AN AFFAIR OF THE HEART.
I.
Miss Emmeline Figgins was a well-built, capable-looking young lady of
seventeen. She wore her hair neatly coiled in a golden aureole on the
top of her head. Her blue eyes were attractive and full of mirth, her
mouth was well-shaped, and she possessed a pair of very red lips and
twin rows of even white teeth. She seemed literally bursting with
health, and her rosy, slightly sunburnt cheeks somehow reminded Pincher
of the girls at home in his own village. She was dressed in a white
blouse and plain dark-blue skirt, and a small gold locket hung round
her neck.
The first time Martin saw her standing behind the counter in the little
sweet and tobacco shop he thought her quite adorable. He experienced a
vague feeling of jealousy when he saw the locket, though, for he
thought it probable that it contained the photograph of the ship's
steward's assistant from the flagship.
Billings, strangely redolent of violets--he had purchased a pennyworth
of cachous subsequent to absorbing one pint of beer immediately on
getting ashore--advanced with a sheepish grin. Martin followed close
behind.
'Good-evenin', miss,' the former remarked, touching his forelock. 'I
'ope I finds yer well?'
The girl laughed. 'Thank you, Mister Billings,' she said; 'I am
enjoying the best of health, and I hope you are the same.' She regarded
Pincher out of the corner of her eye; and that youth, very ill at ease,
shuffled nervously and began to get red in the face. He was always
rather frightened of women.
'I'm quite fit, miss,' said Joshua. 'This 'ere's Mr Martin--Pincher
Martin we calls 'im. Friend o' mine, 'e is. Brought 'im along o' me ter
be interjooced.' He pushed the ordinary seaman forward by the arm.
'Pleased ter meet yer, miss,' said Pincher awkwardly, advancing and
shaking hands over a row of glass bottles filled with sweets. 'I've
'eard a lot abart yer from my frien' Mister Billings.'
The A.B. warned him of his indiscretion by a violent nudge in the side.
'I'm glad I'm a celebrity,' the girl remarked, a trifle suspiciously.
'And what did Mr Billings say about me? I hope it was something nice.'
'Where's yer ma, miss?' Joshua himself interrupted, hastily changing
the subject.
'She's out now, Mr Billings, but she'll be back home to tea at
half-past five. She's expecting you then, I believe; and if this
gentleman would join us I'm sure he'd be very welcome.' She looked at
Martin.
'Wot say, Pincher?' asked Joshua with a wink. 'Like ter 'ave a cup o'
tea wi' th' ladies?'
'Don't mind if I does,' said the youth shyly.
'Needn't come if you don't want to, mister,' the girl retorted
sarcastically, tossing her head. 'There are plenty who'd be glad to be
asked.'
Pincher felt more awkward and sheepish than ever. 'I should like ter
come, miss, thankin' yer for yer kindness in arskin' me,' he managed to
stammer. 'No offence meant, I'm sure, miss. 'Fraid I said it a bit
awk'ard like.'
'No offence taken,' laughed Emmeline, moving off to attend to three
customers.
'Now, Mister Billings,' she said, coming back in a few minutes, 'I
can't stand gossiping here all the afternoon. This is our busy time,
and the shop will be filling up soon, and I sha'n't know whether I'm
standing on my head or my heels. What with mother being out, and that
plaguy boy having a holiday, I don't know how I shall be able to
manage. If you drop in again at half-past five, mother will be in then.
Is there anything I can serve you with before you go?'
'I'll 'ave two packets o' woodbines, miss,' Joshua had to reply, quite
forgetting that he did not smoke cigarettes, but unable to ignore the
hint. He put down twopence.--'Wot abart you, Pincher?'
Martin looked blankly round the shop.
'A penn'orth of bull's-eyes or almond rock?' suggested the girl, with a
malicious twinkle in her eyes. 'Or perhaps you'd fancy some jujubes or
acid drops, fresh in to-day?'
'Thank you, miss, I don't fancy sweets,' the ordinary seaman returned,
painfully aware that he was being made fun of. 'I'll 'ave one o' them
there packets o' Egyptian fags. The sixpenny ones.'
'We generally call them cigarettes,' Emmeline remarked.
'Lor,' Billings ejaculated, 'we ain't 'arf goin' a bu'st!'
'Let the boy have what he wants, mister,' retorted Miss Figgins tartly,
her business instinct uppermost, and a little anxious lest Pincher
should change his mind and choose something cheaper. 'They're very good
cigarettes, I'm sure, and excellent value for the money. Don't know
what he wants to go smoking for, though,' she added sweetly, gazing at
Pincher with an innocent smile. 'I'm sure sweets are more in his line.'
Joshua laughed, but Martin felt he had never been so insulted in his
life. 'Boy,' indeed! She had called him a boy, and had offered him
sweets!
More prospective customers arrived; and, paying for their purchases,
the two bluejackets started to leave the establishment, when Billings,
remembering something rather important, turned back. 'Say, miss,' he
queried in an anxious, confidential whisper in the young lady's ear,
'did yer ma say anythin' abart comin' ter the pictures along o' me
ter-night?'
Emmeline paused in the act of weighing out half-an-ounce of shag
tobacco and laughed merrily. 'Go on with you!' she exclaimed roguishly.
'You're a proper caution, Mister Billings!'
'Did she say nothin' abart it?'
'I'm not my mother's keeper. She said nothing to me.'
