ABOARD THE "NAUTILUS."
The shell schooner had many visitors during the next few days, as she
lay by the wharf; visitors, of whom a few came to buy, but by far the
greater part to look and gossip, and see the monkeys, and ask questions.
The monkeys, Jack and Jim, were no small part of the attraction, being
delightful little beasts, bright of eye and friendly of heart, always
ready to turn a somersault, or to run up the mast, or to make a bow to
the ladies (always with Franci in their hearts), as the Skipper directed
them.
Of course John was there at every available minute, whenever he could
escape the searching of his guardian's eye and tongue; but Mr. Scraper
himself came several times to the "Nautilus;" so did pretty Lena Brown.
There was no doubt that Lena was a charming girl. She looked like
moonlight, Rento thought; John thought so, too, though he knew that the
resemblance went no further than looks. Her hair was soft and light,
with a silvery glint when the sun struck it, and it had a pretty trick
of falling down about her forehead in two Madonna-like bands, framing
the soft, rose-tinted cheeks sweetly enough, and hiding with the pale
shining tresses the narrowness of the white forehead.
Lena was apt to come with John, to whom she was always kind, though she
thought him "cracked," and after a little desultory hovering about the
shells, for which she did not really care, except when they were made up
with glass beads, she was apt to sit down on the after-deck, with John
beside her (unless the Skipper appeared, in which case the boy flew to
join his new friend), and with Franci, or Rento, or both, sure to be
near by. The monkeys never failed to come and nestle down beside the
boy, and examine his pockets and chatter confidentially in his ear; and
John always nodded and seemed to understand, which Lena considered
foolishness. She thought she came out of pure kindness for the boy,
because "that old gimlet never would let him come alone, and the child
was fairly possessed about the shells;" but it is to be doubted whether
she would have come so often if it had not been for Franci's admiring
glances and Rento's deeper veneration, which seldom dared to look higher
than the hem of her gown.
She would sit very demurely on the after-deck, apparently absorbed in
the shells and corals that lay spread before her; and by-and-by, it
might be, Franci, who did not suffer from shyness, would venture on
something more definite than admiring glances.
He would show her the shells, making the most of his knowledge, which
was not extensive, and calling in invention when information failed; but
he liked better to talk of himself, Franci, and on that subject there
was plenty to be said. He was a prince, he told Lena, in South America,
where he came from. This was a poor country, miserable country; but in
his own the houses were all of marble, pink marble, with mahogany
door-steps.
"Is that so?" Lena would say, raising her limpid eyes to the dark
velvety ones that were bent so softly on her.
"Oh, fine! fine!" said Franci. "Never I eat from a china dish in my
country; silver, all silver! Only the pigs eat from china. Drink wine,
eat peaches and ice-cream all days, all time. My sister wear gold
clothes, trimmed diamonds, when she do her washing. Yes! Like to go
there?" and he bent over Lena with an enchanting smile.
"Why do you tell such lies?" asked John, whom Franci had not observed,
as he was lying in one of the schooner's boats, with a monkey on either
arm. Franci's smile deepened as he turned toward the boy, swearing
softly in Spanish, and feeling in his breast; but at that moment Rento
happened to stroll that way, blushing deeply at Lena's nearness, yet
with a warlike expression in his bright blue eyes. Franci told him he
was the son of a pig that had died of the plague, and that he, Franci,
devoutly hoped the son would share the fate of his mother, without time
to consult a priest. Rento replied that he could jaw as much as he was a
mind to, so long as he let the boy alone; and Lena looked from one to
the other with a flush on her pretty cheek, and an instinct that made
her heart beat a little faster.
Mr. Scraper's visits were apt to be made in the evening; his passion for
shells was like that for drink, and he would fain have hidden it from
the eyes of his neighbours. It was always a trial to Franci to know
that the old miser, as he called Mr. Endymion, was in the cabin, and
that he, Franci, must keep watch on deck while this withered anatomy sat
on the cabin chairs and drank with the Patron. Franci's way of keeping
watch was to lie at full length on the deck with his feet in the air,
smoking cigarettes. It was not the regulation way, but Franci did not
care for that. That beast of a Rento was asleep, snoring like a pig that
he was, while his betters must keep awake and gaze at this desolating
prospect; the Patron was in the cabin with the miser, and no one thought
of the individual who alone gave charm to the schooner. He, Franci,
would make himself as comfortable as might be, and would not care a puff
of his cigar if the schooner and all that were in it, except himself,
should go to the bottom the next minute. No! Rather would he dance for
joy, and wave his hand, and cry, "Good voyage, Patron! Good voyage,
brute of a pig-faced Rento! Good voyage, old 'Nautilus!' Go all to the
bottom with my blessing, and I dance on the wharf, and marry the pretty
Lena, and get all the old miser's money, and wear velvet coats. Ah!
Franci, my handsome little boy, why did you let them send you to sea,
hearts of stone that they were! You, born to shine, to adorn, to break
the hearts of maidens! Why? tell me that!" He waved his legs in the air,
and contemplated with delight their proportions, which were certainly
exquisite. "Caramba!" he murmured; "beauty, that is it! Otherwise one
might better be a swine,--yes, truly!"
