IN WHICH ERNEST FINDS THAT E. DUNKSWELL IS A DISAGREEABLE ROOM-MATE.
I WAS vexed, and almost disheartened, by the loss of the letter
addressed to Bunyard. My plan to find my mother rested mainly on the
possession of it. I had placed the letters in the valise after I came on
board, and they must have been taken out after the steamer discharged
her pilot. There was not much room for a mystery, for I immediately
jumped to the conclusion that E. Dunkswell was the person who had robbed
me.
E. Dunkswell was at that moment in his berth, at least half drunk, and a
bottle labelled "Old Bourbon" stood on his wash-stand. The odor in the
state-room was quite equal to that of a third-class bar-room. Why had E.
Dunkswell taken those letters? In what manner did they concern him?
This was an interesting, and rather exciting question to me, and it
suggested other pertinent inquiries. He had not taken his passage till
after I applied for mine. He had practically insisted that I should
occupy the same state-room with him. Why did he refuse to exchange
berths with Mr. Solomons? Why did he labor so hard to become intimate
with me?
The answer to all these questions was plain enough to me after a little
consideration. He was an agent of Tom Thornton. He had been sent to worm
himself into my friendship, and take from me the will, which Tom
probably supposed I carried in my pocket, and the other papers which
would enable me to find my mother. Force and violence had failed, and
Tom had resorted to cunning and stratagem.
E. Dunkswell had drank too much wine at dinner, and too much whiskey
after dinner. Perhaps the frequent libations he had taken increased his
zeal, but they diminished his discretion in a corresponding ratio. He
had begun his work too soon, and had done it in a very bungling manner.
If whiskey was a curse to him, it was a blessing to me, for in his sober
senses he would not have exposed himself and his plans by robbing my
valise so early on the voyage.
My blood was up; and while I sat on the sofa debating whether or not I
should take E. Dunkswell by the throat, and "have it out" with him, he
got out of his berth, and took another pull at the bottle. It was plain
that he had no intention of keeping sober, and I concluded to wait and
let the whiskey help me do my work.
"How is it, old boy?" said he.
"First rate," I replied.
"How zhe head?"
"Sou'-sou'-west, half-west."
"I mus' zgo on deck an zee to it."
He put on his hat, straightened himself up, and walked out of the room
as well as he could. I locked the door after him. If his key would fit
my valise, it followed that my key would fit his trunk. I tried the
experiment, and the logic failed. It was evident that he had other keys,
or that he was a regular operator, and carried implements for the
purpose of picking locks. I was not sure that the papers he had stolen
from me were in his trunk; but I was determined to have them before
morning, if I had to split the trunk open.
I unlocked the door, and presently E. Dunkswell staggered into the
room. The first thing he did was to drink from the bottle again.
"Thornton--hic!" said he. "You're a good fellow. Take some whisk--good
whisk zever you drank--hic--or any other man. Take zome whisk."
"No, I thank you; I never drink it."
"You dzon't zrink whisk! Then you are a to-tzeetler."
"I am," I replied, inclined to encourage him in talking, hopeful that he
would say something which would be of use to me.
"I'm not a to-tzeetler. My name's Dzunkswell. You're a to-tzeetler, and
I mus zrink for boze of us;" and, suiting the action to the word, he
imbibed again. "If I'm zrunk to-night, 'll be your fault,
Thornton--'cause I've got to zrink for boze of us."
But he was no longer in condition even to drink for both of us. He had
already taken more than he could carry, and he had just sense enough
left to roll into his berth, all in a heap. I straightened him out a
little, and in a few moments I heard him snoring in his drunken
slumbers. The time for action had come, and I was determined to search
him and his effects till I found the precious letters. I first examined
his pockets, but without finding the papers. The key of his trunk,
however, I did find. It was exceedingly disagreeable business to me; and
if only my own rights, instead of the life, liberty, and happiness of my
mother, had been at stake, I should have taken a less direct and more
uncertain method of enforcing them.
The trunk, which he had placed under his berth, I pulled out into the
floor. With trembling hand and eager heart I opened it. The package of
letters had been thrust down between the clothing and one end, evidently
in great haste, for I had probably disturbed him when I came to the
door. After assuring myself I had all that belonged to me, I closed the
trunk,--for I had no desire to explore it any further,--and restored it
to its place under the berth. The drunken agent of Tom Thornton still
snored unconscious of my proceedings.
I took the precaution to place the Bunyard letter in my money-belt; the
others, being of minor importance, I put in my valise again. I looked at
the miserable being who lay groaning and uneasy in the stupor of
intoxication. The state-room was not fit for the occupancy of a decent
person. The fumes of the whiskey were sickening to me, and I could no
longer stay there. Taking my valise in my hand, I left it, resolved not
to be the room-mate of such a filthy swine.
I deposited my valise in a corner in the passageway, and went into the
saloon. Mr. Solomons was there, and expressed his surprise at seeing me.