'Sure?' queried the lovesick one, rather disappointed.
The girl winked twice and pointed to the door. 'Hop it!' she giggled.
'Don't come worrying round me when I'm busy with customers. Take your
Mister--er--Martin with you; and if I were you I should buy him'--she
sank her voice to a whisper and glanced in Pincher's direction--'a nice
rattle! Ta-ta; see you both later.'
'Wot did she say yer wus ter buy me?' Martin wanted to know when they
got outside.
'Didn't 'ear, chum,' Joshua answered hastily, unwilling to hurt the
other's feelings. 'Wot d' yer think o' 'er? Bit o' orl right--wot?'
'She looks orl right,' Martin agreed, rather depressed. 'But she seems
a bit 'orty-like for a kid o' seventeen. Tryin' ter 'ave me on, she
was, abart them there sweets.'
'Garn! That's only 'er way. She don't mean nothin'. Yer carn't expec' a
gal ter take a fancy ter a bloke orl of a sudden like. Don't get
rattled abart wot she said. Come on,' Joshua added, glancing at a clock
in a jeweller's window. 'It's only a quarter ter five, plenty o' time
ter go an' 'ave a wet afore we goes back there ter tea.' He made off
across the road in the direction of a public-house.
'No, yer bloomin' well don't!' Pincher exclaimed, overtaking him,
seizing him by the arm, and swinging him round in the opposite
direction. 'Yer said yer was only goin' ter 'ave one pint. S'welp me,
yer did.'
'Don't act so barmy, Pincher,' Joshua expostulated, bitterly aggrieved.
'W'en I sez a pint I only means a pint directly I gits ashore. I didn't
say 'ow much I'd 'ave arterwards.'
'Well, yer ain't goin' ter 'ave one now, any'ow,' Martin retorted. 'If
you goes drinkin' now, I sha'n't come ter tea along o' yer an' Missis
Figgins; an' I wants me two bob back, strite, I do.'
'Wot d' yer want ter go spoilin' a chap's bit o' sport fur?' Billings
grumbled feelingly. 'I'm that dry I could jist do wi' a pint. No more'n
a pint, I promises yer.'
But Pincher was adamant. 'If yer feels dry yer kin go and buy yerself
some lemonade. Yer don't git no beer while yer along o' me.'
'Lemonade! 'Oo wants lemonade, 'orrible pisenous stuff full o' hacids
an' sich like! Only fit fur kids ter swaffle!'
'Yer won't git no beer, so it ain't no use yer talkin'.'
'Oh, ain't it bloomin' well?' the A.B. exclaimed, beginning to get
angry. 'Yer ain't lookin' arter me, yer knows. It's me wot's lookin'
arter you.'
Pincher held out his hand. 'Orl right, then,' he said quietly; 'give me
back me two bob wot yer borrowed.'
Joshua glared at him in speechless astonishment 'Give it back to yer?'
he almost shouted. 'Not 'arf I don't!'
'Orl right. S' long, then; I'm not comin' along ter tea wi' Missis
Figgins. Yer knows werry well yer carn't go takin' ladies along ter th'
pictures if yer starts drinkin' now.' Martin pretended to move off.
There was some truth in the remark, and Billings felt rather foolish.
''Ere, 'arf a mo'!' he expostulated. 'Don't shove orf. Look 'ere, chum;
she 'as a drop 'erself now an' then. Allus 'as a bottle o' stout along
wi' 'er dinner, an' another along o' 'er supper. Told me so 'erself.'
He looked hopefully to see if this information would have the desired
effect, but Martin merely shook his head.
It took at least five minutes further argument, and much backing and
filling between the two pavements, before Billings could be drawn off
from the glaring portals of the 'Rose and Crown.' He seemed attracted
to the place like a steel filing to a magnet; and it was all Martin
could do to entice him away. But he succeeded eventually, and, with
Joshua still complaining bitterly, the two adventurers entered a
barber's shop to have their hair cut.
At five-thirty precisely they both returned to the shop to find Mrs
Figgins there. She was a short, bulbous little woman of uncertain age,
with her dark hair, slightly streaked with gray, drawn tightly over her
head and tied in a knob behind. Except for her blue eyes, which
twinkled through her spectacles as she talked, she bore little
resemblance to her daughter, but, for all that, possessed a certain
vivacity of manner and speech which more than made up for lack of good
looks. She greeted them with cordiality.
'It's pleased I am to see you an' your friend, Mister Billings,' she
said, when Pincher had been solemnly introduced. 'Such a day I 'ave 'ad
you never would believe. Went to see my poor John's brother's wife at
Dorchester. 'Er youngest, Halfred, 'im that was born last Easter, 'as
come out all over in red spots, an' the doctor doesn't know wot to make
of 'em. 'E's a fraud, I think,' she went on--speaking with great
rapidity, and nodding her head to emphasise the point--'a reg'lar
fraud, same as all doctors. I don't 'old wi' them an' their speriments.
I said to Jane that the boy was sickenin' for measles, 'cause the spots
are the same as wot Hemmeline 'ad when she was a baby; but the
doctor'----
'Measles!' Joshua ejaculated, with vague visions of being put in
quarantine. 'Infectious, ain't it?'
'Don't be scared,' the lady laughed. 'It's all right so long as you've
'ad it before.--Hemmeline!'
