, glanced away again. Mr. Dobb ventured to commend the
weather, to which Captain Gooster responded, absently, and, indeed,
somewhat fretfully.
Horace at once conceded that doubtless Captain Gooster was right, but the
skipper of the “Alert,” passing on, selected a seat in a remote corner
and there posed unsociably.
Mr. Dobb, dissembling his irritation, entered into casual talk with
another patron, who, it transpired, had a precocious child at home, an
infant whose sallies so diverted Mr. Dobb that soon his glass was being
refilled for him by order of the gratified parent. Immediately after,
Horace’s interest in the prodigy seemed suddenly to wane, though this was
due less to thankfulness than to the fact that he had perceived Captain
Gooster to be looking at him in a concentrated and speculative manner.
The captain’s stare fascinated Horace, and continually his eyes roved
back to the skipper of the “Alert,” and each time he accorded Captain
Gooster a more ingratiating leer on meeting his gaze. At last Captain
Gooster beckoned authoritatively and patted the empty chair beside him,
whereat Mr. Dobb readily sprang to his feet and took the indicated place,
leaving the sire of the infant prodigy indignantly helpless in the very
middle of a family anecdote.
“You’re the cook of the ‘Jane Gladys,’ ain’t you?” opened Captain
Gooster.
“At present, sir,” said Mr. Dobb.
“I’ve ’eard about you,” remarked Captain Gooster.
“I dare say you ’ave, sir,” guardedly returned Mr. Dobb.
“You’re the one they call ’Orace,” continued the other.
“Mostly, sir,” agreed Mr. Dobb.
“Mind you, I ain’t the kind of man ’oo’s fool enough to believe all he
hears,” said the skipper of the “Alert.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Horace, gratefully.
“I’ve ’eard Cap’n Putt say you’re a real smart, sharp, clever chap.”
“Ah, well, of course ’e does know what ’e’s talking about, sir,” observed
Horace, with the air of one making a concession.
“I’ve ’eard old Peter Dutt keep on by the hour about your cleverness and
artfulness,” said Captain Gooster. “’E swears you’re a wonder, and, if
’alf ’e says about you is true, so you are.”
Mr. Dobb, nodding his head, modestly refrained from speech. Captain
Gooster, as though he had satisfactorily disposed of all preliminaries,
sat back and stroked his chin in thought for some moments.
“I’m glad I came across you to-night, ’Orace,” he said, at length. “A
man with a ’ead-piece—that’s what I’m looking for.”
“Well, that _is_ lucky!” declared Horace. “I’m looking out for another
job and the ‘Alert’ would just suit me.”
“Yes, I ’eard about the ‘Jane Gladys,’” said Captain Gooster, slowly.
“But I wasn’t looking out for a man for my crew. It’s just a private
matter. You ’elp me, if you can, and as far as a pint or two goes—”
“You’ll excuse me, sir,” interrupted Mr. Dobb, with dignity, “but brain
work ain’t bought with pints, nor quarts, neither. I’m looking for a
job, not a evening out.”
“Well, we’ll see,” temporized the master of the “Alert.” “If you needs a
job and does me a good turn, I ain’t the man to forget it.”
“Thank you, sir; and a gentleman’s word is good enough for me!” stated
Mr. Dobb, profusely. “And you won’t ever regret taking me on the
‘Alert.’ And I can start this week with you, if you like.”
“Steady!” begged the startled captain. “Why, you ain’t even ’eard what
the trouble is yet.”
“I’ll soon settle it, sir, whatever it is,” vaunted Horace. “Just you
tell me about it, and leave the rest to me.”
“Well, then,” said Captain Gooster, confidentially, “to begin with, you
must know I’m a widower.”
“Ah, I see! You’ve been a-carrying on,” diagnosed the cook, cheerfully.
“Well, we’ll soon choke ’er off. I reckon, on the ‘Alert,’ you ought to
pay me—”
“A widower!” repeated Captain Gooster, frowning at Mr. Dobb’s
precipitancy. “And I don’t mind confessing to you that I was
disappointed in my marriage. You see, I married for love.”
“Oh, well—” commented Horace, shrugging his shoulders.
“And she married me for my money.”
“Ah, women’ll do anything for money,” said Mr. Dobb.
Captain Gooster, sitting suddenly erect, dissected the observation in
silence.
“I can see what a disappointment it must ’ave been for both of you,”
continued Horace. “’Owever, let’s ’ope you ’ave better luck next time,
sir.”
“I mean to!” asserted Captain Gooster. “Marrying for love is a snare and
a sham and a deloosion. I’ve learned wisdom. ‘Strictly business!’
that’s my motter in future.”
“And it ain’t a bad motter, neither, sir,” approved Mr. Dobb,
thoughtfully. “Strictly business!” he repeated, nodding his head over
it. “It’s a jolly good motter.”
“Yes, and next time,” went on Captain Gooster, “I marries for money. And
I may add, what’s more, that I’ve got my eye on a certain lady already.”
