Part 15 (2/2)
She walked into a refreshment place and they 'ad cold meat and bread and pickles and beer and tarts and cheese, till even young Ted said he'd 'ad enough, but still they couldn't see any signs of Uncle Joe. They went on to the roundabouts to look for 'im, and then into all sorts o' shows at sixpence a head, but still there was no signs of 'im, and George had 'ad to start on a fresh bit o' paper to put down wot he'd spent.
”I suppose he must ha' been detained on important business,” ses Gerty, at last.
”Unless it's one of 'is jokes,” ses Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l, shaking her 'ead.
”You know wot your uncle is, Gerty.”
”There now, I never thought o' that,” ses Gerty, with a start; ”p'r'aps it is.”
”Joke?” ses George, choking and staring from one to the other.
”I was wondering where he'd get the money from,” ses Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l to Gerty. ”I see it all now; I never see such a man for a bit o' fun in all my born days. And the solemn way he went on last night, too. Why, he must ha' been laughing in 'is sleeve all the time. It's as good as a play.”
”Look here!” ses George, 'ardly able to speak; ”do you mean to tell me he never meant to come?”
”I'm afraid not,” ses Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l, ”knowing wot he is. But don't you worry; I'll give him a bit o' my mind when I see 'im.”
George Crofts felt as though he'd burst, and then 'e got his breath, and the things 'e said about Uncle Joe was so awful that Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l told the boys to go away.
”How dare you talk of my uncle like that?” ses Gerty, firing up.
”You forget yourself, George,” ses Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l. ”You'll like 'im when you get to know 'im better.”
”Don't you call me George,” ses George Crofts, turning on 'er. ”I've been done, that's wot I've been. I 'ad fourteen pounds when I was paid off, and it's melting like b.u.t.ter.”
”Well, we've enjoyed ourselves,” ses Gerty, ”and that's what money was given us for. I'm sure those two boys 'ave had a splendid time, thanks to you. Don't go and spoil all by a little bit o' temper.”
”Temper!” ses George, turning on her. ”I've done with you, I wouldn't marry you if you was the on'y gal in the world. I wouldn't marry you if you paid me.”
”Oh, indeed!” ses Gerty; ”but if you think you can get out of it like that you're mistaken. I've lost my young man through you, and I'm not going to lose you too. I'll send my two big cousins round to see you to-morrow.”
”They won't put up with no nonsense, I can tell you,” ses Mrs. Mitch.e.l.l.
She called the boys to her, and then she and Gerty, arter holding their 'eads very high and staring at George, went off and left 'im alone. He went straight off 'ome, counting 'is money all the way and trying to make it more, and, arter telling Bob 'ow he'd been treated, and trying hard to get 'im to go shares in his losses, packed up his things and cleared out, all boiling over with temper.
Bob was so dazed he couldn't make head or tail out of it, but 'e went round to see Gerty the first thing next morning, and she explained things to him.
”I don't know when I've enjoyed myself so much,” she ses, wiping her eyes, ”but I've had enough gadding about for once, and if you come round this evening we'll have a nice quiet time together looking at the furniture shops.”
OVER THE SIDE
Of all cla.s.ses of men, those who follow the sea are probably the most p.r.o.ne to superst.i.tion. Afloat upon the black waste of waters, at the mercy of wind and sea, with vast depths and strange creatures below them, a belief in the supernatural is easier than ash.o.r.e, under the cheerful gas-lamps. Strange stories of the sea are plentiful, and an incident which happened within my own experience has made me somewhat chary of dubbing a man fool or coward because he has encountered something he cannot explain. There are stories of the supernatural with prosaic sequels; there are others to which the sequel has never been published.
I was fifteen years old at the time, and as my father, who had a strong objection to the sea, would not apprentice me to it, I s.h.i.+pped before the mast on a st.u.r.dy little brig called the Endeavour, bound for Riga.
She was a small craft, but the skipper was as fine a seaman as one could wish for, and, in fair weather, an easy man to sail under. Most boys have a rough time of it when they first go to sea, but, with a strong sense of what was good for me, I had attached myself to a brawny, good-natured infant, named Bill Smith, and it was soon understood that whoever hit me struck Bill by proxy. Not that the crew were particularly brutal, but a sound cuffing occasionally is held by most seamen to be beneficial to a lad's health and morals. The only really spiteful fellow among them was a man named Jem Dadd. He was a morose, sallow-looking man, of about forty, with a strong taste for the supernatural, and a stronger taste still for frightening his fellows with it. I have seen Bill almost afraid to go on deck of a night for his trick at the wheel, after a few of his reminiscences. Rats were a favourite topic with him, and he would never allow one to be killed if he could help it, for he claimed for them that they were the souls of drowned sailors, hence their love of s.h.i.+ps and their habit of leaving them when they became unseaworthy. He was a firm believer in the transmigration of souls, some idea of which he had, no doubt, picked up in Eastern ports, and gave his s.h.i.+vering auditors to understand that his arrangements for his own immediate future were already perfected.
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