A GAME OF DOMINOES.
‘Good-evening, Mr Harland. You are a stranger here,’ said Farrell, as
he entered. ‘I thought you were going to slight your humble friend
(meaning myself) throughout the voyage, but--’
‘So you have met before,’ interrupted Mr Pemberton, who was of the
party.
‘Oh, yes, we _have_ met before--many years ago,’ drawled Harland.
‘When we were clerks in the same office,’ put in Farrell.
‘Quite a boyish acquaintance,’ said the other, with an uneasy laugh,
for Farrell’s manner had annoyed him.
‘Many people say that boyish acquaintances last the longest, and are
the least soon forgotten,’ remarked Pemberton.
‘I don’t think Mr Harland and I shall forget each other in a hurry,’
laughed Farrell sarcastically. ‘The memory of Mr Horace--I mean of the
office and all that occurred there, will follow me to my grave!’
‘Come, come! Let us get to business!’ interposed Pemberton, seeing that
the two men were at daggers-drawn with one another, though for what
cause was a mystery to him. ‘Shall we make up a four at dominoes?’
‘I am agreeable!’ returned Farrell.
‘And so am I,’ said Harland; ‘will the ladies join us?’
‘I am afraid not,’ answered Farrell. ‘The deck is too wet for them; but
I will ask, if you like.’
To his entreaties at the doors of the ladies’ berths he received
nothing but negatives. Miss Douglas was already in bed, Miss Grant was
afraid of the damp, and Mrs Medlicott was nursing a sick child. But a
volunteer was soon found in the person of Bob Perry.
‘What do you play for?’ inquired Harland, when they had turned up the
two highest and lowest, and Farrell and Pemberton had been elected
partners. ‘What do you say to threepence each on the pips that stand
out?’
‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Perry, ‘that is too much. It may run up to a matter
of five shillings a game, and I can’t afford it.’
‘Well, we can’t play for _love_,’ sneered Harland; ‘never you mind,
Perry, I’ll stand bail for both of us.’
‘I object to that,’ said Farrell. ‘I do not wish to play for such high
stakes any more than Mr Perry. I am simply playing to make the time
pass, and don’t want to make or lose money by the game. You forget, Mr
Harland, that we are not all like yourself, on a trip _for pleasure_!’
He emphasised the words unpleasantly, and Harland swore under his
breath, but answered nothing.
‘Suppose we play for threepence a game,’ suggested Mr Pemberton. ‘As
Farrell says, we don’t want to make money by the stones. All that is
necessary to give zest to the victory is a small stake that shall
benefit the winner without breaking his companions.’
‘All right,’ assented Harland, in anything but a good humour; ‘go
ahead. Double six begins. But, stop a minute. Before we start, we will
toss for drinks round.’
To this proposition the other men were not strong-minded enough to
object, and the silver coins were spun in the air, and clinked upon the
table, resulting, luckily for them, in Godfrey Harland having to pay
the forfeit, and the steward was despatched to the bar with the orders.
The game was finished, and the players tossed again, and the stones
were divided, and so it went on until five bells was struck, which was
the signal for all the ship lights to be extinguished.
‘Lights out, please!’ sung out the third officer at the booby hatch.
‘In one minute, Mr Sparkes,’ replied Harland. ‘Let us finish the game,
there’s a good fellow.’
‘It is against the rule,’ said the junior mate; ‘I cannot disobey my
orders.’
‘Come down and have a glass of whisky, then,’ urged Mr Pemberton; ‘we
have more than half a bottle left.’
To this invitation Mr Richard Sparkes did not reply that he could not
disobey orders, but glancing aft to satisfy himself that the ‘old man’
was not on deck, he quickly descended the companion, and stepping up to
the table, muttered his thanks, and swallowed the intoxicating draught.
‘You understand, don’t you, Sparkes,’ said Harland; ‘we shan’t be
a minute, old man. Just shut down the hatch, and cover it with a
tarpaulin, and if that d--d inquisitive second mate of yours discovers
the glim, I’ll take the blame on myself.’
Whereupon, without another word, the third officer left them to their
pursuits. When the game had come to a conclusion, Pemberton signified
his intention to turn in, and bidding them good-night, went to his
cabin. Bob Perry, who was half-seas over, also retired, and the two
belligerents were alone together. It was for this that Farrell had
taken a hand at the game. It was to this end he had worked to find
himself cheek-by-jowl with the man he hated more deadlily than he had
ever done before. He thirsted to put a spoke in Harland’s wheel,--to
alarm him thoroughly,--to show a little of his own hand, but not too
much, and make him uncomfortable for the remainder of the voyage.
‘Drink up and have some more,’ said Harland, breaking the silence that
ensued on the departure of their companions.
‘I don’t care for any. I have had enough,’ replied Farrell, lying back
in his chair. ‘Well, our journey will soon be over now. What do you
intend to do when we reach Lyttleton?’
‘I don’t know, I’m sure,’ returned Harland. ‘I shall enjoy myself as
long as I find anything worth enjoying, and then, perhaps, take a trip
over to America, and visit some of my friends there.’
‘But I thought you had taken service under Mr Vansittart, and were
bound to remain with him?’ said Farrell.
Godfrey Harland opened his eyes with astonishment.
‘Then you are under a great delusion. I have certainly promised to be
the guest of the Vansittarts for a short time, and circumstances may
arise to detain me longer, but there is no obligation in the matter,
unless it be on _my_ side.’
‘Oh! indeed. People say otherwise on board. I have heard it stated
confidently that you are Mr Vansittart’s land-agent, and that he has
been imprudent enough to take you without references.’