'Yes, mother?' came the girl's answer from the sitting-room at the back
of the shop.
'Is that kettle boilin' yet? 'Ere's Mister Billings an' 'is friend
ready for their teas.'
'All ready, mother. Look out you shut the outer door in case of
customers coming.'
Mrs Figgins shut the door, and then ushered her guests into the
sitting-room. It was a bright little apartment, with a cheerful fire
blazing in an old-fashioned grate, before which, judging from the
smell, Emmeline had been making hot buttered toast. The room was
crammed with furniture, and was decorated with china ornaments, velvet
hangings, and pictures, conspicuous among these being a large
photographic enlargement of the late Mr John Figgins. It hung in a
massive gilt frame, and the defunct gentleman was shown in black
cut-away coat, dark trousers, high choker collar, white tie, and a very
shiny top-hat. He gripped a walking-stick and a pair of gloves in one
hand, while the other rested in _négligé_ fashion upon a large
marble column bearing a very palpable imitation palm. He had side
whiskers and rather a fierce expression. There were also three large,
highly coloured oleographs. One depicted the late Queen Victoria at the
time of her 1887 Jubilee; another, entitled 'Lead, Kindly Light,'
showed a sailing-ship in dangerous proximity to the Eddystone
Lighthouse during a terrible storm; and the third, some immaculate
soldiers in tight red tunics saying good-bye to a number of lachrymose,
slim-waisted ladies on the platform at Waterloo Station. They were, it
would appear, about to sail for South Africa--the soldiers, I mean, not
the ladies.
On the mantelpiece stood a cabinet photograph of Joshua Billings in an
ornate aluminium frame painted with forget-me-nots. The original
glanced at it with a self-conscious smirk. It had been his last present
to Mrs Figgins, and he felt it augured well for his prospects to see it
in the place of honour.
But Pincher was not so much interested in the appearance of the room as
in that of the round table in the centre of the apartment. It was
spread for tea, and such a tea! There was a fine crusty cottage loaf
and a generous plate of sliced ham; a mountain of shrimps lay cheek by
jowl with an enormous pot of jam; while rounds of hot buttered toast, a
large currant-cake, and a pile of mixed pastry stood on the outskirts
of the more substantial comestibles. Martin sucked his teeth
appreciatively. There were only four places laid, he was glad to see.
The ship's steward's assistant from the flagship was evidently not
coming.
Mrs Figgins settled herself in front of the teapot, and began pouring
out, keeping up a rapid flow of conversation the while. 'Mister
Billings,' she said, motioning with her head to the place on her right,
'will you sit 'ere? an' you, Mister Martin, 'ere? Hemmeline will be
opposite me. I 'ope you will 'elp yourselves to anything you fancy, and
if hanybody likes heggs, I've got some werry nice ones fresh in from
the country to-day. My poor John was fond of a hegg to 'is tea,' she
added, gazing sadly at the representation of her late husband.
'I reckons we kin do werry well wi' wot we 'ave 'ere,' remarked
Billings, glancing round the table with an approving smile, and helping
himself to ham and hot buttered toast. 'Thank yer, Missis Figgins,' he
continued, 'two lumps fur me.' He took the proffered cup with a coy
smile, put it down, and began to masticate noisily.
Pincher fancied shrimps to start with; but Emmeline, who had her own
ideas as to how a lady should behave, scorned the more substantial
eatables, and nibbled daintily at a piece of thin bread and jam.
''Ave a bit of 'am, my gal,' said her mother, helping herself to that
delicacy, and handing the plate across.
'No, thanks, mother. I'll spoil my supper if I do.'
'Quite right, miss,' murmured Billings, with his mouth rather full. 'I
never could understan' 'ow folks wot 'as a reg'lar supper kin stow
their kites full at tea-time. 'Orrible 'abit, I calls it. On board, ye
see,' he hastened to explain, lest he himself should be thought a
glutton, 'we 'as a sort o' 'igh tea, an' a bit o' biscuit or sich like
fur our suppers. It ain't wot you'd call a proper meal.'
Martin gasped. He knew that on board the _Belligerent_ Joshua
frequently had kippers for his tea, while six rashers of bacon and six
fried eggs often formed his evening meal at a quarter past seven.
Emmeline raised her eyebrows. 'Kites?' she asked, rather surprised.
'What's kites?'
'Stummick, 'e means, miss,' put in Pincher, anxious to air his
knowledge. 'Mister Billings'---- He heard a horrified gasp, looked up,
saw Emmeline frowning at him fiercely, thought better of what he was
going to say, and then stared at his plate, with his face getting
redder and redder. He had evidently put his foot into it rather badly.
But the girl did not intend to let him off. 'We don't mention those
things in polite society,' she pointed out acidly. 'It's not nice.'
Pincher said nothing, but wished that the floor might open and swallow
him whole.
'Yer promised ye'd come along o' me ter th' pictures ter-night, Missis
Figgins,' remarked Joshua, finishing his ham and looking round the
table. 'Thought we'd go an' 'ave a bit o' supper at a restorong
arterwards.'
'Promised you, did I?' the widow returned, handing him a plate of
jam-puffs with a sweet smile.' 'Ave one o' these? Or do you fancy a
piece o' cake? It's 'ome-made.'
Joshua helped himself to the pastry. 'Yus,' he said, 'yer promised ye'd
come.'