“’As she got ’er eye on you, though?” queried Horace, sagely.
“She ’as. In fact, not to beat about the bush, both of ’em ’as!”
“Both of ’em?” queried Horace.
“There’s two parties,” explained the master of the ‘Alert.’ “I’m keeping
my eye upon both of ’em.”
“Once I ’ad my eye on two parties at the same time,” recalled Mr. Dobb.
“One day they got introduced to each other. And I went ’ome in a cab.”
“My two ’ave known each other all their lives.”
“Well, they won’t go on knowing each other much longer,” acutely
prophesied Mr. Dobb.
“And they lives together in the same ’ouse.”
“If you’ll excuse me saying so,” observed Horace, civilly, “you’ve got a
dashed sight more pluck than sense. Two in the some town is bad enough
for the ’eart, with all the excitement you get in turning a corner when
you’re out with one of ’em. But two in the same ’ouse—”
“It’s mother and daughter, you see,” elucidated Captain Gooster.
“Goffley is the name. Mrs. Goffley is a widow, and Ann’s ’er daughter.
They live in Shorehaven ’ere.”
“First I’ve ’eard of ’em,” said Horace.
“Ah, they’re new-comers. They bought that little second-’and shop what
Meyers used to keep at the corner of Fore Street. A snug little
business. It only wants a man be’ind it, and it’ll be a little
copper-mine.”
“And you’ve chosen yourself to be the man be’ind it? Good luck to you,
sir!”
“What with my little bit saved up, and my job on the ‘Alert,’ and the
little shop earning profits at ’ome, I shan’t be doing so badly for my
old age,” stated Captain Gooster, complacently. “But there’s just one
little drawback—I shall ’ave to marry one of them two females, and each
time I imagine myself married to one, I finds myself wishing it ’ad been
the other. You’ve only to see ’em both, and you’d understand.”
“Well, which of ’em’s got the money?” asked Mr. Dobb. “That ought to
settle the question easy enough.”
“That’s just the trouble. I can’t find out for certain which of ’em ’as
got the cash. I’ve ’eard rumours that old Goffley left all ’is money to
’is daughter, with instructions to ’er to look after ’er ma. And then
I’ve ’eard rumours that ’e’s left everything to ’is wife, with
instructions to look after ’er daughter. Far as I can see,”
disconsolately ended Captain Gooster, “whichever of them females I
marries, I shall always ’ave the other as a burden round my neck.”
“Which of ’em gives all the orders?” inquired Mr. Dobb. “’Oo is the boss
of the two?”
“They both bosses,” returned the skipper of the “Alert.” “And they both
tries to boss each other, most independent. That’s what makes it so
difficult. I’ve tried all ways to find out which is the one I ought to
make up to, but I can’t. And that’s where I want your ’elp.”
“I see,” said Horace, softly. “That’s what you’re going to give me a job
on the ‘Alert’ for, eh?”
“Well, you get this job settled satisfactory for me, and you won’t ’ave
no cause to complain,” promised Captain Gooster. “You be ’elpful to me
and you’ll be ’elpful to yourself.”
“Well, suppose you was to ask ’em straight out, sort of joking like,
which one of ’em ’ad got the money,” suggested Horace, but with no great
confidence.
“Tried that!” retorted Captain Gooster, curtly. “No good.”
“Which of ’em seemed most annoyed at the question?” asked Mr. Dobb,
shrewdly. “_She’d_ be the one ’oo ’adn’t got any.”
“They neither of them said nothing. They just looked at me, and I began
to talk about the weather.”
Horace, leaning back, folded his arms and tightly closed his eyes.
Captain Gooster realizing that his companion was thus incubating thought,
forbore from offering further speech, but sat waiting in some anxiety for
demonstration of Mr. Dobb’s ingenuity.
“You’ll ’ave to take me up there and let me see ’em,” said Horace, at
length. “Introdooce me to ’em as the new cook you’re signing for the
‘Alert.’ That’ll be the truth, so it’ll be quite all right.”
“What? A skipper introdooce ’is new cook—”
“Well, if they seems surprised at all, you can tell ’em what a superior
young man I am really, and ’ow I’m an old friend of yours, and so on.
It’s the only way I can do anything—I must see ’em personal. Suppose I
was to start making inquiries off the neighbours, for instance. The fat
would soon be in the fire then, wouldn’t it?”
“Matter of fact,” confessed the skipper, with reserve, “there ’as been
more gossip about already than I care for.”
“Let me see ’em and keep my eyes open and ask a question ’ere and there,
most innocent, and I’ll find out the truth quick enough,” boasted Mr.
Dobb. “It won’t be too late to call on ’em to-night, will it? Just
about right, I should think; with luck, we ought to catch ’em just at
supper-time. You wait ’ere, and I’ll run back and tidy myself a bit.”
