Mr. Chalk’s expedition to the Southern Seas became a standing joke with
the captain, and he waylaid him on several occasions to inquire into the
progress he was making, and to give him advice suitable for all known
emergencies at sea, together with a few that are unknown. Even Mr. Chalk
began to tire of his pleasantries, and, after listening to a surprising
account of a Scotch vessel which always sailed backwards when the men
whistled on Sundays, signified his displeasure by staying away from
Dialstone Lane for some time.
Deprived of his society the captain consoled himself with that of Edward
Tredgold, a young man for whom he was beginning to entertain a strong
partiality, and whose observations of Binchester folk, flavoured with a
touch of good-natured malice, were a source of never-failing interest.
“He is very wide-awake,” he said to his niece. “There isn’t much that
escapes him.”
Miss Drewitt, gazing idly out of window, said that she had not noticed
it.
“Very clever at his business, I understand,” said the captain.
His niece said that he had always appeared to her—when she had happened
to give the matter a thought—as a picture of indolence.
“Ah! that’s only his manner,” replied the other, warmly. “He’s a young
man that’s going to get on; he’s going to make his mark. His father’s
got money, and he’ll make more of it.”
Something in the tone of his voice attracted his niece’s attention, and
she looked at him sharply as an almost incredible suspicion as to the
motive of this conversation flashed on her.
“I don’t like to see young men too fond of money,” she observed,
sedately.
“I didn’t say that,” said the captain, eagerly. “If anything, he is too
open-handed. What I meant was that he isn’t lazy.”
“He seems to be very fond of coming to see you,” said Prudence, by way
of encouragement.
“Ah!” said the captain, “and——”
He stopped abruptly as the girl faced round. “And?” she prompted.
“And the crow’s-nest,” concluded the captain, somewhat lamely.
There was no longer room for doubt. Scarce two months ashore and he was
trying his hand at matchmaking. Fresh from a world of obedient
satellites, and ships responding to the lightest touch of the helm, he
was venturing with all the confidence of ignorance upon the most
delicate of human undertakings. Miss Drewitt, eyeing him with perfect
comprehension and some little severity, sat aghast at his hardihood.
“He’s very fond of going up there,” said Captain Bowers, somewhat
discomfited.
“Yes, he and Joseph have much in common,” remarked Miss Drewitt,
casually. “They’re somewhat alike, too, I always fancy.”
“_Alike!_” exclaimed the astonished captain. “Edward Tredgold like
Joseph? Why, you must be dreaming.”
“Perhaps it’s only my fancy,” conceded Miss Drewitt, “but I always think
that I can see a likeness.”
“There isn’t the slightest resemblance in the world,” said the captain.
“There isn’t a single feature alike. Besides, haven’t you ever noticed
what a stupid expression Joseph has got?”
“Yes,” said Miss Drewitt.
The captain scratched his ear and regarded her closely, but Miss
Drewitt’s face was statuesque in its repose.
“There—there’s nothing wrong with your eyes, my dear?” he ventured,
anxiously—“short sight or anything of that sort?”
“I don’t think so,” said his niece, gravely.
Captain Bowers shifted in his chair and, convinced that such a
superficial observer must have overlooked many things, pointed out
several admirable qualities in Edward Tredgold which he felt sure must
have escaped her notice. The surprise with which Miss Drewitt greeted
them all confirmed him in this opinion, and he was glad to think that he
had called her attention to them ere it was too late.
“He’s very popular in Binchester,” he said, impressively. “Chalk told me
that he is surprised he has not been married before now, seeing the way
that he is run after.”
“Dear me!” said his niece, with suppressed viciousness.
The captain smiled. He resolved to stand out for a long engagement when
Mr. Tredgold came to him, and to stipulate also that they should not
leave Binchester. An admirer in London to whom his niece had once or
twice alluded—forgetting to mention that he was only ten—began to fade
into what the captain considered proper obscurity.