'Oh, did I?' the lady said archly, determined to keep him on
tenter-hooks. 'Think I've got nothin' to do but to go to them silly
pictures? 'Oo's goin' to mind the shop, I should like to know?'
'I don't want to go out, mother,' Emmeline put in.
'Course you don't, my gal,' said her mother. 'It's not respectable for
gals to be hout after dark unless they're hescorted.'
'No,' Billings agreed, pausing in the act of biting a large chunk off
his jam-puff; 'it ain't fit an' proper fur gals o' your age to go abart
unpertected like.'
Emmeline glared at him. 'Oh, isn't it?' she retorted. 'And who asked
you to put your oar in, Mister Billings? I'll have you know I'm quite
capable of looking after myself, and I wouldn't go along of you if you
were the last man on earth. You'd best take mother along to the
pictures, and not worry your head about what I'm going to do.' She
tossed her head.
Billings, covered with confusion, retired from the contest and resumed
his meal.
Mrs Figgins, anxious to keep the peace, looked up apprehensively. 'No
need to let your tongue run away wi' you, Hemmeline,' she chided.
'Mister Billings agrees wi' what I think about it, an' there's no call
for you to get snappy.--All right, Josh--Mister Billings,' she added;
'I'll come with you. What about your friend?'
Joshua, insinuating a massive fist under the tablecloth, squeezed his
loved one affectionately by the hand. 'That's orl right,' he murmured,
greatly relieved and very happy.
'But what about Mister Martin?'
''Is leaf's up at seven,' Joshua explained. ''E carn't come.'
'Thank goodness for that!' Emmeline remarked with a loud sniff. What
she meant exactly Pincher could not imagine, but it was quite obvious
that she meant to hurt his feelings. She succeeded, for he felt more of
a fool than ever; and it was just as well, perhaps, that at that moment
the shop door opened with a clang to admit a customer, and the girl
left the room.
From a purely gastronomic point of view, though Martin did not do full
justice to it, the meal was undoubtedly a success; but he returned to
the ship that evening in a very saddened frame of mind. He was bitterly
disappointed with Emmeline. She was pretty and attractive, he felt
bound to admit; but it was only too evident that she was not the least
taken with him, and, moreover, had no hesitation in showing it. She had
a nasty, snappy way of saying things, too. Billings had wilfully misled
him, and had borrowed two shillings under false pretences. He had led
Pincher to believe that he would be received with open arms; but all
that Joshua really cared about, apparently, was the feathering of his
own downy nest, ungrateful old sinner that he was! Drat Billings! Drat
Emme---- No; drat the ship's steward's assistant from the flagship!
II.
Wilfrid Parkin, the ship's steward's assistant from the _Tremendous_,
was a gay young dog. He was a tall youth of about Pincher's own age,
with sleek, well-greased black hair. His clothes were always immaculate
and well brushed; he affected a crease down the legs of his trousers;
and, when he was ashore, the odour of scent and pomatum generally
emanated from his person. With his peaked cap set jauntily on the side
of his head, a cigarette pendulous from his lower lip, and his
double-breasted coat, white linen collar, and black tie, he imagined
himself to be vastly superior in breeding and deportment to any man
clad in the uniform of a bluejacket. Sometimes he even wore brown kid
gloves, hoping that this would cause ignorant people to take him for an
officer.
He was not beautiful to gaze upon, but downright ugly, in fact, for his
putty-coloured face was covered with pimples, which he vainly
endeavoured to eradicate with somebody's patent ointment. But in spite
of this, and other blemishes, he had female admirers by the score; and
even the level-headed Emmeline, for some inscrutable reason, had fallen
a victim to his charms. She would not have admitted it if she had been
asked, of course; but the giddy Wilfrid had shown a preference for her
society, and Emmeline had not objected.
Men disliked Parkin for his affectation and conceit. On board his ship
he had a very poor time; but ashore he was absolutely it, so far as the
ladies were concerned. He was a shining light at the local
skating-rink, where, in company with one or other of his girl friends,
he waltzed and two-stepped to his heart's content. When he could obtain
the necessary leave he always attended dances--'Entrance fee, one
shilling; evening dress optional'--and was never averse to singing
'They all love Jack,' or some other very nautical song, at a tea-party
at which ladies were present.
It came to pass that one wet afternoon, when there was no football,
Pincher, feeling the want of exercise, was forced to take refuge in the
skating-rink, and almost the first person he saw was Emmeline Figgins
gliding round with the immaculate Wilfrid. They both skated well; but
whereas the girl did it with a really natural grace, her companion,
desperately anxious to create an impression, put in sundry little kicks
and twirls of his own invention which made his performance border on
the ridiculous. He was showing off, in fact.
Now Pincher could barely skate at all, much less dance, pirouette on
one leg, or hurtle round backwards; and, seeing Emmeline, he became
rather nervous, and wished to seek safety in flight. But he had paid
sixpence to come in, and could not very well demand his money back; so,
with a pair of skates in his hand, he stood sheepishly by the edge of
the rink watching the others. Emmeline spotted him the next time she
came round, smiled cheerily over her shoulder, and said something to
her companion, who shook his head. She was evidently in a good temper,
and Martin smiled back at her.
The next time she drew near, it was more slowly. Checking her speed,
she came gracefully to rest by the padded balustrade immediately
opposite where Pincher stood. She was flushed with the exercise, and
looked quite adorable. Parkin hovered in the background.