“All right. I should think that’s the best thing that can be done,” said
Captain Gooster, ambiguously.
Mr. Dobb took a swift departure to the “Jane Gladys,” finding an empty
fo’c’sle, and thus being able to garb himself for ceremony without loss
of time in answering questions. Returning to the “Jolly Sailors,” his
improved appearance won a grunt of approval from Captain Gooster, and
then, together, the two men repaired to their objective in Fore Street.
They found Mrs. Goffley and her daughter amid the ordered confusion of
the little second-hand shop. Captain Gooster made Horace known to the
ladies as an old acquaintance unexpectedly encountered in the town.
Introductions thus achieved, the gentlemen were hospitably conducted to
partake of supper amid the more congenial surroundings of the back
parlour.
Mr. Dobb claimed but little prominence in the talk, and, indeed, seemed
bent on eliminating himself as far as possible from the interest of his
hostesses, and this was rendered the more easy for him by the fact that
both ladies appeared to concentrate their attentions on the skipper of
the “Alert.” Mr. Dobb, however, was vigilant towards all that was going
forward, and when once or twice the ladies bickered, he plainly submitted
every word of their spirited utterance to the closest analysis.
And when at length they left the house, Horace had arrived at certain
deductions, which he hastened to lay before Captain Gooster.
“It’s the old gal what’s got the money,” he stated. “She done the
carving, for one thing. And, for another, it was ’er that put the coal
on the fire. Besides, I ask you, ain’t it only reason that ’er late
’usband would ’ave left ’er everything, knowing from the look of ’er that
she couldn’t ever really ’ope to get married again? No, I bet that
rumour you ’eard was right—’e’s left ’is money to ’is wife, with
instructions to look after ’er daughter. P’r’aps she’s to ’ave it after
the old gal’s popped off,” propounded Horace, delicately.
“Ah, but that’s just what I’m frightened of,” said Captain Gooster.
“Suppose I married the old lady, and one day she pegs out and the
daughter gets the lot? A nice return that ’ud be to me for all my
kindness, wouldn’t it?”
“But there’s nothing to prevent the old lady ’anding over the money to
’er second ’usband while she’s alive, to speckylate with, is there? And
once it’s in your name—”
“’Orace, if I could only think ’alf as clear as you,” remarked Captain
Gooster, “I’d be driving my own carriage and pair by now!”
He halted, gazed back at the Goffley abode, and patently came to
decision.
“Wait ’ere for me,” he directed. “I’m going to strike while the iron is
hot. I’m going to propose to the old geezer now and get it over!”
He traced his way to the shop, knocked, and was admitted. Scarce five
minutes had elapsed ere he was again at Horace’s side. Captain Gooster’s
reply, in response to an interested question, took the form of a fierce
growl of wrath.
“What, she wouldn’t ’ave you?” asked Horace, in surprise.
“Oh, yes, she ’ad me right enough!” exclaimed Captain Gooster, with
extreme bitterness. “Oh, she’s ’ad me proper! And _you’ll_ get a job
with me on the ‘Alert,’ I don’t think! Clever? Ha! Smart? Ha, ha!
Sharp? Oh, ha, ha, ha! Why, I believe your brains must be more like a
wool mat than anything else!”
“But if she’s accepted you—”
“Accepted me?” bellowed Captain Gooster, passionately. “She jumped at
me! Put ’er arms round my neck and made such a noise a-kissing of me
that ’er daughter come ’urrying in from the kitchen at it! And Ann said
it was ridic’lous, and Mrs. Goffley said it was love, and Ann crinkled
’er nose sarcastic, and told ’er mother that I was simply marrying ’er
for ’er money, as any one could see.”
“There you are!” cried Mr. Dobb. “You picked the right one, anyway.”
“Wait a bit!” urged Captain Gooster. “Of course, I says at once that I’m
pained and ’urt by such a suggestion, and that of course I’m only
marrying Mrs. Goffley for love. ‘Sure?’ she asks, smiling at me in a way
what would ’ave been tantalizing in a young gal. ‘Positive certain!’
says I. ‘Money,’ I says. ‘What’s money to me? I’ve got plenty of my
own!’ ‘There you are!’ she says to Ann. ‘Just as well though, ain’t
it?’ says Ann, with a sniff. ‘Because, you know, ma, you ain’t got any
money, ’ave you? It all belongs to me, don’t it?’”
Mr. Dobb, finding verbal comment inadequate, took off his cap and shook
his head helplessly.
“Well, when I ’eard that,” narrated Captain Gooster, “the room sort of
went round and round for a bit, and the next thing I knew was that I was
saying I must not keep you waiting here any longer. And, with that, I
stumbled over the mat and left the place. And as for you—”
“’Alf a minute, sir,” requested Mr. Dobb. “I can see you don’t
understand diplomaticism. You ’ave to run a few risks to start with, and
then you sets ’em right afterwards, when you’ve got what you wants—that’s
diplomaticism.”
