Short Cruises. William Wymark Jacobs

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СКАЧАТЬ replied the girl. “Bert,” she added, as the other shook his head.

      “Oh, the cook!” said the skipper. “I didn’t know his name was Jewell. Yes, he’s in the galley.”

      He stood eyeing her and wondering in a dazed fashion what she could see in a small, white-faced, slab-sided—

      The girl broke in upon his meditations. “How does he cook?” she inquired, smiling.

      He was about to tell her, when he suddenly remembered the cook’s statement as to his instructor. “He’s getting on,” he said, slowly; “he’s getting on. Are you his sister?”

      The girl smiled and nodded. “Ye—es,” she said, slowly. “Will you tell him I am waiting for him, please?”

      The skipper started and drew himself up; then he walked forward and put his head in at the galley.

      “Bert,” he said, in a friendly voice, “your sister wants to see you.”

      “Who?” inquired Mr. Jewell, in the accents of amazement. He put his head out at the door and nodded, and then, somewhat red in the face with the exercise, drew on his jacket and walked towards her. The skipper followed.

      “Thank you,” said the girl, with a pleasant smile.

      “You’re quite welcome,” said the skipper.

      Mr. Jewell stepped ashore and, after a moment of indecision, shook hands with his visitor.

      “If you’re down this way again,” said the skipper, as they turned away, “perhaps you’d like to see the cabin. We’re in rather a pickle just now, but if you should happen to come down for Bert to-morrow night—”

      The girl’s eyes grew mirthful and her lips trembled. “Thank you,” she said.

      “Some people like looking over cabins,” murmured the skipper.

      He raised his hand to his cap and turned away. The mate, who had just come on deck, stared after the retreating couple and gave vent to a low whistle.

      “What a fine gal to pick up with Slushy,” he remarked.

      “It’s his sister,” said the skipper, somewhat sharply.

      “The one that taught him to cook?” said the other, hastily. “Here! I’d like five minutes alone with her; I’d give ‘er a piece o’ my mind that ‘ud do her good. I’d learn ‘er. I’d tell her wot I thought of her.”

      “That’ll do,” said the skipper; “that’ll do. He’s not so bad for a beginner; I’ve known worse.”

      “Not so bad?” repeated the mate. “Not so bad? Why”—his voice trembled—“ain’t you going to give ‘im the chuck, then?”

      “I shall try him for another vy’ge, George,” said the skipper. “It’s hard lines on a youngster if he don’t have a chance. I was never one to be severe. Live and let live, that’s my motto. Do as you’d be done by.”

      “You’re turning soft-’arted in your old age,” grumbled the mate.

      “Old age!” said the other, in a startled voice, “Old age! I’m not thirty-seven yet.”

      “You’re getting on,” said the mate; “besides, you look old.”

      The skipper investigated the charge in the cabin looking-glass ten minutes later. He twisted his beard in his hand and tried to imagine how he would look without it. As a compromise he went out and had it cut short and trimmed to a point. The glass smiled approval on his return; the mate smiled too, and, being caught in the act, said it made him look like his own grandson.

      It was late when the cook returned, but the skipper was on deck, and, stopping him for a match, entered into a little conversation. Mr. Jewell, surprised at first, soon became at his ease, and, the talk drifting in some unknown fashion to Miss Jewell, discussed her with brotherly frankness.

      “You spent the evening together, I s’pose?” said the skipper, carelessly.

      Mr. Jewell glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Cooking,” he said, and put his hand over his mouth with some suddenness.

      By the time they parted the skipper had his hand in a friendly fashion on the cook’s shoulder, and was displaying an interest in his welfare as unusual as it was gratifying. So unaccustomed was Mr. Jewell to such consideration that he was fain to pause for a moment or two to regain control of his features before plunging into the lamp-lit fo’c’sle.

      The mate made but a poor breakfast next morning, but his superior, who saw the hand of Miss Jewell in the muddy coffee and the cremated bacon, ate his with relish. He was looking forward to the evening, the cook having assured him that his sister had accepted his invitation to inspect the cabin, and indeed had talked of little else. The boy was set to work house-cleaning, and, having gleaned a few particulars, cursed the sex with painstaking thoroughness.

      It seemed to the skipper a favorable omen that Miss Jewell descended the companion-ladder as though to the manner born; and her exclamations of delight at the cabin completed his satisfaction. The cook, who had followed them below with some trepidation, became reassured, and seating himself on a locker joined modestly in the conversation.

      “It’s like a doll’s-house,” declared the girl, as she finished by examining the space-saving devices in the state-room. “Well, I mustn’t take up any more of your time.”

      “I’ve got nothing to do,” said the skipper, hastily. “I—I was thinking of going for a walk; but it’s lonely walking about by yourself.”

      Miss Jewell agreed. She lowered her eyes and looked under the lashes at the skipper.

      “I never had a sister,” continued the latter, in melancholy accents.

      “I don’t suppose you would want to take her out if you had,” said the girl.

      The skipper protested. “Bert takes you out,” he said.

      “He isn’t like most brothers,” said Miss Jewell, shifting along the locker and placing her hand affectionately on the cook’s shoulder.

      “If I had a sister,” continued the skipper, in a somewhat uneven voice, “I should take her out. This evening, for instance, I should take her to a theatre.”

      Miss Jewell turned upon him the innocent face of a child. “It would be nice to be your sister,” she said, calmly.

      The skipper attempted to speak, but his voice failed him. “Well, pretend you are my sister,” he said, at last, “and we’ll go to one.”

      “Pretend?” said Miss Jewell, as she turned and eyed the cook. “Bert wouldn’t like that,” she said, decidedly.

      “N—no,” said the cook, nervously, avoiding the skipper’s eye.

      “It wouldn’t be proper,” said Miss Jewell, sitting upright and looking very proper indeed.

      “I—I meant Bert to come, too,” said the skipper; “of course,” he added.

      The severity of Miss Jewell’s СКАЧАТЬ