'Well,' she asked gaily, extending her hand, 'aren't you going to say,
"How d' you do?" Mister Martin?'
'How d'ye do, miss?' said Pincher, shaking it, but half-suspecting she
was about to make a fool of him.
'This is Mister Parkin,' Emmeline went on, presenting the spotty-faced
one. 'Mister Parkin--Mister Martin of the _Belligerent_.'
''Ow do, Parkin?' remarked Pincher with a nod.
'Pleased to meet yer,' murmured the other, with a low bow and a lofty
expression. 'What terrible weather we are 'avin' for the time of year,
are we not?'
The ordinary seaman stared at him in astonishment; while Emmeline,
unable to restrain herself, burst out into a little chuckle of
amusement.
'What's the matter now, Miss Figgins?' Parkin asked, rather aggrieved.
'I'm amused at your polite talk,' she said, laughing openly. 'You do
put on such airs sometimes, Mister Parkin. I can't help laughing.'
'Oh, can't you?' retorted the pimply gentleman. 'You needn't go saying
them things in front of--er'--he was going to say 'ordinary seamen,'
but noticed Martin was looking at him, and substituted 'other people.'
'I'll say exactly what I please, Mister Parkin,' she returned with
asperity, deliberately turning her back upon him.--'Can you skate
well?' she asked Martin.
'I kin jest git round, miss, but can do none o' them there fancy
touches.'
'Well, be quick, and get your skates on,' she said. 'I'll help you.
Mister Parkin is tired of my company, I think.--You'd better go and
look for some one else to skate with,' she added to Wilfrid over her
shoulder.
'You said you was going to skate with me the 'ole afternoon,' he
protested angrily.
'Can't help what I said,' Emmeline retorted, tossing her head. 'I've
changed my mind. Run away, like a good boy, or I shall get angry with
you.'
Parkin, after further useless expostulation, eventually skated off,
greatly annoyed. To think that Emmeline, his Emmeline, as he chose to
consider her, should dare to throw herself at the head of an ordinary
seaman, while he, Wilfrid Parkin, admittedly one of the best skaters in
the place, should be sent packing! It was insufferable--absolutely
insufferable! Assuredly he must teach this young woman that it was an
honour for her to be seen in his company at all.
Martin himself hardly knew what to make of it. The last time he had met
the girl she had been deliberately rude, and had done her best to hurt
his feelings and to make him feel awkward. But now she was all smiles,
and was looking at him in quite a friendly way. He half-suspected a
trap of some kind, and that she intended to make a fool of him, after
all; but, murmuring his thanks, he strapped on his skates, removed his
cap, and stepped gingerly on to the floor. He got on better than he
expected, though he took good care not to try any rash experiments, and
rather enjoyed it. He was skating with quite the prettiest girl on the
rink, for one thing, and he was pleased to see Parkin's sullen scowl of
jealousy every time he flashed by with another lady on his arm.
'Look at that horrid little thing, Jane Crawley!' Emmeline whispered in
Martin's ear. 'Stuck-up little minx! Giggling and laughing with Mister
Parkin, she is. Thinks it'll annoy me, I suppose.'
'She don't look up ter much,' Pincher agreed, glancing at Wilfrid's
companion as they went past.
Emmeline sniffed. 'She's not. She's in Skeets the draper's. Early
closing day to-day; that's why she's out. Never could stand them
shoppies; they give themselves such airs. Can't think what he sees in
her.'
'Carn't think why you likes Mister Parkin,' murmured Pincher, blurting
out his thoughts without really meaning to.
To his great surprise, Emmeline laughed. 'I don't like him,' she said.
'I thought I did at first, but I'm beginning to find him out now. He's
that conceited, you've no idea. Thinks he can order me about, too; and
I won't stick that.'
'I don't think 'e's much class,' Martin observed, holding her hand
tighter. 'Puts on a lot o' swank fur a bloomin' dusty boy.'[19]
[19] A ship's steward's assistant is always known as a 'dusty
boy.'
Emmeline nodded. 'I'm fair sick of him. He's---- Hallo! Hold up!' But
it was too late, for Pincher stumbled heavily and sat down with a
thump. His partner released him just in time to save herself.
Parkin, passing with Jane Crawley, had just touched Pincher's outer
skate. Whether it had been done intentionally or by accident Martin
never really knew; but if it was deliberate, the result far exceeded
Wilfrid's expectations. Pincher merely sat down on the floor rather too
hard to be pleasant; but Parkin, letting go his partner, pitched
forward, and came into violent contact with the wooden flooring with a
resounding bump.
The two girls went to the rescue of their respective men, and a crowd
soon collected. Pincher, little damaged, picked himself up with a
laugh; but Parkin's injuries, though not really serious, were far more
spectacular. The front of his coat was thick with dirt, both the knees
of his trousers were badly torn, and he applied a handkerchief to his
dirty face to stanch a copious flow of blood from his damaged nose.
'Look 'ere!' he exclaimed, quivering with passion and advancing on
Pincher with his fists clenched; 'you did that a purpose!'
'He did nothing of the kind!' Emmeline burst out. 'And well you know
it. It was your own fault. You and your showing off!'
[Illustration: 'It was 'is fault! I saw 'im stick 'is foot out!'
PAGE 115.]
'It was 'is fault!' shrilled Jane Crawley, pointing an accusing finger
at Martin. 'I saw 'im stick 'is foot out!'