“If _you_ was to get what you really wants—”
“After all, sir, it’s only what you asked me to do,” contended Horace.
“‘’Elp me to find out which one of ’em ’as got the money,’” says you to
me, “‘and I’ll give you a job on the “Alert.”’ Well, I _’ave_ ’elped you
to find out. You know now that it’s the daughter what’s got it!”
“Yes, and I’ve been and proposed to the mother!” groaned Captain Gooster.
“Well, you’ve only got to change over,” suggested Horace.
“Step back and say it was really Ann I meant to ask, I suppose?” groaned
Captain Gooster. “Just as if the daughter would ’ave anything to do with
me now! Just as if the old ’un would let me off ’er ’ooks now, the
artful, deceiving old cat!”
“You could work up a quarrel with ’er,” prompted Mr. Dobb.
“She ain’t the sort to quarrel till after we’re married,” ruefully
answered the skipper of the “Alert.” “After that, it’ll be a different
story, I bet!”
Mr. Dobb, coming to a standstill, lightly tickled the nape of his neck
for some minutes.
“I’ve got it!” he pronounced, brightly. “Call and see ’er to-morrow, and
speak to ’er as man to man. Tell ’er you made a mistake, and it ain’t
love but only respect for ’er old age!”
“And she’ll just answer me back snappy that she ain’t making a mistake,
any way,” prophesied Captain Gooster. “No, there ain’t no way out, that
I can see, short of suicide. And,” he added, lapsing into extraordinary
gloom, “I don’t know that I wouldn’t prefer _that_ to that old gal with
no money be’ind ’er! And as for you and a berth on the ‘Alert’,” he
ended, savagely, “you just let me catch you on board ’er for a single
moment, even on a visit!”
He swung round and strode off, totally disregarding the expostulatory
noises of his companion. Mr. Dobb, thus deserted, sauntered along in
restive dejection, but suddenly a greater decisiveness came into his
bearing, and soon he was cantering along in eager pursuit of the master
of the “Alert.”
“Now—now—now I _’ave_ got it, sir!” he puffed, catching up with Captain
Gooster. “Come to me in a flash, it did! You must take me along to see
the Goffleys again to-morrow night.”
Captain Gooster violently mentioned a mutual meeting, which involved
considerable travel, as having priority over Mr. Dobb’s suggestion.
“You must keep on taking me there,” insisted Horace, undaunted.
“Just to make me laugh,” observed Captain Gooster, grimly, “tell me what
the idea is.”
“Why, I’ll sink my feelings, and _I’ll_ carry on a bit with the old gal!”
“Carry on with—” gasped the “Alert’s” skipper.
“Make goo-goo eyes at ’er, flirt with ’er, play slap-’ands with ’er,”
amplified Mr. Dobb. “And if you don’t give me a job on the ‘Alert’ after
_that_— Why, chaps ’as got medals for less than that! Far less!”
“Give you a job on the ‘Alert’ for playing slap ’ands with my
missis-to-be?” queried Captain Gooster, in bewilderment.
“Yes; and one day you catches us at it,” sketched Mr. Dobbs, knowingly.
“And you accuses us of flirting, and you ’as a tremendous row with ’er,
and, though it breaks your ’eart, you casts ’er off! And there you
are—free! And you can bet that quarrelling with her ma will give you a
good send-off to begin courting Ann with. You can see that she’s that
sort.”
“Yes; and what ’appens to you?”
“Oh, I get that job on the ‘Alert’,” answered Horace, simply. “You can
trust me to protect myself safe enough where women are concerned.”
Captain Gooster, weighing the pros and cons, could detect no flaw in the
scheme. Next afternoon, by appointment, he met Mr. Dobb at the corner of
Fore Street, and together they repaired to the little second-hand shop.
Enthusiastically did Mrs. Goffley bid them enter and stay to tea, an
invitation which was signalized, rather than seconded, by a prolonged
sniff from the younger lady.
Mr. Dobb, now reversing his behaviour of the previous evening, exhibited
himself in the light of a sparkling blade. Riddles galore did he
propound to enliven the proceedings, and many were the diverting
anecdotes he furnished forth, though, indeed, in some of these he checked
himself, finishing them a trifle lamely with endings which had the
flavour of improvisation about them.
His geniality, however, went far towards neutralizing the acrimony of
Miss Goffley, and by the time adieux were said Captain Gooster was well
satisfied with his confederate.
“I reckon you’ve made a fine start, ’Orace,” he said, as they strolled
together down Fore Street. “And to-morrow you must talk more
particularly to the old gal, so as to give me a chance to try to make up
a bit of the leeway with Ann.”
Such heed did Mr. Dobb give to this instruction that when, on the
following evening, they called at the little shop, he devoted his
conversation almost exclusively to the widow.
“Splendid!” was his patron’s verdict, when they left. “I see she was a
bit impatient at first, but before long she was listening to every word
you said. Why, she never even noticed that I was talking quite a lot to
Ann.”
