THE GENTLEMAN IN BLUE
My mother glanced up from her work at me. I knew that her look asked me
if I had heard the bell, and if I would not go to the door in answer;
and, though I felt lazy, I was not base enough to ignore that appeal. So
I lurched up from my chair and swung through the little shop and flung
the door wide open, a thought angrily, for I had been deep in my brown
study and was stupidly irritated at being jarred from it.
I half expected, so far as I expected anything, to see some familiar
neighbour, with the familiar demand for a twist of tape or a case of
needles, so that I confess to being not a little surprised and even
startled by what my eyes did rest upon. The doorway framed a wholesome
picture of a middle-aged comely gentleman.
I see the stranger now in my mind's eye as I saw him then with my bodily
vision--a stoutly made, well set-up man of a trifle above the middle
height, in a full-skirted blue coat; a gold-laced hat upon his powder,
and a gold-headed cane in his hand. The florid face was friendly, and
shrewd too, lined all over its freshness with little lines of experience
and wisdom and knowledge of the world, and two honest blue eyes shone
straight at me from beneath bold black eyebrows.
It was certainly a most unfamiliar figure in the framework of our shop
door, and I stood and stared at it, somewhat unmannerly, for a space of
several seconds. After a while, finding that I still barred his way and
said nothing, the stranger smiled very good-humouredly; and as he smiled
I saw that his teeth were large and white and sound.
'Well, young sir,' he said pleasantly, 'are you Master Raphael
Crowninshield?'
I told him that was my name.
'Then I should like to exchange a word or two with you,' he said; 'can
we be private within?'
I answered him that there was no one inside but my mother, and I begged
him to step into the little parlour.
The stout gentleman nodded. 'Your mother?' he said. 'Very good; I shall
be delighted to have the honour of making madam's acquaintance: bring me
to her.'
I led the way across the shop and up the two low steps into the little
parlour, where my mother, who had heard every word of this dialogue, had
laid aside her sewing, and now rose as the stranger approached and
dropped him a curtsey.
'Be seated, madam, I beg,' said the stranger. 'I have a word or two to
say to your son hereby, but first'--here he paused and addressed himself
to me--'prithee, lad, step to the door a moment and wait till I call for
you. Your mother and I have our gossip to get over.'
There was something so commanding in the kindliness of the stranger's
manner and voice that I made no hesitation about obeying him; so I
promptly rose and made for the shop, drawing close the door of the
parlour behind me.
I stood awhile at the outer door, looking listlessly into the street,
and wondering what the blue gentleman could have to say to my mother and
to me. Even now I can recall the whole scene distinctly, the windy High
Street, with its gleams of broken sunlight on the drying cobbles--for it
had rained a little about noon, and the black clouds were only now
sailing away towards the west and leaving blue and white sky behind
them. I can see again the signs and names of the shops opposite, can
even recall noting a girl leaning out of a window and a birdcage in an
attic.
When the door of the parlour behind me opened for the blue-coated
gentleman I noted that my mother stood with a pale face and her hands
folded. He beckoned me to him and clapped his hand on my shoulder, and
though he laid it there gentle enough, I felt that it could be as heavy
as the paw of a bear.
'My lad,' he said, gazing steadily into my face with his china-blue
eyes, 'your good mother and I have been talking over some plans of mine,
and I think I have induced her to see the advantage of my proposals. Am
I right or am I wrong in assuming you have stowed away in your body a
certain longing for the wide world?'
I suppose my eyes brightened before my lips moved, for he cut me short
with: 'There, that's all right; never waste a word when a wink will do.
Now, am I right or am I wrong in supposing that you have a good friend
whose name is Lancelot Amber?'
I was determined that I would speak this time, and I almost shouted in
my eagerness to say 'Yes.'
'That will be a good voice in a hurricane,' the blue gentleman said
approvingly. Then he began again, with the same formula, which I suppose
pleased his palate.
'Am I right or am I wrong in assuming that he has told you of a certain
old sea-dog of an uncle of his whose name is Marmaduke Amber?'
I nodded energetically, for after his comment I thought it best to hold
my tongue.
'Very good. Now, am I right or am I wrong in supposing that you feel
pretty sure at this moment that you are looking upon that same old
sea-dog, Marmaduke Amber?'
This time I smiled in good earnest at his fantastic fashion of
self-introduction, observing which the blue gentleman swayed me
backwards and forwards several times with his right hand, and I felt
that if I had been an oak of the forest he would have swayed me just as
easily, while he said with a kind of approbative chuckle: 'That's
right--a very good lad; that's right--a very smart lad.' Then he
suddenly lifted his hand, and I, unprepared for the removal of my prop,
staggered against the counter, while he put another question.
'And what do you think Marmaduke Amber wants with you?'
I shook my head, and said I could not guess.
'Why, to make a man of you, to be sure,' the gentleman answered. 'You
are spoiling here in this hen-coop. Now, Lancelot loves you like a
brother, and I love Lancelot like a father, and I am quite prepared to
take you to my heart for Lancelot's sake, for he is scarce likely to be
deceived in you. You must know that I am going to embark upon a certain
enterprise--of which more hereafter. Now, the long and the short of it
is that Lancelot is coming with me, and he wants to know, and I want to
know, if you will come too?'
'If I would come too!'
My heart seemed to stand still for joy at the very thought. Why, here
was the chance I was longing for, dreaming of, day and night; here was a
great ship waiting to carry me on that wrinkled highway of my boyish
ambition; here was the change from the little life of a little town into
the great perils and brave existence of the sea; here was a good-bye to
love and sorrow, and the putting on of manhood and manly purposes!
Would I not come! My lips trembled with delight and my speech faltered,
and then I glanced at my mother. She was very pale and sad, and at the
sight my joy turned to sorrow. She saw the change on my face, and she
said, very quietly and resolutely: 'I have given my consent, my dear
son, to your going hence. Perhaps it is for the best.'
'Mother,' I said, turning towards her with a choking voice,
'indeed--indeed it is for the best. I should only mope here and fret,
and come to no good, and give you no pride in me at all. I must go away;
it will not be for long; and when I come back I shall have forgotten my
follies and learnt wisdom.' Lord, how easy we think it in our youth to
learn wisdom! 'And you will be proud to see me, and love me better than
ever, for I shall deserve it better.'
Then my mother wrung her hands together and sighed, and tried to speak,
but she could not; and she turned away from us and moved further back
into the room. I made a step forward, but the stranger caught me by the
shoulder, and swinging me round, guided me to the door; and at the door
we stood in silence together for some seconds, staring out into the
street.
'Have patience, lad,' he whispered into my ear; 'it is a good woman's
weakness, and it will pass soon. She knows and I know that it is best
for you to go.'
I could say nothing, for my heart was too full with the joy of going and
with grief for my mother's grief. But I felt in my soul that I must go,
or else I should never come to any good in this world, which, after all,
would break my mother's heart more surely and sadly.
Presently we heard her voice, a little trembling, call on Mr. Amber by
his name, and we went slowly back together. Already, as I stood by that
stalwart gentleman and timed my step to his stride, I began to feel as
if I had known him all my life, and had loved him as we love some dear
kin.
I do not know how I can quite express what I then felt, and felt ever
after, in his company--a kind of exultation, such as martial music stirs
in any manly bosom, or as we draw in from the breath of some brave
ballad. It would be impossible, surely, to feel aught but courageous in
such cheerful, valiant, self-reliant fellowship.