'No, I didn't,' Pincher protested. 'Never see'd yer comin'!'
'Course he didn't,' Emmeline corroborated. 'How could he see you if you
were behind him?'
'I tell you 'e did!' shouted Jane, becoming excited.
'I didn't,' Martin expostulated.
The crowd peered over each other's shoulders and laughed, for there
seemed every prospect of a fight on skates between Emmeline Figgins and
Jane Crawley, and another between Pincher Martin and Wilfrid Parkin.
The situation was most exciting.
'You'll 'ave to pay for my trousers, any'ow!' Wilfrid blustered,
looking down at his torn garments.
The onlookers tittered. 'That's it,' some one said jocularly; 'you 'ave
the law on 'im, my son.'
'Sha'n't pay a penny!' Pincher said.
'That's right, little un!' came a voice from the crowd; 'don't you be
put upon!'
'I'll bloomin' well make you!' shouted Parkin, squaring up. 'I'll give
you a thick ear if you don't!'
'I ain't afraid o' you!' Pincher retorted, glaring at him. 'You 'it me
an' see wot you gits!'
'Go on, Will. Give 'im one,' advised the pugnacious Jane.
'You'll do nothing of the sort,' said Emmeline quietly, stepping
between the two men. 'If you want to kick up a shindy, Mister Parkin,
you'd best do it outside.'
'I say it was the sailor's fault!' reiterated the other lady shrilly.
'I saw 'im'----
'Now then, what's all the fuss about?' asked the rink manager severely,
pushing his way through the throng. 'We can't 'ave these sort of
goings-on 'ere. You've 'eld up the 'ole proceedings. Somebody fallen
down--what?'
''E tried ter knock me down a purpose,' said Pincher, indicating his
adversary.
'You're a liar!' retorted Parkin. 'It's like this,' he went on, trying
to explain the situation. 'I was skatin' parst this man, w'en all of a
sudden 'e puts out 'is foot an''----
'He did nothing of the kind,' Emmeline interrupted. 'It's him who's
telling lies, and well he knows it.'
'Well, I can't 'ave these goings-on 'ere,' the manager returned,
glaring at them all in turn. 'I must ask the ladies and gentlemen
concerned to step outside and settle their differences elsewhere. Come
on, please.'
'Come on, Mister Martin. We'd best go. I hate all this fuss,' Emmeline
whispered. She moved off.
Pincher, nothing loath, unstrapped his other skate--one had already
come off in his tumble--and followed her, but not before Parkin had
hurled a final remark.
'Orl right, Mister Martin!' he said very venomously. 'I'll be even wi'
you over this 'ere!'
'I'll take you on any day you likes!' Pincher threw back. 'I ain't
afraid o' you, you great skinny lamplighter!'
'And I'll never speak to you again, Wilfrid Parkin,' Emmeline put in,
'Call yourself a gentleman! I don't think!' She snorted loudly to show
her contempt.
'Come on, come on! Don't let's 'ave any more o' this, please!' from the
manager.
'Orl right, old puddin'-face. Keep yer 'air on!' Pincher observed with
a smile.
The lookers-on laughed loudly, for the manager was rather unpopular,
and his face really was too fat to be pleasant.
'Pudding-face!' he gasped. 'Who are you calling pudding-face?'
But Pincher was out of earshot.
III.
'Request-men an' defaulters--'shun!' bawled the master-at-arms, as the
commander passed aft along the quarterdeck and took his stand behind a
small scrubbed table upon which were a pile of papers and several
ponderous-looking books.
'Petty Officer Weatherley!'
The petty officer left the line, stepped smartly forward to the table,
clicked his heels, and saluted.
'Petty Officer William Weatherley,' the M.A.A.[20] went on, 'requests
hextension o' leaf till two P.M. on Monday.'
[20] M.A.A., master-at-arms.
The commander looked up. 'Can he be spared?' was his first question.
'Request's signed by the torpedo lootenant, sir,' the M.A.A. explained;
for Weatherley, being a torpedo gunner's mate by calling, was one of
Hatherley's myrmidons.
'Why d'you want this extension?' the commander asked, playing with a
pencil.
'Urgent private affairs, sir.'
'Yes, quite so. But what are the private affairs, and why are they
urgent? Week-end leave expires at nine o'clock on Monday, you know.'
'I can't very well say, sir,' the petty officer said, glancing at the
crowd of ship's corporals round the table. 'My reasons are rather
private, sir.'
'Oh, I see. Can you tell me?'
'Yes, sir.'
The commander left the table, beckoned the man to follow him, and
walked aft out of earshot of every one else. For quite a minute they
talked together, and then the officer nodded, and Weatherley, with a
pleased grin, saluted and marched off.
'Request granted, master-at-arms,' the commander observed, coming back
to the table. 'Next man.'
The M.A.A. made a note in his book. 'Able Seaman Billings!' he called.
Joshua ambled aft at a jog-trot, halted in front of the table, and,
from sheer force of habit, removed his cap.
'Keep yer 'at on!' growled one of the ship's corporals in an undertone.
'You ain't a defaulter!'
The commander turned his face away to hide a smile, and Billings,
covered with confusion and rather redder in the face than usual,
resumed his headgear.
'Able Seaman Joshua Billings. Requests a turn o' week-end leaf out o'
watch.'