“Ah, and she was answering you, what’s more! I see you! What did you
say to ’er?” asked Mr. Dobb, curiously.
“Oh, I was just sort of generally mysterious and wistful and ’eart-’eavy,
like you advised,” replied Captain Gooster. “And I got ’er to confess
that there was a time when she ’oped—”
“Then she’s as good as yours!” joyfully declared Horace. “And the berth
on the ‘Alert’ is as good as mine!”
It was during the following evening that there occurred a startling
development in the engagement of Captain Gooster to Mrs. Goffley. Horace
and that lady had been chatting together gaily, and Miss Goffley was
permitting the captain to turn over her music at the piano for her, when
suddenly the skipper of the “Alert” sprang to the centre of the room and
crashed both his fists down upon the table.
Mrs. Goffley, with an agitated squeal, tugged her hand away from Mr.
Dobb’s grasp.
“Too late, ma’am, too late!” thundered Captain Gooster.
“I—he—we—he was only telling me my fortune!” protested Mrs. Goffley,
guiltily.
“I see ’im telling it,” retorted the skipper, grimly. “Do you think I
ain’t got any eyes? Carrying-on! Flirting! That’s what you was up to!
Don’t trouble to make up lies about it.”
“Just because I was making myself pleasant to your friend,” began Mrs.
Goffley, with spirit.
“You go on making yourself pleasant to ’im!” recommended Captain Gooster.
“I’m done with you!”
“And I must say, ma, I’m not surprised, either,” mentioned Miss Goffley,
with a toss of her head.
“I’ve got witnesses to prove you was carrying-on,” said the captain.
“I’ve got the law on my side, and that’s all I need. I’m finished with
you, ma’am, and I wish you a very good evening. Oh, a very good evening,
indeed, ma’am!”
Aloofly averting his gaze from the agitated dame, he hurried from the
house as speedily as possible. Horace, half an hour later, came to him
in the bar-parlour of the “Jolly Sailors.”
“There was a proper bust-up after you’d gone,” Mr. Dobb said, with
relish. “But, after they’d both ’ad ’istericks, things was a bit
quieter.”
“And Mrs. Goffley?”
“She said it was good riddance to bad rubbish! Said so over and over
again. And now for business after pleasure. When do I start on the
Alert’?”
“Well, we sails at the end of the week, as you know, on the same day as
the ‘Jane Gladys.’ You can come then, if all goes well.”
“Ah, I knew I shouldn’t go begging for long!” said Horace, with
considerable pride. “I knew I shouldn’t be long finding something to
suit me.”
“I shall ’ave to get the Goffley business settled first, though,” hedged
Captain Gooster. “I’ve got to bring Ann up to the mark yet, don’t
forget. Not that I ’ave any fears, though. Why, she’s as good as said
she’d—”
“But, my word, what a life them two women will be leading each other for
the next few weeks!” exclaimed Horace, with a shudder.
“I shall get Ann to keep quiet about our engagement when we _are_
engaged. And when we get married it’ll be by special licence, unbeknown
to ’er ma. I can afford it, if Ann’s got the money coming to ’er.”
“You take my advice, sir,” urged Horace, earnestly, “and rush your
wedding through as quick as ever you can. Don’t you run any risks, for
the old gal will be doing all in ’er power to p’ison the young gal’s mind
against you. There’s many a slip between the bottle and the glass, don’t
forget.”
“I’d get it settled to-morrow, if I could.”
“Well, luckily, I’m still friends there, don’t forget. I’m waiting to
quarrel with the old gal when it’s more convenient. At present, she just
sits looking loving and ’opeful at me. And I’ll call round there
to-morrow morning, first thing, and get Ann to meet you somewhere, and
you must persuade ’er as ’ard as you can. Pack all the love you’d make
in a ordinary engagement into three days, an’ get ’er to marry you before
you sails. That’s the way to do things, if you wants to be sure of ’er.
And if you wants any odd notes or messages taken to ’er, I’ll see to ’em
for you.”
“You don’t suppose I wants to go near the ’ouse, do you?” asked Captain
Gooster, with a shiver.
And thus three more days passed, while the affairs of the “Alert” were
shamelessly subjugated to the claims of Cupid. On board the “Jane
Gladys” Horace was watched vigilantly by his shipmates, and he maddened
them with constant veiled allusions to a most lucrative and superior
berth which his talents and charms were securing for him. Already had he
handed in his provisional resignation to Captain Peter Dutt, already was
he bearing himself as a gentleman of social standing far above that of
his present companions.
Came the afternoon prior to the day which was to witness the departure
both of the “Alert” and the “Jane Gladys” from Shorehaven.
Captain Simon Gooster, passing up Fore Street, had on his arm a lady
whose countenance exhibited pride and triumph. For a climax had been
achieved at the registrar’s office, and Miss Ann Goffley was now Miss Ann
Goffley no longer, but was, for better or for worse, Mrs. Simon Gooster.
