The weeks passed all too quickly for James Hardy. He saw Kate Nugent at
her own home; met her, thanks to the able and hearty assistance of Mr.
Wilks, at Fullalove Alley, and on several occasions had the agreeable
task of escorting her back home.
He cabled to his father for news of the illustrious stowaway
immediately the _Conqueror_ was notified as having reached Port
Elizabeth. The reply—“_Left ship_”—confirmed his worst fears, but he
cheerfully accepted Mrs. Kingdom’s view that the captain, in order to
relieve the natural anxiety of his family, had secured a passage on the
first vessel homeward bound.
Captain Hardy was the first to reach home. In the early hours of a fine
April morning the _Conqueror_ steamed slowly into Sunwich Harbour, and
in a very short time the town was revelling in a description of Captain
Nugent’s first voyage before the mast from lips which were never tired
of repeating it. Down by the waterside Mr. Nathan Smith found that
he had suddenly attained the rank of a popular hero, and his modesty
took alarm at the publicity afforded to his action. It was extremely
distasteful to a man who ran a quiet business on old-fashioned lines
and disbelieved in advertisement. He lost three lodgers the same day.
[Illustration: “A popular hero.”]
Jem Hardy was one of the few people in Sunwich for whom the joke had
no charms, and he betrayed such an utter lack of sympathy with his
father’s recital that the latter accused him at last of wanting a sense
of humour.
“I don’t see anything amusing in it,” said his son, stiffly.
Captain Hardy recapitulated one or two choice points, and was even at
some pains to explain them.
“I can’t see any fun in it,” repeated his son. “Your behaviour seems to
me to have been deplorable.”
“What?” shouted the captain, hardly able to believe his ears.
“Captain Nugent was your guest,” pursued the other; “he got on your
ship by accident, and he should have been treated decently as a saloon
passenger.”
“And been apologized to for coming on board, I suppose?” suggested the
captain.
“It wouldn’t have been amiss,” was the reply.
The captain leaned back in his chair and regarded him thoughtfully. “I
can’t think what’s the matter with you, Jem,” he said.
“Ordinary decent ideas, that’s all,” said his son, scathingly.
“There’s something more in it than that,” said the other, positively.
“I don’t like to see this love-your-enemy business with you, Jem; it
ain’t natural to you. Has your health been all right while I’ve been
away?”
“Of course it has,” said his son, curtly. “If you didn’t want Captain
Nugent aboard with you why didn’t you put him ashore? It wouldn’t have
delayed you long. Think of the worry and anxiety you’ve caused poor
Mrs. Kingdom.”
“A holiday for her,” growled the captain.
“It has affected her health,” continued his son; “and besides, think of
his daughter. She’s a high-spirited girl, and all Sunwich is laughing
over her father’s mishap.”
“Nugent fell into his own trap,” exclaimed the captain, impatiently.
“And it won’t do that girl of his any harm to be taken down a peg or
two. Do her good. Knock some of the nonsense out of her.”
“That’s not the way to speak of a lady,” said Jem, hotly.
The offended captain regarded him somewhat sourly; then his face
changed, and he got up from his chair and stood before his son with
consternation depicted on every feature.
“You don’t mean to tell me,” he said, slowly; “you don’t mean to tell
me that you’re thinking anything of Kate Nugent?”
“Why not?” demanded the other, defiantly; “why shouldn’t I?”
Captain Hardy, whistling softly, made no reply, but still stood eyeing
him.
“I thought there was some other reason for your consideration besides
‘ordinary decent ideas,’” he said, at last. “When did it come on? How
long have you had it?”
Mr. Hardy, jun., in a studiously unfilial speech, intimated that these
pleasantries were not to his taste.
“No, of course not,” said the captain, resuming his seat. “Well, I’m
sorry if it’s serious, Jem, but I never dreamt you had any ideas in
that quarter. If I had I’d have given old Nugent the best bunk on the
ship and sung him to sleep myself. Has she given you any encouragement?”
“Don’t know,” said Jem, who found the conversation awkward.
“Extraordinary thing,” said the captain, shaking his head,
“extraordinary. Like a play.”
“Play?” said his son, sharply.
“Play,” repeated his father, firmly. “What is the name of it? I saw it
once at Newcastle. The lovers take poison and die across each other’s
chests because their people won’t let ’em marry. And that reminds me. I
saw some phosphor-paste in the kitchen, Jem. Whose is it?”
“I’m glad to be the means of affording you amusement,” said Jem,
grinding his teeth.
Captain Hardy regarded him affectionately. “Go easy, my lad,” he said,
equably; “go easy. If I’d known it before, things would have been
different; as I didn’t, we must make the best of it. She’s a pretty
girl, and a good one, too, for all her airs, but I’m afraid she’s too
fond of her father to overlook this.”
“That’s where you’ve made such a mess of things,” broke in his son.
“Why on earth you two old men couldn’t—”
“Easy,” said the startled captain. “When you are in the early fifties,
my lad, your ideas about age will be more accurate. Besides, Nugent is
seven or eight years older than I am.”