Mr. Edward Tredgold reaped some of the benefits of this conversation
when he called a day or two afterwards. The captain was out, but,
encouraged by Mr. Tasker, who represented that his return might be
looked for at any moment, he waited for over an hour, and was on the
point of departure when Miss Drewitt entered.
“I should think that you must be tired of waiting?” she said, when he
had explained.
“I was just going,” said Mr. Tredgold, as he resumed his seat. “If you
had been five minutes later you would have found an empty chair. I
suppose Captain Bowers won’t be long now?”
“He might be,” said the girl.
“I’ll give him a little while longer if I may,” said Mr. Tredgold. “I’m
very glad now that I waited—very glad indeed.”
There was so much meaning in his voice that Miss Drewitt felt compelled
to ask the reason.
“Because I was tired when I came in and the rest has done me good,”
explained Mr. Tredgold, with much simplicity. “Do you know that I
sometimes think I work too hard?”
Miss Drewitt raised her eyebrows slightly and said, “Indeed!—I am very
glad that you are rested,” she added, after a pause.
“Thank you,” said Mr. Tredgold, gratefully. “I came to see the captain
about a card-table I’ve discovered for him. It’s a Queen Anne, I
believe; one of the best things I’ve ever seen. It’s poked away in the
back room of a cottage, and I only discovered it by accident.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Miss Drewitt, coldly, “but I don’t think
that my uncle wants any more furniture; the room is pretty full now.”
“I was thinking of it for your room,” said Mr. Tredgold.
“Thank you, but my room is full,” said the girl, sharply.
“It would go in that odd little recess by the fireplace,” continued the
unmoved Mr. Tredgold. “We tried to get a small table for it before you
came, but we couldn’t see anything we fancied. I promised the captain
I’d keep my eyes open for something.”
Miss Drewitt looked at him with growing indignation, and wondered
whether Mr. Chalk had added her to his list of the victims of Mr.
Tredgold’s blandishments.
“Why not buy it for yourself?” she demanded.
“No money,” said Mr. Tredgold, shaking his head. “You forget that I lost
two pounds to Chalk the other day, owing to your efforts.”
“Well, I don’t wish for it,” said Miss Drewitt, firmly. “Please don’t
say anything to my uncle about it.”
Mr. Tredgold looked disappointed. “As you please, of course,” he
remarked.
“Old things always seem a little bit musty,” said the girl, softening a
little. “I, should think that I saw the ghosts of dead and gone players
sitting round the table. I remember reading a story about that once.”
“Well, what about the other things?” said Mr. Tredgold. “Look at those
old chairs, full of ghosts sitting piled up in each other’s laps—there’s
no reason why you should only see one sitter at a time. Think of that
beautifully-carved four-poster.”
“My uncle bought that,” said Miss Drewitt, somewhat irrelevantly.
“Yes, but I got it for him,” said Mr. Tredgold. “You can’t pick up a
thing like that at a moment’s notice—I had my eye on it for years; all
the time old Brown was bedridden, in fact. I used to go and see him and
take him tobacco, and he promised me that I should have it when he had
done with it.”
“Done with it?” repeated the girl, in a startled voice. “Did—did he get
another one, then?”
Mr. Tredgold, roused from the pleasurable reminiscences of a collector,
remembered himself suddenly. “Oh, yes, he got another one,” he said,
soothingly.
“Is—is he bedridden now?” inquired the girl.
“I haven’t seen him for some time,” said Mr. Tredgold, truthfully. “He
gave up smoking and—and then I didn’t go to see him, you know.”
“He’s dead,” said Miss Drewitt, shivering. “He died in—— Oh, you are
horrible!”
“That carving—” began Mr. Tredgold.
“Don’t talk about it, please,” said the indignant Miss Drewitt. “I can’t
understand why my uncle should have listened to your advice at all; you
must have forced it on him. I’m sure he didn’t know how you got it.”
“Yes, he did,” said the other. “In fact, it was intended for his room at
first. He was quite pleased with it.”
“Why did he alter his mind, then?” inquired the girl.