“There’s no need to be flustered,” said the bridegroom to the bride, when
they reached the little shop. “We’ve got to break the news to ’er sooner
or later, and ’Orace ’as promised to be on ’and to give us a ’elping word
’ere and there. She can’t let off all the steam she’d like to—not in
front of ’im.”
“I shall be flustered if I like!” insisted Mrs. Gooster. “Don’t you start
ordering me about! If I ain’t allowed to be flustered on my wedding-day,
I should like to know when I am allowed to be.”
Captain Gooster, after a glance of dawning uneasiness at his bride, led
the way through the shop. The new Mrs. Gooster’s mother was
unsuspectingly laying the table for tea, and Mr. Dobb, to the captain’s
relief, was seated in the arm-chair.
“We’ve done it!” announced Captain Gooster.
“I’m Mrs. Gooster now,” said the younger lady.
“Lor’!” exclaimed Mrs. Goffley. She turned to Horace and giggled coyly.
“Shall we tell ’em?” she asked.
“Not much to tell,” returned Mr. Dobb, airily. “Only that you and me was
married, too, this morning, by special licence!”
“Lor’!” cried the skipper’s wife, in her turn.
“Quite private,” explained Horace, briefly. “She even paid for the
licence, so as to get it over quick. I fancy she must ’ave guessed what
you and—and Ann was up to.”
“Oh, well, there’s no accounting for tastes!” said the skipper of the
“Alert.” “Anyway, there can’t be any cause for ill-feeling between any
of us now, can there? But, really, I don’t quite see, ’Orace, ’ow _you_
come to—”
“So you two got married on the quiet, too, did you?” interrupted Mrs.
Dobb, with a curious glint in her eyes. “Well, p’r’aps you was wise.
Because, of course, you must ’ave known that I’d never ’ave given _my_
consent, after the way you treated _me_, Cap’n Gooster?”
“Yes, I knew that well enough,” agreed the skipper.
“You married Ann for her money, of course,” stated the elder lady,
dogmatically.
“Nothing of the sort!” stoutly maintained Captain Gooster. “Love—nothing
but love! It was because I’d found out that it was ’er I really loved
all the time that I broke it off with you. If Ann ’adn’t got a single
penny coming to ’er—”
“And she ’asn’t!” said Mrs. Dobb, with emphasis.
“Trying to frighten me?” suggested the smiling captain. “Why, you
admitted to me yourself that it was ’er that ’ad all the money!”
“So she ’ad,” returned Mrs. Gooster’s mother—“_then_!”
“What do you mean—then?” asked the captain, thickly.
“Why, it was all to be ’ers,” explained the new Mrs. Dobb, “unless she
married without my consent. My ’usband arranged it like that to protect
’er from fortune ’unters, and very lucky ’e did, too! You needn’t shake
your ’ead! It’s all quite true. ’Ere’s a copy of my ’usband’s will. I
showed it to Dobb ’ere when ’e was trying to console me that evening
after you’d left—you know, when you threw me over!”
“You—you _knew_ when you advised me to—” roared the skipper, wheeling on
Mr. Dobb.
“I did,” shamelessly admitted Mr. Dobb. “Part of it I worked out, and
part of it worked itself out for me! You see, I—I ’appened to fall
genuine in love with my new wife ’ere and—”
“You needn’t trouble to tell lies about it!” shouted the skipper.
“And don’t you roar at my ’usband like that, neither!” ordered the elder
lady. “And I may as well tell you that I’d ’ave taken ’im if I ’ated
’im—I’d ’ave taken the first man what come along! Anything to let you
see you wasn’t the only chance I’d got! And—”
“Well, but what becomes of the money that should ’ave been ’ers—the money
you’ve diddled me out of?” cried the captain.
“Why,” said Horace, softly, “it just stays with _us_!”
“And you knew this when you advised me to get married on the quiet to
Ann, yonder?”
“Certingly,” said the unabashed Horace. “Didn’t we both agree that
‘Strictly Business!’ was a jolly good motter?”
“And you,” went on the skipper, wheeling on his bride—“you didn’t tell me
nothing, for fear of losing me?”
“And so I should have,” she said. “And don’t you stare at me like that,
neither! If you think that I’m the kind of wife that can be bullied,
you’re making a big mistake! And now I’ll get my portmanteau, and you
can take me down to your cabin on the ‘Alert.’ You don’t think I’m going
to stay on in the house with these people, do you?”
“Still, any time you’re passing,” said the cook, “I’ll be pleased to
welcome my stepdaughter and my son-in-law. _I_ don’t bear no ill-will,
and I shouldn’t like to think that others would.”
“Well, you’ve lost your berth on the ‘Alert,’ any way,” said Captain
Gooster, inadequately. “You needn’t think I’d ’ave you now, because I
shouldn’t!”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t accept it, in any case,” said Mr. Horace Dobb.