I freely told him what had transpired in the state-room.
"And you recovered your papers--did you?" said he.
"I did; I was satisfied the fellow had been sent by Tom Thornton, to
prevent me from finding my mother."
"No doubt of it, my lad. You must keep away from him now."
"That I shall certainly do, for I would rather sleep in a hog-pen than
in such a place as that state-room."
"You shall not sleep there," replied my friend, decidedly; "come with
me."
I followed him below, and he conducted me to his own room, and told me
to occupy his berth.
"But what will you do?" I asked.
"I will take your berth, and the fellow shall not turn the room into a
pigsty."
I objected to this arrangement, and offered to sleep on a sofa in the
saloon; but Mr. Solomons persisted, assuring me he should take good care
of himself, and would not submit to any annoyance from his room-mate. As
soon as this point was settled, I retired, and slept soundly till the
breakfast gong roused me from my tired slumbers. When I went to the
saloon, E. Dunkswell was in his place at the table; but Mr. Solomons had
taken the place which I occupied the day before, so as to bring himself
between the obnoxious individual and myself.
E. Dunkswell did not appear to have a ravenous appetite. He looked
sheepish and disconcerted; and I could not tell whether it was on
account of his spree, because he had discovered the loss of the papers,
or because he found in the morning that he had a new room-mate. My
friend was cheerful and happy, and so was I. We talked and laughed as
though E. Dunkswell had been tipsy, or out of existence. We took no
notice of him, either by word or look.
It was a beautiful day, and we adjourned to the hurricane deck to enjoy
the cool air and the prospect of the ever-throbbing ocean. Tom
Thornton's agent soon followed us. He walked up and down the uneasy
deck; and occasionally glanced at me. I thought he had something to say
to me; but he evidently did not like my close intimacy with Mr.
Solomons. During the day, I occasionally saw him, and he always appeared
to be watching me; but I carefully avoided him. On the following day,
however, I went forward to the bow alone.
"Passengers not allowed forward of that mark," said a sailor, pointing
to a chalk line drawn across the deck. "You are fined, sir."
"What for?" I asked.
"For crossing the line."
"Why don't you put up a notice, so that passengers need not cross it?" I
demanded.
"Because they wouldn't go over the line if we did, sir."
"How much is the fine?"
"Anything you please, sir."
It was a practical joke, one of Jack's tricks, and I paid the fine, amid
the laughter of half a dozen passengers, who had already been made
victims. As I retreated, I encountered E. Dunkswell. He looked sour and
savage.
"I want to see you," said he, gruffly.
"I don't want to see you," I replied, continuing on my walk aft.
"You have insulted me," he persisted, putting his hand on my shoulder.
"Insulted you!" I replied, pausing; for I was curious to know in what
manner I had insulted so vile a creature as he was.
"You have insulted me!" he repeated.
"You said that before. How?"
"You exchanged berths with that old chap you run with."
"I don't know that it concerns you if I did."
"It was the same as saying that I am not fit company for you," said he,
shaking his head.
"If it was, it was also saying that you were fit company for Mr.
Solomons," I replied; and I regarded this as a clincher in the line of
argument.
"It was not my pleasure to room with him."
"It is not my pleasure to room with you," I added.
"I consider your conduct as an insult to me, and I hold you responsible
for it."
"All right," I replied, cheerfully. "Hold away."
"If the old fellow don't go back to his room, there'll be a row."
"The old fellow will do as he pleases about that," I added; "but whether
he does or not, I shall not return to your room. I would sleep on the
main truck first."
"Do you mean to insult me again?"
"Insult you again!" I exclaimed, indignantly, for my blood was up at the
idea of a fellow like him putting on such airs. "No decent man could
stay in the room with you, as you were the first night."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You were as drunk as an owl, and made the room smell like a low
groggery."
"I confess that I took a little too much that night," said he, suddenly
changing his front, and apparently relieved to find that this was the
objection to him. "I shall not do it again."
"I shall keep away from you, any how," I added.
"Will you?" he continued, angry again. "That night I lost some valuable
articles from my trunk. No one but my room-mate could have taken them. I
intend to complain to the captain."
"Indeed! I had a similar experience. I had some valuable letters taken
from my valise; and they could have been taken only by my room-mate; but
I found them again, and I am satisfied. When you complain to the
captain, one story will be good till another is told."
Not wishing to talk with him any longer, I walked aft. He followed me,
uttering threats and imprecations, which I did not heed. E. Dunkswell
was a disappointed man. He had undertaken a mission which he was not
competent to perform. He had failed by his own folly. If he had kept
sober he might have retained my papers. He evidently felt his own
weakness, and realized that whiskey had caused him to make a mess of it.
His hostility was excited against me, and during the rest of the voyage
he watched me with an evil eye, and appeared to be waiting for an
opportunity to do something. For my own part, I felt that there was a
heavy discount on E. Dunkswell.