'Has he got a substitute?'
'Yessir.'
'Why d' you want leave out of your turn?' the commander asked, eyeing
the A.B. with a half-smile hovering round his mouth. 'You've been
ashore a good bit lately, haven't you?'
'Yessir, I 'as,' Joshua answered, fidgeting. 'But ye see, sir, it's
like this 'ere. I've got werry himportant business ashore 'ere, sir,
an' I wants to git it fixed up.'
'What sort of business? Money, or something of that kind?'
'No, sir. 'Ardly that. It's ter do wi' a lady, sir--lady wot lives
ashore 'ere an' keeps a sweet an' bacca shop wot sells noospapers.
I'm--I'm'---- Joshua paused, licked his lips, and shifted his feet
nervously.
The commander smiled. 'Are you--er--in love with the lady?' he asked.
The master-at-arms and one of the ship's corporals cleared their
throats noisily.
'Yessir, that's abart it. Yer see, sir,' Billings went on, in a sudden
burst of confidence, 'I sez ter meself that it's abart time I started
lookin' round fur somethin' ter do w'en I leaves the service, seein' as
'ow I'm close on me pension, an' I sez ter meself'----
'Yes. I quite understand,' the commander interposed kindly. 'Time is
short, and you needn't go into details as to how it happened. You've
behaved yourself well for the last couple of months, so I'll grant your
request. You mustn't make a habit of it, that's all. Look out, too, you
don't get into trouble, and, above all'--he looked up with a
smile--'beware of evil companions. I wish you luck in your affair,
Billings.'
'Thank you, sir. Same to you, sir.'
'Request granted. 'Bout turn, double march!' broke in the M.A.A.
Joshua saluted and trotted off, very much pleased with himself.
Several other requests were dealt with, and then came the turn of the
defaulters.
'Ord'nary Seaman Martin!' shouted the M.A.A.
Pincher, arrayed in his best serge suit, in the hope that his smart
appearance might mitigate his offence, ran nervously forward and halted
in front of the table.
'Orf cap! Ord'nary Seaman William Martin. First, did remain habsent
over leaf two an' a narf hours, an' was happrehended an' brought aboard
by the naval patrol. Second, did create a disturbance in St John's
Street, Weymouth, at 'arf-parst nine P.M. hon th' night o' the eleventh
hinstant.'
The commander rubbed his chin thoughtfully and gazed at the buff
charge-sheet on the table in front of him. 'Where's the petty officer
of the patrol?' he asked, without looking up.
'Petty Officer Bartlett!'
The petty officer hurried forward, and halted with a salute.
'Make your report,' said the commander.
'The night before last, sir, at 'arf-parst nine, I was in St John's
Street with the patrol, w'en I sees a bit o' a crowd collected, an'
some one tells me that two sailors was fightin'. I 'urries forward,
sir, disperses the people with the hassistance o' a policeman, an'
finds this 'ere man, sir'--he indicated Martin with his
thumb--'fightin' with hanother man.'
'Who was the other man?'
'Ship's stooard's hassistant from the flagship, sir. I've forgot 'is
exac' name.'
'Well, go on.'
'Well, sir, I happrehends 'em both, an' takes 'em off an' keeps 'em
under harrest, at the same time hinformin' the orficer o' the picket
wot I done.'
'Who was the officer of the picket?'
'I was, sir,' said Lieutenant English, coming forward.
'Did you see those men fighting?' asked the commander.
'No, sir, not actually fighting. I saw them both immediately
afterwards.'
'Were they drunk?'
'No, sir. They were excited, and the ship's steward's assistant's nose
was bleeding badly.' There was no necessity for the officer to describe
Pincher's injuries, for that youth had a remarkably fine specimen of a
black eye.
'Did they resist the patrol?' the commander asked, turning to Petty
Officer Bartlett.
'Not this man, sir. 'E came along quite quiet. The other man kicked up
a bit o' a dust.'
'H'm! I see,' the commander observed with his lips twitching.--'What
have you got to say?' he added, addressing Martin. 'First, why did you
break your leave?'
'Please, sir,' Pincher explained with the air of an injured innocent,
'I 'adn't no intention o' doin' it. I comes down ter th' pier at seven
o'clock an' finds the boat jest shoved orf. The clocks wus all wrong,
sir. I sez ter meself I'll come orf by the late orficers' boat at
'arf-parst ten; so I goes back, sir, 'as a bit o' supper, an' then, at
'bout 'arf-parst nine, I meets Parkin'----
'Who's Parkin?'
''Im wot I was fightin' wi', sir.'
'Go on.'
'I meets 'im in the street, sir. We ain't the best o' friends, 'cos me
an' 'im 'ad a bit o' a shimozzle'----
'Shimozzle!' echoed the commander, looking rather puzzled. 'What on
earth's that?'
'Bit o' a dust-up, sir,' Pincher explained.
'Well, go on.'
'Well, sir,' the culprit resumed, 'we 'ad a bit o' a hargument at th'
skatin'-rink abart a week ago. 'E was walkin' in the street along o' a
lady, sir; but as soon as 'e sees me 'e leaves 'er an' comes across ter
me. "You dirty little 'ound!" 'e sez, usin' 'orrible langwidge, "I've
got yer now!" "You keep a civil tongue in yer 'ead, Mister Parkin," I
sez, polite like. 'E don't wait fur no more, sir, but ups an' 'its me
on th' 'ead. I couldn't stand that, sir, so I 'its 'im back. We 'adn't
bin at it no more 'n five minutes,' he added regretfully, 'w'en the
patrol comes along, sir.' Martin, who had been carefully drilled as to
what he had to say by Billings, himself a past-master at the art of
inventing excuses, reeled off his tale glibly enough, and then paused
for breath.
