Part 19 (1/2)

Mamma was looking as well and beautiful as ever. She was on sick-leave; that was what the little yellow Malay lady wanted to convey.

What a happy, happy week that was. And every hour of it we spent with mother. The only drawback to our pleasure was that we could not see poor father. But when we came back--ah! then.

We had such good news at the end of the week, too--that is good news for Jill and me, not for the owners' profit, however, including Auntie Serapheema. It was simply that, owing to delay in lading and unlading, the _Salamander_ would not be ready for sea for another week. This was a respite we did not fail to take advantage of, and so we spent it in going everywhere and seeing everything, in company with mother, of course, and very often Peter.

I felt that I liked Peter now better than ever, because he was so deferential and polite to mamma. No Frenchman had more urbanity about him than Peter, when he concluded to show it.

How Jill and I wished that week had been a year. The Cape has always seemed to me a very delightful dreamy sort of a place. The scenery is so grand, there is health in every breeze, and the people do not hurry along in life as they do in the States of America, where one is surrounded by such a stream of fast-flowing life that he thinks he is behind the age if he does not sail with it. But at the Cape one can take time to vegetate and enjoy his existence.

Up anchor and away again. A few tears at parting, and hopes of a speedy reunion. It had felt funny, as Jill expressed it, to find mamma amidst such tropical surroundings, but there was a good time coming, and we might soon see her back in dear old Trafalgar Cottage.

Of course Peter and we had fun at the Cape, and Peter played a good many more of his monkey tricks; but one particular monkey trick was played on me by a smart-looking Portuguese fellow, whom I will not forget, but am never likely to meet, so I make a virtue of necessity by forgiving him.

It was on the forenoon of our sailing. Jill was already on board, and I myself was about to put off in the very last boat, when the man came up and politely touched his cap.

”I sent them all off, sir,” he said, ”and this is the little bill.”

I glanced at it. One pound 5 s.h.i.+llings 6 pence for various little nick-nacks, chiefly preserved fruits and other eatables.

”Ha!” I said to myself, ”this is strange.” Then aloud: ”I never ordered these things, my man.”

”You forget, sir. Only last night, sir, and you gave me sixpence to be sure to take them off in time. Will you come with me to the store?”

”No, no,” I said; ”it was my brother, doubtless. Here you are, one pound six s.h.i.+llings. Keep the sixpence because I suspected you.”

I did not see my brother to speak to till dinnertime.

”Fork over, old man,” I said, throwing him the bill. ”I paid that for you, and don't you forget your liabilities when next you leave a foreign port.”

Jill glanced at the bit of paper, and his look of blank astonishment told me at once I had been very neatly victimised. So much for being a twin.

Peter exploded in a hearty fit of laughter, which went rippling round the table; and though I looked a little blank--Jill said ”blue”--for a time, I presently joined in the mirth.

”You see, my boy,” said Captain Coates, ”that it is quite an expensive thing to keep a double.”

”Long may he keep his double,” said Mrs Coates.

I grew serious all at once. I glanced just once at poor Jill's innocent face, while a strange feeling of gloom rushed over my heart.

Keep my double! Why surely, I thought, it could never be otherwise. I must always have Jill--always, always. I could no more live without that brother of mine than I could exist without the air I breathe.

Perhaps dear Mrs Coates noticed the air of concern her words had inadvertently called up, for she made haste to change the subject. I do not know whether she did so very artistically or not, but very effectually.

”Have ever you seen oysters growing on trees, Mr Jeffries?” she asked.

How closely the sublime is ever a.s.sociated with the ridiculous in this world! Mirth itself or folly is never really very far away from grief.

The one merely turns its back to the other.