“What became of him?” inquired Jem.
“He was off the moment we berthed,” said his father, suppressing a
smile. “I don’t mean that he bolted—he’d got enough starch left in
him not to do that—but he didn’t trespass on our hospitality a moment
longer than was necessary. I heard that he got a passage home on the
_Columbus_. He knew the master. She sailed some time before us for
London. I thought he’d have been home by this.”
It was not until two days later, however, that the gossip in Sunwich
received a pleasant fillip by the arrival of the injured captain. He
came down from London by the midday train, and, disdaining the privacy
of a cab, prepared to run the gauntlet of his fellow-townsmen.
A weaker man would have made a detour, but he held a direct course,
and with a curt nod to acquaintances who would have stopped him walked
swiftly in the direction of home. Tradesmen ran to their shop-doors to
see him, and smoking amphibians lounging at street corners broke out
into sunny smiles as he passed. He met these annoyances with a set face
and a cold eye, but his views concerning children were not improved by
the crowd of small creatures which fluttered along the road ahead of
him and, hopeful of developments, clustered round the gate as he passed
in.
It is the pride and privilege of most returned wanderers to hold forth
at great length concerning their adventures, but Captain Nugent was
commendably brief. At first he could hardly be induced to speak of them
at all, but the necessity of contradicting stories which Bella had
gleaned for Mrs. Kingdom from friends in town proved too strong for
him. He ground his teeth with suppressed fury as he listened to some of
them. The truth was bad enough, and his daughter, sitting by his side
with her hand in his, was trembling with indignation.
“Poor father,” she said, tenderly; “what a time you must have had.”
“It won’t bear thinking of,” said Mrs. Kingdom, not to be outdone in
sympathy.
[Illustration: “He met these annoyances with a set face.”]
“Well, don’t think of it,” said the captain, shortly.
Mrs. Kingdom sighed as though to indicate that her feelings were not to
be suppressed in that simple fashion.
“The anxiety has been very great,” she said, shaking her head, “but
everybody’s been very kind. I’m sure all our friends have been most
sympathetic. I couldn’t go outside the house without somebody stopping
me and asking whether there was any news of you. I’d no idea you were
so popular; even the milkman——”
“I’d like some tea,” interrupted the captain, roughly; “that is, when
you have finished your very interesting information.”
Mrs. Kingdom pursed her lips together to suppress the words she was
afraid to utter, and rang the bell.
“Your master would like some tea,” she said, primly, as Bella appeared.
“He has had a long journey.” The captain started and eyed her fiercely;
Mrs. Kingdom, her good temper quite restored by this little retort,
folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him with renewed sympathy.
“We all missed you very much,” said Kate, softly. “But we had no fears
once we knew that you were at sea.”
“And I suppose some of the sailors were kind to you?” suggested the
unfortunate Mrs. Kingdom. “They are rough fellows, but I suppose some
of them have got their hearts in the right place. I daresay they were
sorry to see you in such a position.”
The captain’s reply was of a nature known to Mrs. Kingdom and her
circle as “snapping one’s head off.” He drew his chair to the table as
Bella brought in the tray and, accepting a cup of tea, began to discuss
with his daughter the events which had transpired in his absence.
“There is no news,” interposed Mrs. Kingdom, during an interval. “Mr.
Hall’s aunt died the other day.”
“Never heard of her,” said the captain. “Neither had I, till then,”
said his sister. “What a lot of people there are one never hears of,
John.” The captain stared at her offensively and went on with his meal.
A long silence ensued.
“I suppose you didn’t get to hear of the cable that was sent?” said
Mrs. Kingdom, making another effort to arouse interest.
“What cable?” inquired her brother.
“The one Mr. Hardy sent to his father about you,” replied Mrs. Kingdom.
The captain pushed his chair back and stared her full in the face.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
His sister explained.
“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve been speaking to young Hardy?”
exclaimed the captain.
“I could hardly help doing so, when he came here,” returned his sister,
with dignity. “He has been very anxious about you.”
Captain Nugent rose and strode up and down the room. Then he stopped
and glanced sharply at his daughter.
“Were you here when he called?” he demanded.
“Yes,” was the reply.
“And you—you spoke to him?” roared the captain.
“I had to be civil,” said Miss Nugent, calmly; “I’m not a sea-captain.”
Her father walked up and down the room again. Mrs. Kingdom, terrified
at the storm she had evoked, gazed helplessly at her niece.
“What did he come here for?” said the captain.
Miss Nugent glanced down at her plate. “I can’t imagine,” she said,
demurely. “The first time he came to tell us what had become of you.”
The captain stopped in his walk and eyed her sternly. “I am very
fortunate in my children,” he said, slowly. “One is engaged to marry
the daughter of the shadiest rascal in Sunwich, and the other—”
“And the other?” said his daughter, proudly, as he paused.
“The other,” said the captain, as he came round the table and put his
hand on her shoulder, “is my dear and obedient daughter.”
“Yes,” said Miss Nugent; “but that isn’t what you were going to say.
You need not worry about me; I shall not do anything that would
displease you.”