When you ride a young colt it is well to see that your saddle is well girt.
Prosperity attended the voyage; if that term may be applied to recovery of health. The sea-air—genial companionship had something to do with it—was pulling Dick round. He said he was a new man; received assurance of that fact from inspection of his reflection in the mirror.
Although his story was no longer visible on his face, it was in his heart; hidden away perhaps, but there still. He had left the stepping-stones of milk and beef-tea a long way behind; was walking through square meals as vigorously as any man aboard.
The friendship opened up in the little two-berth cabin had developed into the closest kind. On one side it had started garbed in the mantle of pretence. That was soon shed; sincerity taking its place.
Dick's fidelity was dog-like; he followed his companion about as if loath to lose sightof him. Masters had discovered in him artistic tendencies; the ability to draw well. It was long before Dick's hand ceased to remind one of a jelly; when it did, Masters asked, would Dick oblige him by doing something?
Oblige him? Dick repeated the question. Great Scott! Was there anything he could ask which he, Dick, wouldn't jolly well jump at the chance of doing. What did Charleigh take him for?
The story Masters was engaged on was to be illustrated; sketches were needed of the proposed drawings. So the author said, speaking quite casually.
As a matter of fact, he was anxious to find occupation for idle hands. Feared the provision, if he did not himself provide it, of less profitable work. Remembered a proverb to that effect: Satan filling a stellar part in it.
"Let me make them for you, will you?" Dick spoke eagerly. "I can draw properly, really; I've had drawings in theStrandandWindsor, and they're particular, you know. I did it because I loved the work; I had to give it up, because my hand——"
Masters interrupted him; was ever anxious to prevent a harking back to the old days of failure. Wanted his protégé to look forward,not backward: at the brightness ahead, not on the horror which he hoped was for ever left behind.
"My dear Dick, a thousand thanks! I shall be only too glad if you will."
That was the commencement of an even closer intercourse; the drawings drew them together. The sketches had to be thought out and considered. On smooth days were worked at with pencil on paper.
Dick's was really a skilled hand. And that hand of his—he took immense pride in the fact—was steady now. The ability is not given to every artist to do line work on a boat. The throbbing from the engine room usually permeates every part of the vessel.
So the two men would sit on deck, one writing and the other drawing. Sometimes the author's pen would suddenly cease work; cease for quite a while. Dick respected those pauses; imagined Charleigh to be thinking out the details of his work.
He was wrong. Masters was thinking of Miss Mivvins. Remorseful thoughts; remorse that he had ever wounded that generous, sweet soul; ever added by his harsh words to her burden of sorrow. Vainly regretful thoughts: regret that he had not met her earlier in life. A sigh usually marked Masters' emergence from dreamland. If he did notdirectly pick up his work again, his companion would open up conversation; one day said:
"I call you Prince, old fellow, because you told me to. Is it a nickname or your real name?"
Masters smiled; the sweet innocence of his godmother occurred to him; he said:
"Which do you think, now?"
"Well, I can't help thinking that Prince Charleigh seems too happy a combination to be the real thing. Real godmothers and godfathers don't hit on those things usually."
"Mine did not. Yet all the same I was christened, quite recently, Prince."
"Ah!" Dick's eyes sparkled; he fancied himself a discoverer. "I'll bet you a new hat I can guess the sex of the christener—a girl?"
"Splendid marksman! A bull's eye! Hit the centre of the target first time!"
A merry twinkle found place in the younger man's eyes as he inquired:
"Engaged to her, old fellow?"
"Well——"
Masters paused. Then, with a quiet smile and a long puff at his pipe, completed his sentence:
"We have spoken of marriage."
"Soon?"
"M'no. She's very young."
The quiet smile broadened on Masters' face; he remembered how very young!
"I have been writing this morning to my girl," said Dick. "We shall touch port today for stores, and be able to post letters, the Captain says."
"So I gathered."
