“The bosun’s mate was very sedate, but fond of amusement too,
So he played hop-scotch with the larboard watch, while the Captain
tickled the crew.”
--_Ballad of The Walloping Window Blind._
“And what are these famous instructions of yours, Mae?”
“They are verra precise, Mr. Bransford. One of us will be always in the
room. That one will keep close and constant watch upon you, even when
you are asleep. Your wound will be dressed only when we are both here.
Coal and water, your meals, the things you send for, will be brought
in only when we are both here. And on any slightest eendication of an
attempted rescue or escape we are to kill you without hesitation!”
It was plain that Mac was following the manner as well as the matter
of his instructions. He gave this information slowly, with dour
satisfaction, checking each item by forcibly doubling down, with his
right hand, the fingers of his left. Having now doubled them all down,
he undoubled them and began again.
“If you attempt to give any alarm, if you attempt to make any attack,
if on any pretext you try to get near enough for a possible attack,
we will kill you without hesitation.” He rolled the phrase under his
tongue with great relish.
“Your precautions are most flattering, I’m sure,” said Jeff idly. “I
must be very careful. The room is large, but I might inadvertently
break your last rule at any time. If I understand you correctly, should
I so much as drop my pencil and, picking it up, forgetfully come too
close----”
“I will shoot you,” repeated this uncompromising person, “without any
hesitation. I have a verra high opeenion of your powers, Mr. Bransford,
and have no mind to come to grips wi’ you. You will keep your distance,
and we will agree fine.”
“All this is like to be very tiresome to you.” Jeff’s tones were level
and cheerful; he leaned back in his chair, yawning; his hands were
clasped behind his head. “Such constant vigilance will be a strain
upon you; your nerves will be affected. I will have by far the best of
it. I can sleep, read, think. But if you turn your head, if you close
your eyes, if you so much as falter in your attention,” said Jeff
dispassionately, “my fingers will be at your throat to tear your life
out for the dog that you are!”
“Why, now we understand each other perfectly,” returned Mac, in nowise
discomposed. “But I would have ye to observe that your last remark was
highly discourteous. My instructions are not yet ended. Look now!” He
held up his hand, with three fingers still tightly closed to indicate
three several unhesitancies. “Our last instruction was to treat you
with ceeveelity and consideration, to give you any indulgence which
would not endanger your safe keeping, to subject you to no indignity or
abuse.” He folded down the fourth finger and extended his closed hand,
thrusting out his thumb reproachfully. “To no abuse!” he repeated.
“I am properly rebuked,” said Jeff. “I withdraw the ‘dog.’ Let me amend
the offending remark to read thus: ‘to tear out your life without any
hesitation.’ But even the remarkable foresight of Judge Thorpe seems to
have overlooked one important thing. I refer to the possible corruption
of my jailers. Do I likewise forfeit my life if I tamper with your
integrity?”
His grim guardian chose to consider this query as extremely facetious.
His leathern face wrinkled to cavernous gashes, indicative of mirth
of a rather appalling sort; he emitted a low rumble that might be
construed, in a liberal translation, as laughter; his words took on a
more Scottish twist. “You might try it on Borrowman,” he said. “Man,
you’ve a taking way with you! ’Tis fair against my advice and sober
judgment that ye are here at all--but I am begeening to feel your
fasceenations! Now that ye’re here I e’en have the hope that ye will
be weel advisit. I own it, I would be but loath to feed so gay and so
plain-dealing a man to the feeshes!”
These two had many such skirmishes as the days went by: slow, dragging
days, perpetually lamp-lit, their passage measured only by the
irregularly-changing guards and the regular bringing in of the daily
papers.
Jeff timed his sleeping hours to come on Borrowman’s trick; finding
that jailer dull, ferocious and unendurable. His plan was long since
perfected, and now he awaited but the opportunity of putting it into
execution.
The Judge had called--as a medical adviser, he said--pronounced Jeff’s
progress all that could be desired, and touched upon their affair with
argument, cajolery and airy badinage. Jeff had asked permission to
write to his wife, to send some message, which the Judge might dictate;
any sort of a story, he implored, to keep her from alarm and anxiety;
which petition the Judge put merrily by, smiling at the absurdity of
such request.
In his waking hours Jeff read the papers. Tillotson was mending, his
trial would be soon. He read his books, sometimes aloud; he chaffed
his jailer; he practised on the typewriter, but never, in his practice,
wrote off any appeal for aid to good men and true, or even the faintest
suggestion that a quick move by the enemy would jeopardize any possible
number of gunboats. Instead, Jeff undertook to produce another “speed
sentence.” He called Mac to his assistance, explaining his wants; and
between them, with great glee, they concocted the following gem:
_He kept vexing me with frantic journeys hidden by quiet zeal._
They showed this effusion to the Judge with much pride, defying him to
better it. Jeff pounded it off by the hour; he mingled fragments of it
with his remarks in season and out.
There were long visits from the Judge. In his own despite Jeff grew to
enjoy them and to look forward to them--so strange a thing is man! The
Judge was witty, cynical, informed, polished, keen, satirical. At times
Jeff almost forgot what thing he was besides. Their talk ranged on many
things, always in the end coming back to the same smiling query, the
same unfaltering reply. Once, Patterson came with him--a younger man,
with a brutal and bloated face--and urged the closing of the incident
in clear and unmistakable terms.
And, as day followed day, Jeff let it appear--as a vital part of his
plan--in his speech, his manner, his haggard looks, that danger,
suspense and confinement were telling upon him, that he was worried and
harassed, that he was losing his nerve. These things appeared slowly,
lest he should seem to weaken too soon and too easily.