"IT'S AN ILL WIND THAT BLAWS NAEBODY GUID."
That many if not most names have originated in the character or
condition of individuals seems obvious, else why is it that so many
people take after their names? We have no desire to argue the question,
but hasten on to remark that old Jacob Crossley was said to be--observe,
we do not say that he was--a notable illustration of what we refer to.
Jacob was "as cross as two sticks," if we are to believe Mrs Bland, his
housekeeper--and Mrs Bland was worthy of belief, for she was an honest
widow who held prevarication to be equivalent to lying, and who, besides
having been in the old bachelor's service for many years, had on one
occasion been plucked by him from under the feet of a pair of horses
when attempting the more dangerous than nor'-west passage of a London
crossing. Gratitude, therefore, rendered it probable that Mrs Bland
spake truly when she said that her master was as cross as two sticks.
Of course we admit that her judgment may have been faulty.
Strange to say Mr Crossley had no reason--at least no very apparent
reason--for being cross, unless, indeed, the mere fact of his being an
old bachelor was a sufficient reason. Perhaps it was! But in regard to
everything else he had, as the saying goes, nothing to complain of. He
was a prosperous East India merchant--not a miser, though a cross old
bachelor, and not a millionaire, though comfortably rich. His business
was prosperous, his friends were numerous, his digestion was good, his
nervous system was apparently all that could be desired, and he slept
well!
Standing one morning in the familiar British position before his
dining-room fire in London, he frowningly contemplated his housekeeper
as that indefatigable woman removed the breakfast equipage.
"Has the young man called this morning?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Well, when he comes tell him I had business in the city and could wait
no--"
A ring and a sharp knock interrupted him. A few moments later Charlie
Brooke was ushered into the room. It was a smallish room, for Mr
Crossley, although well off, did not see the propriety of wasting money
on unnecessary space or rent, and the doorway was so low that Charlie's
hair brushed against the top as he entered.
"I called, Mr Crossley, in accordance with the wish expressed in your
letter. Although, being a stranger, I do not--"
The young man stopped at this point and looked steadily at the old
gentleman with a peculiarly questioning expression.
"You recognise me, I see," said the old man, with a very slight smile.
"Well--I may be mistaken, but you do bear some resemblance to--"
"Just so, I'm the man that you hauled so violently out of the cabin of
the wreck last week, and shoved so unceremoniously into the life-buoy,
and I have sent for you, first, to thank you for saving my life, because
they tell me that, but for your swimming off with a rope, we should
certainly have all been lost; and, secondly, to offer you aid in any
course of life you may wish to adopt, for I have been informed that you
are not at present engaged in any special employment."
"You are very kind, sir, very kind," returned Charlie, somewhat
embarrassed. "I can scarcely claim, however, to have saved your life,
though I thankfully admit having had the opportunity to lend a hand.
The rocket-men, in reality, did the work, for without their splendid
working of the apparatus my swimming off would have been useless."
Mr Crossley frowned while the youth was speaking, and regarded him with
some suspicion.
"You admit, I suppose," he rejoined sternly, "that if you had _not_ swum
off, the rocket apparatus would have been equally useless."
"By no means," returned Charlie, with that benignant smile that always
accompanied his opposition in argument. "I do not admit that, because,
if I had not done it, assuredly some one else would. In fact a friend
of mine was on the point of making the attempt when I pulled him back
and prevented him."
"And why did you prevent him?"
"Because he was not so well able to do it as I."
"Oh! I see. In other words, you have a pretty high opinion of your own
powers."
"Possibly I have," returned the youth, somewhat sharply. "I lay claim
to no exemption from the universal law of vanity which seems to affect
the entire human race--especially the cynical part of it. At the same
time, knowing from long experience that I am physically stronger, can
swim better, and have greater power of endurance, though not greater
courage, than my friend, it would be mere pretence were I to assume that
in such matters I was his inferior. You asked me why I prevented him: I
gave you the reason exactly and straightforwardly. I now repeat it."
"Don't be so ready to fire up, young man," said Crossley, with a
deprecating smile. "I had no intention of hurting your feelings."
"You have not hurt them, sir," returned Charlie, with almost provoking
urbanity of manner and sweetness of voice, "you have only misunderstood
me."
"Well, well, let it pass. Tell me, now, can I do anything for you?"
"Nothing, thank you."
"Eh?" exclaimed the old gentleman in surprise.
"Nothing, thank you," repeated his visitor. "I did not save you for the
purpose of being rewarded, and I refuse to accept reward for saving
you."
For a second or two Mr Crossley regarded his visitor in silence, with a
conflicting mixture of frown and smile--a sort of acidulated-drop
expression on his rugged face. Then he asked--
"What is the name of this friend whom you prevented from swimming off to
us?"