"Did your ears burn this morning, old chap? My letter was full of you."
"Was it?"
Masters started; was troubled. His pipe was being smoked more vigorously than ever; he continued:
"I am sorry for that."
"Why? I told my girl who was responsible for my salvation. You.... Ah, don't shake your head, Prince. My living, my being here on this deck alive, sane, and, thank God! with a feeling of manhood strong in me, is due to you. But for you, I should have gone overboard.... Yes, I know it; I want you to know that I know it. I can never repay you, that's out of the region of possibility, but you might like to feel that you took a fellow-creature out of the slough, even if the fellow isn't worth much. You saved my life and you've made it worth living—to me, at any rate."
He spoke with a catch in his voice; gratitudemoved him. So earnest was his speech of thankfulness that it moved Masters also; Dick went on:
"I came aboard with the knowledge in my heart that I should make a hole in the water. I got my girl up to London, the only friend that has stuck to me, to say good-bye to her. And I meant it, Prince; meant it for a final good-bye, a good-bye for ever. Thanks to you, old chap, that's a thing of the past; the shadow has passed away."
"I hope, Dick—nay, more than hope—I am confident, never to return."
"I pray God so, Prince! I do! I do! I say that reverently. I pray God so. I'm a bit fearful of when this trip is over; just a bit; that's all that's wrong with me. You've been my anchor; I don't know how I shall ride on a tempting sea without you. You are not as other men—no, let me say it—I have clung to you, Prince, old fellow, like—well, like the ivy clings to the oak. I can't help thinking, when the oak's gone what's to become of the ivy."
"You'll go back home well, and find other ties."
Then he gave utterance to the phrase which had been persistently ringing in his ears so long:
"You will go back well enough to marry."
Dick started; smiled. The memory of that last interview came back to him too; he answered:
"That's what my girl says, Prince. But I don't feel at all like marrying: I'm not that sort."
"Not—that—sort!"
It seemed to Masters as if all the blood in his body suddenly turning scalding hot and black-coloured; filled his veins to bursting point. He sat quite still, motionless; fearful that if he moved, loosened for one instant his hold on himself, his feelings would be too much for him.
His trip, his care for Dick then, was so much labour thrown away.... He must keep that feeling, that desire to rush at the boy's throat and choke his worthless life out, keep it down. Nothing would be gained by loss of temper. It is the cool hammer which fashions the red-hot iron; he knew that, yet did not dare to look at his companion.
His stylographic pen was not of the best make; perhaps resented being held down so. The ink ran from it and made a blot on the paper. Although conscious of its existence he allowed the size of the blot to increase; still he made no movement.... At last he spoke; spoke so huskily thatDick looked up from his sketch. The moment he did so, he cried:
"Prince! Good God, old chap, what's the matter? Prince! Prince! You are ill!"
"I am quite well. Sit down; I am all right I tell you. I want to talk to you."
"Rot!"
The boy scrambled to his feet impatiently, looking in amazement at the white, drawn expression on his companion's face; continued:
"You're ill. Think I am blind? Come to the cabin and lie down."
"Sit down."
"Not for half a second!"
As he answered he was cramming the drawing materials into his pocket; continued:
"If you want to talk come into the cabin and lie down. I'll talk to you there till the doctor comes."
"Doctor! Don't be absurd! I am all right. I want to talk to——"
"Then come right along into the cabin out of this sun; talk there. It's my turn to give orders. I'm going."
He moved away as he spoke, throwing a glance over his shoulders: an anxious look. He was fearing greatly for the man whom he had grown to love.
Masters rose; staggered up really. That hot black blood seemed to rise with him, right up to his brain. Had the effect of making things go whirling round and round for a minute. Then with an immense effort he pulled himself together. Better perhaps in the cabin, out of earshot.
He must have his talk out with Master Dick.
