Part 81 (2/2)

says I. 'I'm walking about,' says he, and, gough bless me, if the man wasn't wearing a collar and carrying a stick, and prating about advertising the island, if you plaze.”

At the sound of Pete's voice a group of the men gathered about him.

”That's not the worst neither,” said he. ”The other day I tumbled over Tom Hommy--_you_ know Tom Hommy, yes, you do, the lil deaf man up Ballure. He was lying in the hedge by the public-house, three sheets in the wind. 'Why aren't you out with the boats, Tom?' says I. 'Wash for should I go owsh wish the boash, when the childer can earn more on the roads?' says the drunken wastrel. 'And is yonder your boys and girls tossing summersaults at the tail of the trippers' car?' says I. 'Yesh,'

says he; 'and they'll earn more in a day at their caperings than their father in a week at the herrings.'”

”I believe it enough,” said one. ”The man's about right,” said another; and a querulous voice behind said, ”Wonderful the prosperity of the island since the visitors came to it.”

”Get out with you, there, for a disgrace to the name of Manxman,” sang out Pete over the heads of those that stood between. ”With the farming going to the dogs and the fis.h.i.+ng going to the divil, d'ye know what the ould island's coming to? It's coming to an island of lodging-house keepers and hackney-car drivers. Not the Isle of Man at all, but the Isle of Manchester.”

There was a tremendous shout at this last word. In another minute Pete was lifted shoulder high over the crowd on to the highest turn of the zigzag path, and bidden to go on. There were five hundred faces below him, putting out hot breath in the cool morning air. The sun was shooting over the cliffs a canopy as of smoke above their heads. On the top of the crag the sea-fowl were jabbering, and the white sea itself was climbing on the beach.

”Men,” said Pete, ”there's not much to say. This morning's work said everything. We'd a right fis.h.i.+ng last night, hadn't we? Four hundred boats came up to Peel, and we hadn't less than ten maise apiece.

That's--you that's smart at your figguring and ciphering, spake out now--that's four thousand maise isn't it?” (Shouts of ”Right.”) ”Aw, you're quick wonderful. No houlding you at all when it's money that's in. Four thousand maise ready and waiting for the steamers to England--but did we land it? No, nor half of it neither. The other half's gone round to other ports, too late for the day's sailing, and half of that half will be going rotten and getting chucked back into the sea. That's what the Manx fishermen have lost this morning because they haven't harbours to shelter them, and yet they're talking of levying harbour dues.”

”Man veen, he's a boy!”--”He's all that”--”Go it, Capt'n. What are we to do?”

”Do?” cried Pete. ”I'll tell you what you're to do. This is Friday. Next Thursday is old Midsummer Day. That's Tynwald Coort day. Come to St.

John's on Thursday--every man of you come--come in your sea-boots and your jerseys--let the Governor see you mane it. 'Give us raisonable hope of harbour improvement and we'll pay,' says you. 'If you don't, we won't; and if you try to make us, we're two thousand strong, and we'll rise like one man.'Don't be freckened; you've a right to be bould in a good cause. I'll get somebody to spake for you. You know the man I mane.

He's stood the fisherman's friend before to-day, and he isn't going taking off his cap to the best man that's setting foot on Tynwald Hill.”

It was agreed. Between that day and Tynwald day Pete was to enlist the sympathy of Philip, and to go to Port St. Mary to get the co-operation of the south-side fishermen. The town was astir by this time, the sun was on the beach, and the fishermen trooped off to bed.

IV.

Pete was back in his s.h.i.+p's cabin in the garden the same evening with a heart the heavier because for one short hour it had forgotten its trouble. The flowers were opening, the roses were creeping over the porch, the blackbird was singing at the top of the tree; but his own flower of flowers, his rose of roses, his bird of birds--where was she?

Summer was coming, coming, coming--coming with its light, coming with its music, coming with its sweetness--but she came not.

The clock struck seven inside the house, and Pete, pipe in hand, swung over to the gate. No need to-night to watch for the postman's peak, no need to trace his toes.

”A letter for you, Mr. Quilliam.”

Hearing these words, Pete, his eyes half shut as if dosing in the sunset, wakened himself with a look of astonishment.

”What? For me, is it? A letter, you say? Aw, I see,” taking it and turning it in his hand, ”just'a line from the mistress, it's like. Well, well! A letter for me, if you plaze,” and he laughed like a man much tickled.

He was in no hurry. He rammed his dead pipe with his finger, lit it again, sucked it, made it quack, drew a long breath, and then said quietly, ”Let's see what's her news at all.”

He opened the letter leisurely, and read bits of it aloud, as if reading to himself, but holding the postman while he did so in idle talk on the other side of the gate. ”And how are you living to-day, Mr. Kelly? Aw, h'm--_getting that much better_ it's extraordinary--Yes, a nice everin', very, Mr. Kelly, nice, nice--_that happy and comfortable and Uncle Joe is that good_--heavy bag at you to-night, you say? Aw, heavy, yes, heavy--_love to Grannie and all inquiring friends_--nothing, Mr. Kelly, nothing--just a scribe of a line, thinking a man might be getting unaisy. She needn't, though--she needn't. But chut! It's nothing.

Writing a letter is nothing to her at all. Why, she'd be knocking that off, bless you,” holding out a half sheet of paper, ”in less than an hour and a half. Truth enough, sir.” Then, looking at the letter again, ”What's this, though? PN. They're always putting a P.N. at the bottom of a letter, Mr. Kelly. P.N.--_I was expecting to be home before, but I wouldn't get away for Uncle Joe taking me to the theaytres_. Ha, ha, ha! A mighty boy is Uncle Joe. But, Mr. Kelly, Mr. Kelly,” with a solemn look, ”not a word of this to Caesar?”

The postman had been watching Pete out of the corners of his ferret eyes. ”Do you know, Capt'n, what Black Tom is saying?”

”What's that?” said Pete, with a sudden change of tone.

<script>