At this point, perhaps, Rento appeared, rubbing his eyes, evidently
just awake, and ready to take his watch; whereupon the beautiful one sat
up, and, fixing his eyes on his fellow-seaman, executed a series of
grimaces which did great credit to his invention and power of facial
expression. Then he delivered himself of an harangue in purest Spanish,
to the effect that the day was not far distant when he, Franci, would
slit Rento's nose with a knife, and carve his initials on his cheeks,
and finally run him through the so detestable body and give him to the
fish to devour, though with strong fears of his disagreeing with them.
To which Rento replied that he might try it just as soon as he was a
mind to, but that at this present moment he was to get out; which the
beautiful youth accordingly did, retiring with a dancing step,
expressive of scorn and disgust.
On one such night as this the scene in the little cabin was a curious
one. A lamp burned brightly on the table, and its lights shone on a
number of objects, some lying openly on the green table-cover, some
reclining superbly in velvet-lined cases. Shells! Yes, but not such
shells as were heaped in profusion on shelf and counter. Those were
lovely, indeed, and some of them of considerable value; but it was a
fortune, no less, that lay now spread before the eyes of the Skipper and
his guest. For these were the days when fine shells could not be bought
on every hand, as they can to-day; when a good specimen of the Imperial
Harp brought two hundred and fifty dollars easily, and when a collector
would give anything, even to the half of his kingdom (if he were a
collector of the right sort), for a Precious Wentletrap.
[Illustration]
It was a Wentletrap on which the little red eyes of Mr. Endymion
Scraper were fixed at this moment. The morocco case in which it lay was
lined with crimson velvet, and the wonderful shell shone purely white
against the glowing colour,--snow upon ice; for the body of the shell
was semi-transparent, the denser substance of the spiral whorls turning
them to heavy snow against the shining clearness beneath them. Has any
of my readers seen a Precious Wentletrap? Then he knows one of the most
beautiful things that God has made.
Apparently the Skipper had just opened the case, for Mr. Scraper was
sitting with his mouth wide open, staring at it with greedy, almost
frightened eyes. Truly, a perfect specimen of this shell was, in those
days, a thing seen only in kings' cabinets; yet no flaw appeared in
this, no blot upon its perfect beauty. The old miser sat and stared, and
only his hands, which clutched the table-cloth in a convulsive grasp,
and his greedy eyes, showed that he was not turned to stone. He had been
amazed enough by the other treasures, as the Skipper had taken them one
by one from the iron safe in the corner, whose door now hung idly open.
Where had been seen such Pheasants as these,--the fragile, the
exquisite, the rarely perfect? Even the Australian Pheasant, rarest of
all, lay here before him, with its marvellous pencillings of rose and
carmine and gray. Mr. Endymion's mouth had watered at the mere
description of the shell in the catalogue, but he had never thought to
see one, except the imperfect specimen in the museum at Havenborough.
Here, too, was the Orange Cowry; here the Bishop's Mitre, and the
precious Voluta Aulica; while yonder,--what was this man, that he should
have a Voluta Junonia, of which only a few specimens are possessed in
the known world? What did it all mean?
The Skipper sat beside the table, quiet and self-contained as usual. His
arm lay on the table, his hand was never far from the more precious
shells, and his eyes did not leave the old man's face; but he showed no
sign of uneasiness. Why should he, when he could have lifted Mr.
Endymion with his left hand and set him at any minute at the top of the
cabin stairs? Now and then he took up a shell with apparent carelessness
(though in reality he handled them with fingers as fine as a woman's,
knowing their every tenderest part, and where they might best be
approached without offence to their delicacy), looked it over, and made
some remark about its quality or value; but for the most part he was
silent, letting the shells speak for themselves and make their own
effect.
The old man had been wheezing and grunting painfully for some minutes,
opening and shutting his hands, and actually scratching the table-cloth
in his distress. At length he broke out, after a long silence.
"Who are ye, I want to know? How come you by these shells? I know
something about what they're wuth--that is--well, I know they aint wuth
what you say they are, well enough; but they air wuth a good deal,--I
know that. What I want to understand is, what you're after here! What do
you want, and why do you show me these things if--if--you come by them
honestly. Hey?"
The Skipper smiled meditatively. "Yes!" he said, "we all like to know
things,--part of our nature, sir--part of our nature. I, now, I like to
know things, too. What you going to do with that boy, Mr. Scrape? I like
to know that. You tell me, and perhaps you hear something about the
shells, who know?"
The old man's face darkened into a very ugly look.
"My name is Scraper, thank ye, not Scrape!" he said, dryly; "and as for
the boy, I don't know exactly where you come in there."
The Skipper nodded. "True!" he said, tracing with his finger the fine
lines of the Voluta Aulica; "you do not know where I come in there. In
us both, knowledge has a limit, Mr. Scraper; yet I at the least am
acquaint with your name. It is a fine name you have there,--Endymion!
You should be a person of poetry, with this and your love for shells,
hein? You love, without doubt, to gaze on the moon, Sir Scraper? You
feel with her a connection, yes?"
"What the dickens are you talking about?" asked the old gentleman,
testily. "How much do you want to swindle me out of for this Junonia,
hey? not that I shall buy it, mind ye!"
"Three hundred!" said the Skipper; "and a bargain at that!"