Dick led the way; Masters followed; the cabin was reached. The moment they had entered, the author put his back against the door; spoke with a gravity which alarmed his companion:
"You and I have got to have a talk. Plain talk."
Dick's anxiety was evidenced in the tone of his voice as he said:
"All right, old son. Cackle for hours if you like. But I wish to goodness you'd lie down and see the doctor first."
Masters disregarded this; considered it a flippant, out-of-place remark; in inconceivably bad taste. Moreover, he was disgusted by Dick's evasion; by reason of it went himself the straighter to the point:
"We left off on deck at where you were talking of your girl. You said you were—were not of the marrying kind!"
"Eh? Yes, of course I said so. It is so. But what on earth does it matter what I said?"
Dick still looked anxious. Was making all due allowance for the fact that literary fellows are inclined to be cranks. Yet was doubtful whether the man with his back to the door was not overstepping the limits of legitimate and traditional crankiness.
"It matters a deal!"
Masters uttered these words so fiercely that—in no way relieved—Dick said:
"Does it? Well then, Prince, old fellow, if you're so anxious about my future as all that, I'll relieve your anxiety. I can truthfully tell you that I have never set eyes on a girl yet that I should be at all likely to marry. Wine's been my trouble, not women."
Once more the black blood surged up; a curtain seemed to come up before Masters' eyes; a thick misty curtain blotting things out. But he knew he must keep his temper in hand; exhibit only calmness. He would gain more that way: for the child's sake—for her sake.
"Dick." He spoke with all the earnestness in him. "Awhile back you spoke of being grateful to me. Said you would do anything to—to please me."
"So I would, old fellow; so I would. On my soul I would! But I wish to goodness you would lie——"
Dick's hand was placed soothingly on his companion's shoulder, as he spoke. Masters bore it, but interrupted expression of the wish that he would lie down; said:
"Suppose I put you to the test? If I ask you to marry your girl, will you do it?"
"No!"
Dick answered with a laugh. Despite the anxiety of which he was so full, he could not resist a feeling of amusement at the request; added emphatically:
"I most certainly will not."
Up surged the blood again; anger came into the eyes which flashed so; almost blinded their owner. A step forward, and he seized Dick by the shoulders; held him so firmly, as in a vice.
"Tell me." He was speaking from a throat the dryness of which made it hoarse. "After the way in which you have behaved to her—tell me why you refuse to marry her?"
Dick looked at his companion doubtfully; had not a trace of anger in doing so. Felt that in dealing with him the truth was the only thing; said:
"Refuse to marry her? Why, you confoundedold idiot, you! How on earth can a fellow marry his own sister?"
"Sister!"
Just the one word—he almost screamed it—that was all Masters could utter. He started away and released his hold. Fell back against the door, in the intensity of his astonishment, clutching wildly, unfeelingly, at the panels for support.
Dick's anxiety rapidly gained strength; he became more alarmed than ever. Formed the idea now that this was no passing faintness, but that Masters was seriously ill. Was even afraid to leave him standing there against the door, for fear he should fall. Suddenly, flinging off his coat, he cried:
"You're stronger than I am, and I guess I'll get the worst of it, but here goes."
He stood threateningly in front of the much bigger man, the light of determination in his eyes; continued:
"Will you lie down on that bunk and let me fetch you the doctor? Refuse, and as sure as I stand here I shall try my hardest to make you."
Masters pressed his hands to his aching, throbbing forehead. His mind was whirling so, that it was no wonder he staggered. His brain did not seem able to hold the blend: could not contain so much happiness and somuch condemnation of himself, for his unutterable foolishness. True to his threat, Dick advanced; Masters warded him off.
"Don't, Dick! Just a moment, old fellow.... I don't want a doctor. What you have just said has done me more good than a syndicate of all the doctors in the world could effect."
He laughed weakly, foolishly: by no means a confidence-inspiring laugh. The mirth, if such it could be called, and the change of tone were even more disturbing to the listener.