"Shank Leather."
"Is he a very great friend of yours?"
"Very. We have been playmates from childhood, and school-fellows till
now."
"What is he?--his profession, I mean?"
"Nothing at present. That is to say, he has, like myself, been trained
to no special profession, and the failure of the firm in the
counting-house of which we have both served for some months has cast us
adrift at the same time."
"Would it give you much satisfaction if I were to find good employment
for your friend?"
"Indeed it would--the highest possible satisfaction," exclaimed Charlie,
with the first symptom of enthusiasm in his tone and look.
"What can your friend Shank Leather do?" asked the old man brusquely.
"Oh! many things. He's capital at figures, thoroughly understands
book-keeping, and--and is a hard-working fellow, whatever he puts his
hand to."
"Is he steady?"
Charlie was silent for a few moments.
"Well, one cannot be sure," he answered, with some hesitation, "what
meaning you attach to the word `steady.' I--"
"Yes, yes, I see," interrupted Crossley, consulting his watch. "No time
to discuss meanings of words just now. Will you tell your friend to
call on me here the day after to-morrow at six o'clock? You live in
Sealford, I have been told; does he live near you?"
"Yes, within a few minutes' walk."
"Well, tell him to be punctual. Punctuality is the soul of business.
Hope I won't find your friend as independent as you seem to be! You are
quite sure, are you, that I can do nothing for you? I have both money
and influence."
The more determined that our hero became to decline all offers of
assistance from the man who had misconstrued his motives, the more of
urbanity marked his manner, and it was with a smile of ineffable
good-nature on his masculine features that he repeated, "Nothing, thank
you--quite sure. You will have done me the greatest possible service
when you help my friend. Yet--stay. You mentioned money. There is an
institution in which I am much interested, and which you might
appropriately remember just now."
"What is that?"
"The Lifeboat Institution."
"But it was not the Lifeboat Institution that saved _me_. It was the
Rocket apparatus."
"True, but it _might_ have been a lifeboat that saved you. The rockets
are in charge of the Coast-Guard and need no assistance, whereas the
Lifeboat Service depends on voluntary contributions, and the fact that
it did not happen to save Mr Crossley from a grave in the sea does not
affect its claim to the nation's gratitude for the hundreds of lives
saved by its boats every year."
"Admitted, my young friend, your reasoning is just," said the old
gentleman, sitting down at a writing table and taking a cheque-book from
a drawer; "what shall I put down?"
"You know your circumstances best," said Charlie, somewhat amused by the
question.
"Most people in ordinary circumstances," returned the old man slowly as
he wrote, "contribute a guinea to such charities."
"Many people," remarked Charlie, with a feeling of pity rather than
contempt, "contribute five, or even fifteen."
"Ah, indeed--yes, well, Mr Brooke, will you condescend to be the bearer
of my contribution? Fourteen Saint John Street, Adelphi, is not far
from this, and it will save a penny of postage, you know!"
Mr Crossley rose and handed the cheque to his visitor, who felt half
disposed--on the strength of the postage remark--to refuse it and speak
his mind somewhat freely on the subject, but, his eye happening to fall
on the cheque at the moment, he paused.
"You have made a mistake, I think," he said. "This is for five
_hundred_ pounds."
"I make no mistakes, Mr Brooke," returned the old man sternly. "You
said something about five or fifteen. I could not well manage fifteen
_hundred_ just now, for it is bad times in the city at present. Indeed,
according to some people, it is always bad times there, and, to say
truth, some people are not far wrong--at least as regards their own
experiences. Now, I must be off to business. Good-bye. Don't forget
to impress on your friend the importance of punctuality."
Jacob Crossley held out his hand with an expression of affability which
was for him quite marvellous.
"You're a much better man than I thought!" exclaimed Charlie, grasping
the proffered hand with a fervour that caused the other to wince.
"Young sir," returned Crossley, regarding the fingers of his right hand
somewhat pitifully, "people whose physique is moulded on the pattern of
Samson ought to bear in mind that rheumatism is not altogether unknown
to elderly men. Your opinion of me was probably erroneous to begin
with, and it is certainly false to end with. Let me advise you to
remember that the gift of money does not necessarily prove anything
except that a man has money to give--nay, it does not always prove even
that, for many people are notoriously prone to give away money that
belongs to somebody else. Five hundred pounds is to some men not of
much more importance than five pence is to others. Everything is
relative. Good-bye."
While he was speaking Mr Crossley rang the bell and politely opened the
dining-room door, so that our hero found himself in the street before he
had quite recovered from his astonishment.
"Please, sir," said Mrs Bland to her master after Charlie was gone,
"Cap'en Stride is awaitin' in the library."
"Send him here," said Crossley, once more consulting his watch.