“’Oo’s to look after the shop? You said yourself that it needed a man,
and I’ve provided myself for it. And you know ’ow useful I can make
myself, don’t you?”
* * * * *
That evening, when Messrs. Lock and Tridge and Clark, hearing something
of what had transpired, trooped down to Fore Street to find Horace, they
discovered him already engaged in bringing the stock and fixtures into
line with his own ideas on such matters.
Very readily he told them the tale of his marriage, and, further, pointed
out that the future might hold many occasions when his shipmates of the
“Jane Gladys” might find it profitable to link their talents temporarily
to the fortunes of the little second-hand shop.
But when Mr. Tridge remarked that the “Jane Gladys” was sailing early on
the morrow, and that therefore a little loan would be both acceptable and
timely to her crew, Mr. Horace Dobb did not reply in words.
Instead, he stood erect and pointed over his shoulder, with a jerk of his
thumb, at a notice which he had been at some pains to illuminate on a
panel of wood, and which now hung conspicuously on the wall of the little
shop.
Simultaneously, Messrs. Lock, Tridge, and Clark turned to regard the
board. It bore the simple legend, “_Strictly Business_.”
_EPISODE II_
A WATCHING BRIEF
Mr. Peter Lock, in the bowels of the “Jane Gladys,” had attired himself
for outdoor promenade with a meticulous attention to detail which had
spurred Mr. Joseph Tridge to scornful mention of beauty-doctors and
mashers and tailors’ dummies. Mr. Lock, in no wise offended by these
oblique compliments to his appearance, had finally lingered for a full
half-minute before the cracked little mirror in fastidious
self-examination, and then had gone ashore for the express purpose of
keeping an appointment with a friend. Five minutes later he reappeared.
He explained that a complication had arisen, for his friend had brought a
friend with her to the trysting-place, so that another gentleman was now
indispensable to secure balance to the party. As the result of eloquent
appeals and lavish promises, Mr. Tridge was reluctantly impressed into
the role of temporary friend to the friend’s friend.
Matters thus adjusted, Messrs. Tridge and Lock departed, leaving the
fo’c’sle of the “Jane Gladys” empty but for the brooding figure of the
stout and aged Mr. Samuel Clark.
For a long while Mr. Clark sat on the edge of his bunk, wrapped in
doleful reverie, and motionless save when, from time to time, a deep sigh
agitated his vast shoulders. At last, however, a well-remembered whistle
sounded from the quay, and instantly roused Mr. Clark from his gloomy
meditations.
“’Orace!” he exclaimed, sitting erect, and his eyes began to gleam with a
dawning hopefulness.
A few minutes later Mr. Horace Dobb descended into that fo’c’sle wherein
aforetime he had been so prominent a dweller, though now it needed strong
imagination to believe that, less than three weeks ago, he had served the
“Jane Gladys” in such a menial capacity as cook. For Mr. Dobb was
wearing a horseshoe pin and a massive watch-chain, and a soft hat of
adventurous aspect. He carried a bloated umbrella which had somehow
acquired a quality of being a mace-like symbol of authority. And, also,
Mr. Dobb was smoking a cigar.
In short, he presented a visible proof that marriage need not invariably
be a failure, provided that one selects as bride a manageable widow with
a snug little business of her own.
“Doing the Cinderella hact all by yourself, are you?” observed Mr. Dobb.
“It couldn’t be better. I’ve brought some one on purpose to see you.”
“I could trot across to the ‘Jolly Sailors’ and get—” began Mr. Clark.
“At least,” he amended, ingenuously, “if I ’ad any money I could.”
“Not necessary,” stated Mr. Dobb. “’E’s a teetotaller.”
“A teetotaller?” echoed Mr. Clark, suspiciously. “’Ere, what’s the
game—bringing a teetotaller to see _me_? ’Strewth, ’Orace!” he cried, in
sudden alarm. “You ain’t going to tell me that being well-off ’as gone to
your ’ead and given you silly ideas, are you? You ain’t going to tell me
that you’ve turned teetotaller, too, and the pair of you ’ave come down
to try and convert me? I won’t ’ave it!” he declared, wrathfully. “I
ain’t going to ’ave no one trying to meddle about with my constitootion,
never mind ’ow old a friend ’e is!”
“And don’t _you_ start thinking evil of _me_!” returned Mr. Dobb, with
spirit. “I won’t ’ave it, neither!”
“Well,” protested Mr. Clark, significantly, “_you_ a-going about with
teetotallers!”
“Well, p’r’aps it do look fishy,” conceded Mr. Dobb. “But you oughter
know me better than that! You know me motter, Sam, don’t you? ‘Strictly
Business!’ Well, my friendship with ’im is strictly business. You don’t
suppose I could ever ’ave a friendly friendship with a teetotaller, do
you?”
“I should ’ope not, indeed!” answered Mr. Clark, severely.