"What have I said? Here, Prince, you are going off your nut, old man; that's what's the matter with you! I thought it when you began this game, but I didn't like to say so; I must now. Sitting in the sun so much has given you a mild attack of sunstroke. If you've any feeling that you would like to knock me about, now's your time to indulge it; for I am going to try to make you come away from that door."
"Dick! My dear boy! I assure you I am all right! All I want is a talk——"
"Talk! Great Scott! Have you done anything else? This has been like a tabbies' tea-fight! There's been enough chatter to keep a tree-full of monkeys going! Talk! Christopher Columbus! It's been a perfect Niagara of jaw!"
"There, I'll lie in my bunk if it will please you, Dick."
"It's that, or sudden death from a blow of this ought-to-be brawny arm! Money or your life was never uttered more seriously than I am talking. The doctor——"
"Don't go for the doctor, Dick, please. I don't need him. I am all right now."
"I've only your word for that; I may tell you that your face doesn't lend any confirmation! You look as if you'd lost your seven senses and couldn't say Bo! to a goose! Are you better?... Really? Honour bright?"
"Yes, yes, yes. Tell me, Dick, if she is your sister, who is Gracie?"
It looked like a turning of the tables! Was Dick's turn to start and exhibit surprise. His was the wide-open-eyed-and-mouthed type of astonishment; showed plainly in his face; deception was a thing unknown to him. A moment's wondering silence; then he inquired:
"Who's Gracie? How the dickens did you know there was any Gracie? Why, she's her kid, of course; my little niece!"
At that the man in the bunk laughed. Almost his old hearty ringing laugh again. But even yet it retained a tone of wildness; he cried:
"Blind! Blind! Blind! What a crass idiot; what a senseless fool I have been!"
Dick scratched his head; these sudden changes of mood were too much for him; said:
"Well, you certainlyarebehaving in first-prize-gold-medal idiotic fashion! But the puzzle to me is, how the deuce did you know anything about little Gracie?"
"Know about her? I actually know her! Good heavens! How clear it all seems now."
"Does it? That's all right! I may be permitted to remark that our ideas on opaqueness would be likely to differ!"
"It was she—oh, Dick, Dick, Dick! Don't you understand?"
"How can I help doing so—when you are so lucid! You brainless old firework, you; let off some more crackers."
"Dick! Dick! It was she, she who christened me Prince!"
"What! Why, you said it was the girl to whom you had spoken about marriage!"
"Quite right."
The idea returned to Dick that there must be something wrong, very wrong—as he put it—in Masters' upper storey. Marriage! With Gracie! It was simply too absurd for words; he said:
"You jibbering old idiot, you, what do you mean? Gracie isn't five years old!"
"I know! I know! I know! And yet a month ago at Wivernsea I promised her, if when she grew up she wanted to marry me—which she won't—that I would."
"Wivernsea! Why, you know my sister!"
Masters started up. Gripped the boy by both shoulders and shook him. Happiness struggled with the tears in his eyes as he said:
"Dick, just a wee while ago—forgive me for it, laddie—I hated you! Now I love you! I love you! I love you! You've told me just the best news I've heard for years."
"That's all right, old man."
He shook himself free, and ruefully rubbing his shoulders, continued:
"What that news may be I don't know; it's beyond my intellect's horizon. However, as it pleases you it's sufficient—so long as it doesn't hurt me. Don't make me black and blue in the exuberance of your affection. As the poet hath it: It's all very well to dissemble your love, but why do you kick me downstairs?"
"I'm sorry, Dick—really sorry. Did I hurt you? I'm so full of happiness that I could kick myself for having been such a fool all this horrible long time."
"You speak in the past tense. Seems to me the foolishness is only just coming to a head!"
"Stop your chaff, there's a good fellow. You can use that later on. Just now it's almost life and death with me. What's your sister's full name, Dick?"
"Full name? Mabel Seton-Carr, of course!"