"Well, Captain Stride, I've had a talk with him," he said, as an
exceedingly broad, heavy, short-legged man entered, with a bald head and
a general air of salt water, tar, and whiskers about him. "Sit down.
Have you made up your mind to take command of the _Walrus_?"
"Well, Mr Crossley, since you're so _very_ good," said the sea-captain
with a modest look, "I had feared that the loss o'--"
"Never mind the loss of the brig, Captain. It was no fault of yours
that she came to grief. Other ship-owners may do as they please. I
shall take the liberty of doing as _I_ please. So, if you are ready,
the ship is ready. I have seen Captain Stuart, and I find that he is
down with typhoid fever, poor fellow, and won't be fit for duty again
for many weeks. The _Walrus_ must sail not later than a week or ten
days hence. She can't sail without a captain, and I know of no better
man than yourself; so, if you agree to take command, there she is, if
not I'll find another man."
"I'm agreeable, sir," said Captain Stride, with a gratified, meek look
on his large bronzed face--a look so very different from the leonine
glare with which he was wont to regard tempestuous weather or turbulent
men. "Of course it'll come rather sudden on the missus, but w'en it
blows hard what's a man got to do but make all snug and stand by?"
"Quite true, Stride, I have no doubt that you are nautically as well as
morally correct, so I leave it to you to bring round the mistress, and
consider that matter as settled. By the way, I hope that she and your
little girl have not suffered from the wetting and rough handling
experienced when being rescued."
"Not in the least, sir, thankee. In fact I incline to the belief that
they are rather more frisky than usual in consekince. Leastwise
_little_ Maggie is."
"Glad to hear it. Now, about that young fellow."
"By which I s'pose you mean Mr Brooke, sir?"
"The same. He has just left me, and upon my word, he's about the
coolest young fellow I ever met with."
"That's just what I said to the missus, sir, the very night arter we was
rescued. `The way that young feller come off, Maggie,' says I, `is most
extraor'nar'. No fish that--'"
"Yes, yes, Stride, I know, but that's not exactly what I mean: it's his
being so amazingly independent that--"
"'Zactly what I said, sir. `Maggie,' says I, `that young feller seemed
to be quite independent of fin or tail, for he came right off in the
teeth o' wind and tide--'"
"That's not what I mean either, Captain," interrupted the old gentleman,
with slight impatience. "It's his independent spirit I refer to."
"Oh! I ax your pardon, sir."
"Well, now, listen, and don't interrupt me. But first let me ask, does
he know that I am the owner of the brig that was lost?"
"Yes; he knows that."
"Does he know that I also own the _Walrus_."
"No, I'm pretty sure he don't. Leastwise I didn't tell him, an' there's
nobody else down there as knows anything about you."
"So far, good. Now, Stride, I want you to help me. The young goose is
so proud, or I know not what, that he won't accept any favours or
rewards from me, and I find that he is out of work just now, so I'm
determined to give him something to do in spite of himself. The present
supercargo of the _Walrus_ is a young man who will be pleased to fall in
with anything I propose to him. I mean, therefore, to put him in
another ship and appoint young Brooke to the _Walrus_. Fortunately the
firm of Withers and Company does not reveal my name--I having been
Company originally, though I'm the firm now, so that he won't suspect
anything, and what I want is, that you should do the engaging of him--
being authorised by Withers and Company--you understand?"
"I follow you, sir. But what if he objects?"
"He won't object. I have privately inquired about him. He is anxious
to get employment, and has strong leanings to an adventurous life on the
sea. There's no accounting for taste, Captain!"
"Right you are, sir," replied the Captain, with an approving nod.
"That's what I said only this mornin' to my missus. `Maggie,' says I,
`salt water hasn't a good taste, as even the stoopidest of mortals
knows, but w'en a man has had to lick it off his lips at sea for the
better part of half a century, it's astonishin' how he not only gits
used to it, but even comes to like the taste of it.' `Pooh!' says she,
`don't tell me you likes it, for you don't! It's all a d'lusion an' a
snare. I hates both the taste an' the smell of it.' `Maggie,' says I,
quite solemn-like, `that may be so, but you're not me.' `No, thank
goodness!' says she--which you mustn't suppose, sir, meant as she didn't
like _me_, for she's a true-hearted affectionate creetur--though I say
it as shouldn't--but she meant that she'd have had to go to sea reg'lar
if she had been me, an' that would have done for her in about six weeks,
more or less, for the first time she ever went she was all but turned
inside--"
"If you're going citywards," interrupted Mr Crossley, again pulling out
his watch, "we may as well finish our talk in the street."
As Captain Stride was "quite agreeable" to this proposal, the two left
the house together, and, hailing a hansom, drove off in the direction of
the City.