Part 25 (2/2)
”Let me get a gla.s.s of Christian beer to wash all their sticky nastinesses from my neck, and I'll tell you,” said Kettle, and he did with fine detail and circ.u.mstance.
”Well, Wenlock's got his heiress anyway,” said Murray, with a sigh, when the tale was over. ”I suppose we may as well get under way now, sir.”
”Not much,” said Kettle jubilantly. ”Why, man, I've squeezed every ton of cargo they have in the place, and stuck them for freights in a way that would surprise you. Here's the tally: 270 bags of coffee, 700 packets of dates, 350 baskets of figs, and all for London. And, mark you,” said Kettle, hitting the table, ”that or more'll be waiting for me there every time I come, and no other skipper need apply.”
”H'm,” said the mate thoughtfully; ”but will Wenlock be as civil and limp next time you call, sir?”
Captain Kettle winked pleasantly, and put a fifty-pound note in his lock-up drawer. ”That's all right, my lad. No fear of Master Wenlock getting his tail up. If you'd seen the good lady, his wife, you'd know why. That's the man that went hunting an heiress, Mr. Murray; and by the holy James he's got her, and no error.”
CHAPTER IX
A MATTER OF JUSTICE
It was quite evident that the man wanted something; but Captain Kettle did not choose definitely to ask for his wishes. Over-curiosity is not a thing that pays with Orientals. Stolid indifference, on the other hand, may earn easy admiration.
But at last the man took his courage in a firmer grip, and came up from the _Parakeet's_ lower deck, where the hands were working cargo, and advanced under the bridge deck awnings to Captain Kettle's long chair and salaamed low before him.
Kettle seemed to see the man for the first time. He looked up from the accounts he was laboring at. ”Well?” he said, curtly.
It was clear the Arab had no English. It was clear also that he feared being watched by his fellow countrymen in the lighter which was discharging date bags alongside. He manoeuvred till the broad of his back covered his movements, materialized somehow or other a sc.r.a.p of paper from some fold of his burnous, dropped this into Kettle's lap without any perceptible movement of either his arms or hands, and then gave another stately salaam and moved away to the place from which he had come.
”If you are an out-of-work conjuror,” said Kettle to the retreating figure, ”you've come to the wrong place to get employment here.”
The Arab pa.s.sed out of sight without once turning his head, and Kettle glanced down at the screw of paper which lay on his knees, and saw on it a scrawl of writing.
”Hullo,” he said, ”postman, were you; not conjuror? I didn't expect any mail here. However, let's see. Murray's writing, by James!” he muttered, as he flattened out the grimy sc.r.a.p of paper, and then he whistled-with surprise and disgust as he read.
”_Dear Captain_,” the letter ran. ”_I've got into the deuce of a mess, and if you can bear a hand to pull me out, it would be a favor I should never forget. I got caught up that side street to the left past the mosque, but they covered my head with a cloth directly after, and hustled me on for half an hour, and where I am now, the d.i.c.kens only knows. It's a cellar. But perhaps bearer may know, who's got my watch. The trouble was about a woman, a pretty little piece who I was photographing. You see_--”
And here the letter broke off.
”That's the worst of these fancy, high-toned mates,” Kettle grumbled.
”What does he want to go ash.o.r.e for at a one-eyed hole like this? There are no saloons--and besides he isn't a drinking man. Your new-fas.h.i.+oned mate isn't. There are no girls for him to kiss--seeing that they are all Mohammedans, and wear a veil. And as for going round with that photography box of his, I wonder he hasn't more pride. I don't like to see a smart young fellow like him, that's got his master's ticket all new and ready in his chest, bringing himself down to the level of a common, dirty-haired artist. Well, Murray's got a lot to learn before he finds an owner fit to trust him with a s.h.i.+p of his own.”
Kettle read the hurried letter through a second time, and then got up out of his long chair, and put on his spruce white drill uniform coat, and exchanged his white canvas shoes for another pair more newly pipeclayed. His steamer might merely be a common cargo tramp, the town he was going to visit ash.o.r.e might be merely the usual savage settlement one meets with on the Arabian sh.o.r.e of the Persian Gulf, but the little sailor did not dress for the admiration of fas.h.i.+onable crowds. He was smart and spruce always out of deference to his own self-respect.
He went up to the second mate at the tally desk on the main deck below, and gave him some instructions. ”I'm going ash.o.r.e,” he said, ”and leave you in charge. Don't let too many of these n.i.g.g.e.rs come aboard at once, and tell the steward to keep all the doors to below snugly fastened. I locked the chart-house myself when I came out. Have you heard about the mate?”
”No, sir.”
”Ah, I thought the news would have been spread well about the s.h.i.+p before it came to me. He's got in trouble ash.o.r.e, and I suppose I must go, and see the Kady, and get him bailed out.”
The second mate wiped the dust and perspiration from his face with his bare arm, and leant on the tally-desk, and grinned. Here seemed to be an opportunity for the relaxation of stiff official relations. ”What's tripped him?” he asked. ”Skirt or photographing?”
”He will probably tell you himself when he comes back,” said Kettle coldly. ”I shall send him to his room for three days when he gets on board.”
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