"Of course! Of course! Of course! Didn't Gracie write it in full in my book?"
"I'll be hanged if I know! I shouldn't think it would add to the book's sale if she did—with my remembrance of her pothooks and hangers. You don't live at Wivernsea, do you? I never heard that there was a lunatic asylum there!"
"Lived there for years!"
"Oh! Then perhaps you knew Mabel's husband, Seton-Carr, when he was alive?"
"When—he—was—alive?"
"Yes. Of course! You blithering old idiot, you; what are you looking at me like that for? You don't think that I am such an utter egregious ass as to suggest that you have known him since his death, do you?"
"How long, Dick—how long—how long has he been dead?"
"Nine—ten months now. Between ourselves,there was not much to regret when he added his signature to the big death-roll. Though it's not customary to speak truth of a man who can't speak for himself, is it?"
"Blind! Blind! Blind! She's a widow! Of course! What a fool—what a fool I have been!"
"Hear, hear—large-sized kind!"
Masters remained buried in thought for a few moments. The sudden opening of his eyes and the refreshing news were almost overpowering him.
Presently he looked up at his companion, who was watching him closely; said:
"You can't think, Dick, my dear boy, what a big fool I have been making of myself."
"No—I can't. If it was any foolishness bigger than your present size, it must have been simply colossal!"
"You told your sister of me in your letter. Did you mention me as Prince Charlie?"
"Of course!"
"She'll know! She'll guess! I am glad. Thanks! Thanks! Thanks!"
He seized and wrung the hand of the amazed Dick, utterly ignoring his feelings. Only felt that he must do something to relieve his own. He retained just sufficientself-control to keep himself from indulging in a wild dance of jubilation.
Dick, affecting to nurse crushed fingers, made an effort to get to the bottom of things. Usually he accepted circumstances without inquiry as to their source; but suspicion was roused in him now. It was suspicion of a kind that he wanted to make into certainty; he said:
"A few minutes ago you expressed regret that I had mentioned you at all in the letter."
"I know! But a few minutes ago things were all gloomy and black and ugly! Now they are all bright, rose-coloured and lovely. The sun has risen! The pulse of day is beginning to beat!"
"I say, old chap—how much a thousand words do you get for that kind of thing? You roll it off as naturally as water rolls off a duck's back."
"When do we reach London, Dick?"
"Reach London? Are you mad? Why, we haven't turned round on our homeward journey yet!"
"There's some sort of overland route, isn't there? We can get back quicker?"
"Quicker? You are mad! It was only this very morning that you were expressing regret that the time of the trip wasn't going to be double the length!"
"This morning was then! Now is now! Oh, Dick, you stony-hearted, wicked villain you!" He sprang laughingly over to the boy as he spoke. "Why didn't you say before——"
"Keep off!"
Dick, dodging, picked up the first thing his hands rested on and assumed a burlesque attitude of threat as he continued:
"Assault me again with one of your hundred-ton affectionate squeezes, and I'll blow your brains out with this telescope. Throw up your hands!"
"I surrender!"
Masters laughingly fell in with the other's burlesque melodramatic humour; continued:
"I am a bear, but a tamed one. I haven't a squeeze left in me!"
"Perhaps your Royal Highness is saving them up," suggested Dick, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. "I begin to have a grave suspicion—garnered from some of your rambling ravings—that you have designs on my sister!"
"I have, Dick, I have!"
"Open confession is good for the soul! But you don't fool me. I should be false to every sense of brotherly duty if I failed to warn her against your embraces. I shall bear the marks of one of them—on my shoulder—to the grave."
"Dear old Dick!" Masters started forward impulsively: "I am ever so sorry that——"
"Keep off! Keep off! If you don't I'll scream for help!"
Masters' thoughts went off at a tangent. Love is a leveller. Even authors, under the influence of that other circumstance to which all flesh is heir, are not superior to a passion for the conjunction of octavo sheets and pens. It found expression in Masters' exclamation:
"The letters!"