Mr. Tredgold looked suddenly at the opposite wall, but his lips quivered
and his eyes watered. Miss Drewitt, reading these signs aright, was
justly incensed.
“I don’t believe it,” she cried.
“He said that you didn’t know and he did,” said Mr. Tredgold,
apologetically. “I talk too much. I’d no business to let out about old
Brown, but I forgot for the moment—sailors are always prone to childish
superstitions.”
“Are you talking about my uncle?” inquired Miss Drewitt, with ominous
calm.
“They were his own words,” said the other.
Miss Drewitt, feeling herself baffled, sat for some time wondering how
to find fault politely with the young man before her. Her mind was full
of subject-matter, but the politeness easily eluded her. She threw out
after a time the suggestion that his presence at the bedside of sick
people was not likely to add to their comfort.
Captain Bowers entered before the aggrieved Mr. Tredgold could think of
a fitting reply, and after a hasty greeting insisted upon his staying
for a cup of tea. By a glance in the visitor’s direction and a faint
smile Miss Drewitt was understood to endorse the invitation.
The captain’s satisfaction at finding them together was complete, but a
little misunderstanding was caused all round, when Mr. Tasker came in
with the tea, by the series of nods and blinks by which the captain
strove to call his niece’s attention to various facial and other
differences between his servant and their visitor. Mr. Tredgold, after
standing it for some time, created a little consternation by inquiring
whether he had got a smut on his nose.
The captain was practically the only talker at tea, but the presence of
two attentive listeners prevented him from discovering the fact. He
described his afternoon’s ramble at such length that it was getting late
by the time they had finished.
“Stay and smoke a pipe,” he said, as he sought his accustomed chair.
Mr. Tredgold assented in the usual manner by saying that he ought to be
going, and instead of one pipe smoked three or four. The light failed
and the lamp was lit, but he still stayed on until the sound of subdued
but argumentative voices beyond the drawn blind apprised them of other
visitors. The thin tones of Mr. Chalk came through the open window,
apparently engaged in argument with a bear. A faint sound of hustling
and growling, followed by a gentle bumping against the door, seemed to
indicate that he—or perhaps the bear—was having recourse to physical
force.
“Come in,” cried the captain.
The door opened and Mr. Chalk, somewhat flushed, entered, leading Mr.
Stobell. The latter gentleman seemed in a surly and reluctant frame of
mind, and having exchanged greetings subsided silently into a chair and
sat eyeing Mr. Chalk, who, somewhat nervous as to his reception after so
long an absence, plunged at once into conversation.
“I thought I should find you here,” he said, pleasantly, to Edward
Tredgold.
“Why?” demanded Mr. Tredgold, with what Mr. Chalk thought unnecessary
abruptness.
“Well—well, because you generally are here, I suppose,” he said,
somewhat taken aback.
Mr. Tredgold favoured him with a scowl, and a somewhat uncomfortable
silence ensued.
“Stobell wanted to see you again,” said Mr. Chalk, turning to the
captain. “He’s done nothing but talk about you ever since he was here
last.”
Captain Bowers said he was glad to see him; Mr. Stobell returned the
courtesy with an odd noise in his throat and a strange glare at Mr.
Chalk.
“I met him to-night,” continued that gentleman, “and nothing would do
for him but to come on here.”
It was evident from the laboured respiration of the ardent Mr. Stobell,
coupled with a word or two which had filtered through the window, that
the ingenious Mr. Chalk was using him as a stalking-horse. From the fact
that Mr. Stobell made no denial it was none the less evident, despite
the growing blackness of his appearance, that he was a party to the
arrangement. The captain began to see the reason.
“It’s all about that island,” explained Mr. Chalk; “he can talk of
nothing else.”
The captain suppressed a groan, and Mr. Tredgold endeavoured, but
without success, to exchange smiles with Miss Drewitt.
“Aye, aye,” said the captain, desperately.
“He’s as eager as a child that’s going to its first pantomime,”
continued Mr. Chalk.
Mr. Stobell’s appearance was so alarming that he broke off and eyed him
with growing uneasiness.