The commander seemed rather perplexed. 'Why is it that Parkin and
yourself are such bitter enemies?' he asked, looking up with a frown.
'Why can't you behave yourselves like ordinary people?'
'It's like this 'ere, sir,' Pincher said, going off into a long-winded
and very complicated explanation, which brought in Emmeline, the affair
at the skating-rink, and how it had all happened.
'Oh, I see,' the commander observed. 'A girl's really at the bottom of
it--what?'
Martin hung his head and made no reply.
'You've got a very good black eye, I see, and a swollen mouth. Did you
do him any other damage besides making his nose bleed?'
'Yessir,' said Pincher hopefully, looking up with the ghost of a smile.
'I thinks one o' 'is eyes is bunged up too.'
'Indeed! Well, so far as I can see, it's a question of six of one and
half-a-dozen of the other.--Where's his record?' the commander asked,
turning to a ship's corporal, who was holding an enormous conduct-book
open against his bosom. 'H'm! No entries. Clean sheet. What division's
he in?'
'Mine, sir,' said Lieutenant Tickle, coming forward.
'What sort of a man is he? Had any trouble with him?'
'None at all, sir. Does his work quite well.'
The commander turned to the misdemeanant. 'Well,' he said, speaking
quite kindly and quietly, 'you haven't been in the service very long,
my lad; but the sooner you realise we can't have this sort of thing
going on the better. I don't object to fighting--we're all paid to do
that when the time comes; but if you want to take on one of your
squadron-mates, you'd better do it somewhere where you won't be seen.
Brawling in the streets only gets the navy into disrepute, so bear it
in mind.' He paused.
Pincher hung his head.
'I can't say which of you was to blame,' the commander went on, 'but I
can't overlook your offence. However, it's the first time you've been
up before me, so I'll let you off lightly. You'll have seven days No.
10;[21] and next time you want to fight anybody, or anybody wants to
fight you, you let me know, and we'll provide you with boxing-gloves,
and let you hammer each other on board during the dog watches. This man
was bigger than you, eh?'
[21] No. 10 = a particular form of punishment.
'Yessir.'
'Well, I'm glad to see you've got pluck, and that you gave him more
than he gave you. That's all. Don't come up before me again, mind.'
'Seven days No. 10! 'Bout turn! Double march!' ordered the
master-at-arms.
Pincher ran off, rather pleased with himself. It was the first time he
had been a defaulter, and he had dreaded the ordeal; but he found the
commander was quite human, after all. Moreover, he had expected to be
punished far more severely for the affray; while the leave-breaking
offence, for which he was liable to a mulet of one day's pay and
stoppage of one day's leave, had been completely ignored. The fact of
the matter was that the commander, though he took good care not to say
so, sympathised with Pincher in his heart of hearts. He liked a man who
stood up for himself, and when he had interviewed the other defaulters
he called Tickle to his side.
'That fellow Martin of yours,' he said; 'he seems a plucky young devil
for his age?'
'He is, sir,' the lieutenant agreed; 'quite a promising lad. I've had
my eye on him for some time. He's got plenty of--er--guts too, sir.
English tells me that fellow who went for him was double his size.'
'So much the better,' the senior officer grinned. 'I wish he had
knocked him out.'
For the next week Pincher was undergoing the rigours of No. 10
punishment. He didn't like it at all. To start with, he had to turn out
of his warm hammock at four-thirty A.M., had his meal-times cut down to
the barest minimum, while all his spare time was taken up in rifle
exercise, physical drill, or extra work of some kind. It was far too
strenuous to be pleasant, particularly as his leave was stopped, and he
could not go ashore. However, with Billings's assistance, he found time
to write a letter to Emmeline, which the A.B. delivered.
'DERE MISS FIGGINS'--it ran--'i am in trubble, having got in the
rattle for fighting Mister Parkin larst thursday night in Weymouth.
i made his nose bleed agen, and bunged up one of his eyes. i got
a black eye and a swollen mouth, and seven days No. 10 for my
trubble; but i hopes to come ashore agen next sunday. i'm glad he
got the wurst of it. Hoping this finds You as it leaves me--[It is
to be hoped that Emmeline, also, had not got a black eye and a
swollen mouth]--I remains, miss, your obedient servant,
'WM. MARTIN.'
The missive elicited a reply.
'DEAR MR MARTIN'--it said--'I am sorry to hear that you have been
punished, but Mr Billings says it is not serious. I am glad to hear
that Mr Parkin got the worst of it. I do not like him. The shindy
at the skating-rink was all of his making, and he deserves what he
got and more. Mother will be pleased if you will come to tea next
Sunday at five o'clock P.M. I will be in, and you can tell us all
about it. I hope your face will soon be all right. My Mother says
Zambuk ointment cured Father's face when he fell off a cab once,
and I have asked Mr Billings to get you some. With compliments, I
am yours sincerely,
EMMELINE FIGGINS.'
For several nights Pincher slept with Emmeline's note beneath his
pillow.