Dick, inexperienced in such matters, failed to understand. His denseness was irritating. He was aware of that, but only with intent to provoke, ejaculated:
"Eh?"
"The letters! Don't you understand? We haven't touched port yet—not near it."
"Four hours off yet."
"Then I shall have time to write to your sister myself."
"What—in four hours? Bold adventurer! If at first you don't succeed, try, try, try, again. Your bravery unmans me! Excuse these tears!"
"Clear out of this cabin, Dick, and leave me to myself. I want to write."
"What! For four hours? I'll be hangedif you do! Four hours of letter from a man in your condition would prove deadly to the woman receiving it. I won't be party to such inhumanity."
"Will you go out?"
"No, I won't! I paid the ship people for half this cabin, and I'm going to assert my rights.... Keep off, Prince Charlie. If you put a finger on me I'll have you tried by court-martial, and sentenced to walk the plank!"
"Will you leave peaceably then?"
"No, I won't; keep off!"
Dick was thoroughly enjoying the situation now; his face was one huge beaming grin as he continued:
"Besides, I am going to write a letter myself. To my sister, warning her against the introduction of a lunatic into the family. She has been good to me, and I shall take this opportunity of making some return for it."
"You wrote your letter to her this morning on deck with the stub of a pencil. Go and write the other the same way."
"Shan't! Can't: want ink. Couldn't describe your vile character in pencil; such labour necessitates ink: black ink."
"Out you go!"
"Keep off!... If you evict me frommy cabin—I believe you are a woild Oirish landlord in disguise, you spalpeen—I'll sue you for damages, and have you hanged at the yard arm."
"Out you go!"
That time the boy's dodging ended in failure; his laughter rather handicapped him. The other, laughing triumphantly, caught, struggled with and pushed him out of the cabin. Clapping the door to, bolted it.
Then Masters sought again his berth, intending to indulge in a little castle-building: aerial kind. Dick's tattooing on the door-panels with his fists eliciting no reply, he bent and shouted through the keyhole:
"You bushranging brigand! You buccaneering bandit! You blood-thirsty old skull-and-cross-bones, you! I've just remembered that this is piracy! Piracy on the high seas! I'm going straight to the Captain to get the handcuffs polished up. I'll make it my business to see you go back to England in irons. Put that in your pipe and smoke it."
With that he retired—to the accompaniment of a shrilly whistled Rule Britannia and a tramp as of soldiers. Masters was left the opportunity of writing his love-letter.
He came out of the land of dreams. Satdown at the table, and drew paper and pen towards him, implements of his trade. Spent time in looking at the paper, pen in hand, but no words were formed.
It seemed strange that a man who for many years had gained a living by dexterous juggling with words should be unable to shape them now. But they would not come, to his satisfaction.
"What can I say on paper," he thought, "which will exhibit my awakened conscience? Will be sufficiently contrite and penitent to appeal to her? Nothing! Half the meaning of a letter lies in the reading of it. She would be justified, fully justified, from her present point of view, if she were to throw it into the fire without reading it at all."
A look of gloom settled on his countenance; he asked himself:
"What right have I to write to her at all?—after the way in which I insulted her? To apologise on paper is the act of a coward. I must go to her, and hear her contempt of me. I deserve it."
He did not write his letter after all.
That determination of his, to wait, was a hard thing for Masters to adhere to. He knew it was a wholesome resolve; at the same time the pill was very bitter: uncoated kind.
It is so much easier to do things on the spur of the moment; courage is an unbidden lieutenant then. Later on the aid must consciously be gathered together.
Curiously enough, Masters experienced pleasure in making the way hard for himself; there was no attempt to boil the peas before putting them in his shoe. It seemed more just to her whom he had wronged, this penance: a flagellation of his soul, as it were.