‘D--n their impertinence!’ growled Harland, ‘prying into other people’s
affairs. I should like to know the name of the person who has been
spreading these false reports about me.’
‘_I_ shall not tell you,’ retorted Farrell. ‘It is quite immaterial to
me whether you keep Mr Vansittart, or Mr Vansittart keeps you, but I
should think the latter by far the most probable of the two. And is it
true that you intend to marry his daughter?’
‘It is no business of yours if I do.’
‘Certainly not. It’s no business of mine if you turn Mormon, which, I
suppose, is the next thing you’ll think of.’
‘What do you mean by making that remark?’ said Harland, turning pale.
‘Only that English laws are in force in the colonies, and a man is only
allowed to have one wife at a time.’
‘What would you insinuate, you scoundrel?’ demanded Harland, beginning
to feel alarmed.
‘Softly--softly,’ said Will Farrell, ‘don’t raise your voice. Some one
might overhear you. I never insinuate, as I think I informed you at
our last meeting; I always speak my mind, and if you wish me to do so
now, I will. I will go further, and take our fellow-passengers into my
confidence, if you desire to become notorious amongst them.’
‘What would you tell them?’ demanded Harland, livid with passion.
‘That you have a wife already, and cannot marry Miss Vansittart.’
‘It is a lie! I was never married to her.’
Farrell was staggered for a moment by this bold assertion. What if it
were true. The man before him was villain enough for anything, and the
first thing a woman tries to hide is her own shame. Yet Maggie had said
that Iris was his wife, and he did not believe that Maggie would tell
an untruth.
‘That is easily settled,’ he answered quickly; ‘we can appeal to Mrs
Harland.’
‘You cannot. She is dead.’
‘That is a lie!’ cried Farrell fiercely, ‘as great a lie as the other.
I _know_ your wife to be alive.’
‘Where have you seen her?’
‘I shall not tell you.’
‘I will _make_ you!’ exclaimed Harland, advancing upon him.
But Farrell was prepared for the attack.
‘Dare to lay a finger on me,’ he said, ‘and the whole ship shall hear
your story.’
‘What story have you to tell them?’ repeated his adversary.
‘One that would make two or three columns of the most interesting
reading in the daily papers, Mr Horace Cain. Only a little incident
that occurred a few years since (how many was it--_ten_?) at Starling’s
Bank. A forged cheque--the warrant for an arrest--a fruitless
search--an escape to America--and what _I_ should call a most imprudent
return. I should point out the hero of the piece to them--it would be
quite a melodrama. Virtue triumphant, vice in the background, and the
blue fire of their indignation over all.’
‘And who would believe your story?’ sneered Harland.
‘I would _make_ them believe it,’ resumed Farrell, in a sadder and more
earnest voice. ‘I would point to myself as its best proof,--to _me_
whom your bad example ruined--whom your cowardice left in the lurch--on
whom the stigma of your villainy fell like a curse, rising up like the
deadly nightshade to poison every home I tried to make for myself.
Godfrey Harland (as you choose to call yourself), you have been my bad
genius from the day we met. You tempted me to evil, and left me to
bear the brunt of your own misdemeanour. You have ruined others beside
myself--(I know more of your doings than you think of). But your day is
ended. Before you blight another life, as you have done mine, I will
blazon the miserable truth to the world.’
‘Where would your proofs be?’ cried Harland; ‘and who would credit your
simple word. I’d soon hash your goose for you, my fine fellow. A low
second-class passenger attempting to blackguard a gentleman! I’d tell
them you had tried to extort money from me, and failed, and they would
accept my statement much sooner than yours; and in all probability you
would receive an injunction from the captain to keep the peace, or be
put under arrest. Why, you’re not sober now, you useless, drunken
“ne’er-do-weel.” Don’t you presume on your former knowledge to speak to
me again. I have done with you from this moment.’
And Harland rose to leave the spot.
‘And don’t you dare to venture down here again,’ replied Farrell,
trembling with excitement, ‘or I will carry out my threat, and expose
you before the whole ship’s company, as Mr Horace Cain, the for--’
‘Take care what you say,’ interrupted Harland, in a hoarse voice, ‘or I
shall not be able to control my temper. I have stood your insults long
enough.’
‘Not longer than I have submitted to yours. And I have a double debt to
discharge to you now, Mr Harland. You think that I know nothing,--that
I am powerless to damage your character. What about Maggie Greet, who
served your deserted wife in England?’
At that name, Godfrey Harland felt his limbs tremble. The thought
of Maggie Greet had always had more power to sting his hardened
conscience than that of his wife. He was more afraid of her than of
Iris, and less certain of her keeping his secrets.
‘I don’t know to whom you allude,’ he replied, attempting to brave it
out. ‘Was she the “slavey?” You really cannot expect me to remember the
names of those sort of people.’
‘And yet she remembers _you_,’ said Farrell sarcastically. ‘How
strange. And she remembers the wrong you did her into the bargain.
Stranger still, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, enough of this cursed twaddle!’ cried Harland, who was most
anxious to get away. ‘You are talking of a lot of things of which you
know nothing. I am off to bed now. Let us thoroughly understand each
other. If you presume to speak to me again, I shall cut you dead.’
‘And if you come down to the second cabin again, I’ll break every bone
in your body,’ retorted Farrell. ‘And when I get you on shore, my boy,
we’ll have it out, whoever is by to see, and let the best man win.’
Harland was on the top rung of the ladder, and as he heard Will
Farrell’s parting threat he turned pale with fear, and the beads of
perspiration stood on his forehead like dew.
What if any one should have overheard his words. He pushed up the
hatch, and alighting on the deck, staggered to his cabin, and threw
himself upon the berth in a state bordering on despair.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]