Part 19 (1/2)

”Ras.h.!.+” laughed I. ”I'll cut off the reef points! Rash? There won't be a skipper can carry sail with me! I'll get the fish--an' I'll see to it that my masters does. Then I'll push our trade north an' south. Ay, I will! Oh, I knows what I'll do, Bessie, for I been talkin' with the doctor, an' we got it split an' dried. Hard work an' fair dealing, mum; that's what's t' do it. Our father's way, mum: honest scales on the wharf an' full weight at the counter. 'Twill be that or bust----”

”Why, Davy,” she exclaimed, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng, ”you're talkin' like a growed man!”

”Ay, ecod!” I boasted, flattered by the inference, ”'twill not be many years afore we does more trade in our harbour than they does at the big stores o' Wayfarer's Tickle.”

A low growl, coming from the shadows in the hall, brought me to a full stop; and upon the heels of that a fantastic e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n:

”Scuttle me!”

So sudden and savage the outburst, so raucous the voice, so charged with angry chagrin--the whole so incongruous with soft dreams and evening light--that 'twas in a s.h.i.+ver of terror my sister and I turned to discover whose presence had disturbed us.

The intruder stood in the door--a stubby, grossly stout man, thin-legged, thick-necked, all body and beard: clad below in tight trousers, falling loose, however, over the boots; swathed above in an absurdly inadequate pea-jacket, short in the sleeves and b.u.t.toned tight over a monstrous paunch, which laboured (and that right st.u.r.dily) to burst the bonds of its confinement, but succeeded only in creating a vast confusion of wrinkles. His att.i.tude was that of a man for the moment amazed beyond utterance: his head was thrown back, so that of his face nothing was to be seen but a short, ragged growth of iron-gray beard and a ridge of bushy eyebrow; his hands were plunged deep in his trousers pockets, which the fists distended; his legs, the left deformed (being bent inward at the knee), were spread wide. In the shadows beyond lurked a huge dog--a mighty, sullen beast, which came stepping up, with lowered head, to peer at us from between his master's legs.

”I'll be scuttled,” said the man, bringing his head forward with a jerk, ”if the little c.o.c.k wouldn't cut into the trade o' Wayfarer's Tickle!”

Having thus in a measure mastered his amazement (and not waiting to be bidden), he emerged from the obscurity of the doorway, advanced, limping heavily, and sat himself in my father's chair, from which, his bandy legs comfortably hanging from the table, where he had disposed his feet, he regarded me in a way so sinister--with a glance so fixed and ill-intentioned--that his great, hairy face, malformed and mottled, is clear to me to this day, to its last pimple and wrinkle, its bulbous, flaming nose and bloodshot eyes, as though 'twere yesterday I saw it.

And there he sat, puffing angrily, blowing his nose like a whale, scowling, ejaculating, until (as I've no doubt) he conceived us to have been reduced to a condition of trepidation wherein he might most easily overmaster us.

”Scuttled!” he repeated, fetching his paunch a resounding thwack.

”Bored!”

Thereupon he drew from the depths of his trousers pocket a disreputable clay pipe, filled it, got it alight, noisily puffed it, darting little glances at my sister and me the while, in the way of one outraged--now of reproach, now of righteous indignation, now betraying uttermost disappointment--for all the world as though he had been pained to surprise us in the thick of a conspiracy to wrong him, but, being of a meek and most forgiving disposition, would overlook the offense, though 'twas beyond his power, however willing the spirit, to hide the wound our guilt had dealt him. Whatever the object of this display, it gave me a great itching to retreat behind my sister's skirts, for fear and shame. And, as it appeared, he was quick to conjecture my feeling: for at once he dropped the fantastic manner and proceeded to a quiet and appallingly lucid statement of his business.

”I'm Jagger o' Wayfarer's Tickle,” said he, ”an' I'm come t' take over this trade.”

”'Tis not for sale,” my sister answered.

”I wants the trade o' this harbour,” said he, ignoring her, ”on my books. An' I got t' have it.”

”We're wantin' my father's business,” my sister persisted, but faintly now, ”for Davy, when he's growed.”

”I'm able t' buy you out,” Jagger pursued, addressing the ceiling, ”or run you out. 'Tis cheaper an' quicker t' buy you out. Now,” dropping his eyes suddenly to my sister's, ”how much are you askin' for this here trade?”

”'Tis not for sale.”

”Not for sale?” roared he, jumping up.

”No, zur,” she gasped.

”If I can't buy it,” he cried, in a rage, driving the threat home with an oath peculiarly unfit for the ears of women, ”I'll break it!”

Which brought tears to my tender sister's eyes; whereupon, with a good round oath to match his own, I flew at him, in a red pa.s.sion, and, being at all times agile and now moved to extraordinary effort, managed to inflict some damage on his s.h.i.+ns before he was well aware of my intention--and that so painful that he yelped like a hurt cur. But he caught me by the arms, which he jammed against my ribs, lifted me high, cruelly shaking me, and sat me on the edge of the table in a fas.h.i.+on so sudden and violent that my teeth came together with a snap: having done which, he trapped my legs with his paunch, and thus held me in durance impotent and humiliating, so that I felt mean, indeed, to come to such a pa.s.s after an attack impetuously undertaken and executed with no little gallantry and effect. And he brought his face close to mine, his eyes flaring and winking with rage, his lips lifted from his yellow, broken teeth; and 'twas in his mind, as I perceived, to beat me as I had never been beaten before.

”Ye crab!” he began. ”Ye little----”

”The dog!” my sister screamed.