“You were talking about a pantomime,” said Mr. Tredgold, after a long
pause.
Mr. Chalk cast an imploring glance at Mr. Stobell to remind him of their
compact, and resumed.
“Talks of nothing else,” he said, watching his friend, “and can’t sleep
for thinking of it.”
“That’s bad,” said Mr. Tredgold, sympathetically. “Has he tried shutting
his eyes and counting sheep jumping over a stile?”
“No, he _ain’t_,” said Mr. Stobell, exploding suddenly, and turning a
threatening glance on the speaker. “And what’s more,” he added, in more
ordinary tones, “he ain’t going to.”
“We—we’ve been thinking of that trip again,” interposed Mr. Chalk,
hurriedly. “The more Stobell thinks of it the more he likes it. You know
what you said the last time we were here?”
The captain wrinkled his brows and looked at him inquiringly.
“Told us to go and find the island,” Mr. Chalk reminded him. “You said,
‘I’ve shown you a map of the island; now go and find it.’”
“Oh, aye,” said the captain, with a laugh, “so I did.”
“Stobell was wondering,” continued Mr. Chalk, “whether you couldn’t give
us just a little bit more of a hint, without breaking your word, of
course.”
“I don’t see how it could be done,” replied the captain, pondering; “a
promise is a promise.”
Mr. Chalk’s face fell. He moved his chair aside mechanically to make
room for Mr. Tasker, who had entered with a tray and glasses, and sat
staring at the floor. Then he raised his eyes and met a significant
glance from Mr. Stobell.
“I suppose we may have another look at the map?” he said, softly; “just
a glance to freshen our memories.”
The captain, who had drawn his chair to the table to preside over the
tray, looked up impatiently.
“No,” he said, brusquely.
Mr. Chalk looked hurt. “I’m very sorry,” he said, in surprise at the
captain’s tone. “You showed it to us the other day, and I didn’t think—”
“The fact is,” said the captain, in a more gentle voice—“the fact is, I
can’t.”
“Can’t?” repeated the other.
“It is not very pleasant to keep on refusing friends,” said the captain,
making amends for his harshness by pouring a serious overdose of whisky
into Mr. Chalk’s glass, “and it’s only natural for you to be anxious
about it, so I removed the temptation out of my way.”
“Removed the temptation?” repeated Mr. Chalk.
“I burnt the map,” said the captain, with a smile.
“_Burnt_ it?” gasped Mr. Chalk. “+Burnt+ it?”
“Burnt it to ashes,” said the captain, jovially. “It’s a load off my
mind. I ought to have done it before. In fact, I never ought to have
made the map at all.”
Mr. Chalk stared at him in speechless dismay.
“Try that,” said the captain, handing Mr. Stobell his glass.
Mr. Stobell took it from mere force of habit, and sat holding it in his
hand as though he had forgotten what to do with it.
“I did it yesterday morning,” said the captain, noticing their
consternation. “I had just lit my pipe after breakfast, and I suppose
the match put me in mind of it. I took out the map and set light to it
at Cape Silvio. The flame ran half-way round the coast and then popped
through the middle of the paper and converted Mount Lonesome into a
volcano.”
He gave a boisterous laugh and, raising his glass, nodded to Mr.
Stobell. Mr. Stobell, who was just about to drink, lowered his glass
again and frowned.
“I don’t see anything to laugh at,” he said, deliberately.
“He can’t have been listening,” said Mr. Tredgold, in a low voice, to
Miss Drewitt.
“Well, it’s done now,” said the captain, genially. “You—you’re not
going?”
“Yes, I am,” said Mr. Stobell.
He bade them good-night, and then pausing at the door stood and surveyed
them; even Mr. Tasker, who was gliding in unobtrusively with a jug of
water, shared in his regards.
“When I think of the orphans and widows,” he said, bitterly, “I——”
He opened the door suddenly and, closing it behind him, breathed the
rest to Dialstone Lane. An aged woman sitting in a doorway said,
“_Hush!_”