STEPHEN'S TALE
My father's death wrought in Grandfather Nat a change that awed me. He
looked older and paler--even smaller. He talked less to me, but began, I
fancied, to talk to himself. Withal, his manner was kinder than before,
if that were possible; though it was with a sad kindness that distressed
and troubled me. More than once I woke at night with candle-light on my
face, and found him gazing down at me with a grave doubt in his eyes;
whereupon he would say nothing, but pat my cheek, and turn away.
Early one evening as I sat in the bar-parlour, and my grandfather stood
moodily at the door between that and the bar, a man came into the
private compartment whom I had seen there frequently before. He was, in
fact, the man who had brought the silver spoons on the morning when I
first saw Ratcliff Highway, and he was perhaps the most regular visitor
to the secluded corner of the bar. This time he slipped quietly and
silently in at the door, and, remaining just within it, out of sight
from the main bar, beckoned; his manner suggesting business above the
common.
But my grandfather only frowned grimly, and stirred not as much as a
finger. The man beckoned again, impatiently; but there was no favour in
Grandfather Nat's eye, and he answered with a growl. At that the man
grew more vehement, patted his breast pocket, jerked his thumb, and made
dumb words with a great play of mouth.
"You get out!" said Grandfather Nat.
A shade of surprise crossed the man's face, and left plain alarm behind
it. His eyes turned quickly toward the partition which hid the main bar
from him, and he backed instantly to the door and vanished.
A little later the swing doors of the main bar were agitated, and an eye
was visible between them, peeping. They parted, and disclosed the face
of that same stealthy visitor but lately sent away from the other door.
Reassured, as it seemed, by what he saw of the company present, he came
boldly in, and called for a drink with an elaborate air of unconcern.
But, as he took the glass from the potman, I could perceive a sidelong
glance at my grandfather, and presently another. Captain Nat, however,
disregarded him wholly; while the pale man, aware of he knew not what
between them, looked alertly from one to the other, ready to abandon his
long-established drink, or to remain by it, according to circumstances.
The man of the silver spoons looked indifferently from one occupant of
the bar to the next, as he took his cold rum. There was the pale man,
and Mr. Cripps, and a sailor, who had been pretty regular in the bar of
late, and who, though noisy and apt to break into disjointed song, was
not so much positively drunk as never wholly sober. And there were two
others, regular frequenters both. Having well satisfied himself of
these, the man of the silver spoons finished his rum and walked out.
Scarce had the door ceased to swing behind him, when he was once more in
the private compartment, now with a knowing and secure smile, a cough
and a nod. For plainly he supposed there must have been a suspicious
customer in the house, who was now gone.
Grandfather Nat let fall the arm that rested against the door frame.
"Out you go!" he roared. "If you want another drink the other bar's good
enough for you. If you don't I don't want you here. So out you go!"
The man was dumbfounded. He opened his mouth as though to say something,
but closed it again, and slunk backward.
"Out you go!" shouted the unsober sailor in the large bar. "Out you go!
You 'bey orders, see? Lord, you'd better 'bey orders when it's Cap'en
Kemp! Ah, I know, I do!" And he shook his head, stupidly sententious.
But the fellow was gone for good, and the pale man was all eyes,
scratching his cheek feebly, and gazing on Grandfather Nat.
"Out he goes!" the noisy sailor went on. "That's cap'en's orders.
Cap'en's orders or mate's orders, all's one. Like father, like son. Ah,
I know!'"
"Ah," piped Mr. Cripps, "a marvellous fine orficer Cap'en Kemp must ha'
been aboard ship, I'm sure. Might you ever ha' sailed under 'im?"
"Me?" cried the sailor with a dull stare. "Me? Under _him_?... Well no,
not under _him_. But cap'en's orders or mate's orders, all's one."
"P'raps," pursued Mr. Cripps in a lower voice, with a glance over the
bar, "p'raps you've been with young Mr. Kemp--the late?"
"Him?" This with another and a duller stare. "Him? Um! Ah, well--never
mind. Never you mind, see? You mind your own business, my fine feller!"
Mr. Cripps retired within himself with no delay, and fixed an abstracted
gaze in his half-empty glass. I think he was having a disappointing
evening; people were disagreeable, and nobody had stood him a drink.
More, Captain Nat had been quite impracticable of late, and for days all
approaches to the subject of the sign, or the board to paint it on, had
broken down hopelessly at the start. As to the man just sent away, Mr.
Cripps seemed, and no doubt was, wholly indifferent. Captain Nat was
merely exercising his authority in his own bar, as he did every day, and
that was all.
But the pale man was clearly uneasy, and that with reason. For, as
afterwards grew plain, the event was something greater than it seemed.
Indeed, it was nothing less than the end of the indirect traffic in
watches and silver spoons. From that moment every visitor to the private
compartment was sent away with the same peremptory incivility; every
one, save perhaps some rare stranger of the better sort, who came for
nothing but a drink. So that, in course of a day or two, the private
compartment went almost out of use; and the pale man's face grew paler
and longer as the hours went. He came punctually every morning, as
usual, and sat his time out with the stagnant drink before him, till he
received my grandfather's customary order to "drink up"; and then
vanished till the time appointed for his next attendance. But he made no
more excursions into the side court after sellers of miscellaneous
valuables. From what I know of my grandfather's character, I believe
that the pale man must have been paid regular wages; for Grandfather Nat
was not a man to cast off a faithful servant, though plainly the man
feared it. At any rate there he remained with his perpetual drink; and
so remained until many things came to an end together.
There was a certain relief, and, I think, an odd touch of triumph in
Grandfather Nat's face and manner that night as he kissed me, and bade
me good-night. As for myself, I did not realise the change, but I had a
vague idea that my grandfather had sent away his customer on my account;
and for long I lay awake, and wondered why.