“I met ’im in the way of business, and I’ve got to know ’im pretty well,”
continued Mr. Dobb. “And now there’s something he wants done, and I
thought of you for the job at once.”
“Much obliged to you,” said Mr. Clark, stiffly, “but I ain’t sure that I
wants to do jobs for teetotallers.”
“Don’t you be a silly old idjit, Sam,” tolerantly recommended Mr. Dobb.
“You don’t want to go cutting off your nose to spite your
face—particularly with the sort of face _you’ve_ got! I was only
speaking figgerative,” he hastened to add, at Mr. Clark’s indignant
stare. “Ain’t the old ‘Jane Gladys’ to be sold soon, and won’t you be
out of a job then?”
“I was thinking about that when you come down ’ere,” admitted Mr. Clark,
sorrowfully.
“Very well, then,” argued Mr. Dobb, “you want to do the best you can for
yourself. You take on this ’ere job I’ve mentioned, and you’ll ’ave a
nice easy life ashore for the next week or two, and all the time you can
be looking round for a proper job. And you’re far more likely to find
one by being on the spot than by rushing round frantic after you’re paid
off, ain’t you?”
“Of course I am,” agreed Mr. Clark. “And I know the skipper’ll let me go
any time I want to. ’E said so, only the night before last, when me and
Peter and Joe give ’im a parting present for three-and-nine.”
“There you are!” cried Mr. Dobb. “You take on this job with the chap
I’ve brought—Poskett, ’is name is. And while you’re doing it, me and you
will keep our eyes skinned to find you a permanent job in the town.”
“I take it as very kind of you, ’Orace,” said Mr. Clark.
“Then you takes it wrong,” returned Mr. Dobb. “I’m doing it for
business—strictly for business. You and me and them others ’ave worked a
few good plans in the past, and I can see that my little second-’and shop
in Fore Street gives us a chance to work a lot more, if we was all close
together. I mean to get you and Peter Lock and Joe Tridge all settled
’ere near me in Shore’aven. _Then_ we’ll show ’em!” he prophesied, with
satisfaction.
“All four of us ’atching up ideas together again? Oh, blessed wision!
Oh, ’appy prospect!” murmured Mr. Clark, moved to rhapsody. “Bring on
your teetotallers!” he invited. “With that before me, I’m ready for
anything!”
“I’ll call ’im, and ’e’ll tell you all about it,” said Mr. Dobb, and,
going on deck, he soon returned to the fo’c’sle in convoy of a short,
pallid gentleman, whose very side-whiskers seemed trimmed into semblance
of stern rectitude.
Horace introduced Mr. Poskett to Mr. Clark and the trio sat down at the
table. After Mr. Poskett had refused the offer of a cup of cold water,
considerately suggested by Mr. Clark, the object of the visit was at once
approached.
“It’s like this, Mr. Clark,” stated the visitor, “children is very
difficult things to manage properly these days, I find.”
“Thrash ’em!” advised Mr. Clark, assuming an air of efficiency in all
matters. “And not only thrash ’em, but keep on thrashing ’em! That’s
the only way to manage children, it seems to me, if you wants a quiet
life.”
“Yes, but what about it when the child is a girl of twenty?” demurred Mr.
Poskett.
“Stop ’er pocket-money!” promptly advised Mr. Clark.
“Yes; but supposing she earns her own pocket-money?” propounded Mr.
Poskett.
Mr. Clark, emitting a baffled grunt, passed to silent examination of the
problem. Mr. Horace Dobb, settling himself deep in his seat, tilted back
his head and puffed at his cigar, as one who postponed intervention till
the affair was more clearly established.
“You—you might lock up ’er bonnets,” hazarded Mr. Clark at last, but with
no great confidence.
“But she ’as to go to her employment behind the counter at Messrs
Wicklett & Sharp’s shop in the High Street,” objected Mr. Poskett. “She
comes ’ome for dinner, and goes back again to the shop in the afternoon.”
There was another pause, and then Mr. Clark regretfully admitted that it
seemed to him something was wrong somewhere, but he could not quite tell
where it was. He respectfully intimated that he might understand better
were Mr. Poskett to be more explicit in information.
“My niece,” said Mr. Poskett, complying. “She’s been and got herself
engaged!”
“Tut-tut!” murmured Mr. Clark, politely shocked.
“She has! Without my permission! She never even asked me!” complained
Mr. Poskett. “Not that I should have given it, mark you, if she had
asked! What right has she to go and get herself engaged when she is
needed at home?”
“Ah, what right, indeed?” asked Mr. Clark, with indignation.
“Where’s ’er gratitude to me and ’er loving aunt, who have brought ’er up
since she was eleven?” demanded Mr. Poskett. “Is it not ’er duty to
tarry with us while we ’ave need of ’er? We cannot spare ’er, for she is
too useful. I grant that she ’as done ’er fair share of work in the
past, but that ain’t any reason why she should seek to avoid it in the
future, is it?”