"She must witness my utter, abject humility," he reflected. "Must hear my prayer for forgiveness of my doubt of her. My sorrow must be seen; I can't paint it inpen and ink. Whatever I wrote—oh, the voice is mightier than the pen!—she might refuse to forgive me. Besides, if she is forewarned, knows I intend seeking her, she may even refuse to see me. I won't give her the chance; I won't write at all."
That was his decision; the result of half-an-hour's close thought and the consumption of three pipes of tobacco. Then he sought his companion on deck. Braced himself up for the interview, rightly guessing the manner in which he would be assailed.
"Hullo!" Dick grinned. "What have you come up on deck for—inspiration? Think to infuse a sea-kissed salty air in your correspondence? I wouldn't lose any of that four hours if I were you. How many quires of my superfine cream-laid vellum note paper have you consumed so far? I know you haven't got any of your own."
"Not a sheet."
"Eh?"
"I have changed my mind."
"I deny the possibility of that! You haven't a mind to change!"
"I am not going to write a letter at all."
"What! After all this fuss too! Well, I am—there! After those absolutely brutal and unprovoked assaults on me too! Truly has the mountain laboured!"
"What I have to say shall be uttered orally."
"I doubt that! If my sister takes the advice I have given her in this letter, you'll never have a chance of getting within earshot. I have told her that you are the most violent, headstrong, ferocious, wrathful savage I ever met; that you are coming home. I have advised her to flee from the wrath to come."
"You are incorrigible, Dick."
"I like that! For pure and adulterated cheek, that annexes Huntley & Palmers' entire factory! I am viciously assaulted by a rabid lunatic. I am deprived of the use of ink and paper purchased with my own hard coin. I am thrown out of my cabin. And the man guilty of these foul crimes coolly stands in front of me with a pipe and a jeering remark in his mouth. Incorrigible!"
"My dear old Dick——"
Masters commenced a speech so; putting his hand on the boy's shoulder affectionately. He was interrupted by the cry of:
"Hands off!"
Dick assumed an appearance of abject fear, shivering like a calves-foot jelly. It was belied by the grin he could not keep off his face as he continued:
"No more of your affection! I want to walk ashore. I don't want to be carried on a stretcher, maimed for life."
Masters was in earnest: deadly earnest. He wished he could get his companion to veer round from his frivolous mood. There was a slight frown on his face, as he said:
"Will you be serious, Dick?"
The boy was not insensible to the intonation of the words. Looked up, saying:
"Well, what is it?"
"I want to talk to you about your sister."
The opportunity was too good to be missed; appealed irresistibly to the humorous side of the listener; frivolity gained the day. Dick's nature was such that happiness ever wanted to bubble up, and it was so long since he had felt inclined to give it a show. He emitted a groan; leaned back in the deck chair and thrust his hands into his pockets.
"I thought that," he said. "I guessed it! Existence aboard this lugger's going to be made a curse to me! I am going to have her drummed into my ears all the rest of the voyage."
"Dick!"
"Understand, Prince Charleigh, that I know her. Have known her for nearly one-and-twenty years. By your own showing, you have known her little more than a month.... Very well, two months then. It's out of your power to present her in any light in which I haven't seen her. I know the colour of her eyes, hair and teeth; the tilt of her nose and the length of it; how she looks when she's doing this, and how she looks when she's doing that. You understand? I'm not going to be bored all day long with your two-months old description of her."
"My dear Dick!"
Masters could not help laughing. Concluded that it would be best to let the boy run on. Necessarily he must reach the end of his tether, and his own turn would come then, when, in the natural course of things, the other's exuberance had subsided.
"You may laugh! You're infected. The disease is coursing through your veins. But you're not going to make a victim of me. When you feel it coming on, you just go to the bows—there's never any one there—and rhapsodize to the ship's figurehead. Spare me."
"Dick!"
Masters spoke quite patiently, smiling the while. He was giving the other his head; it was his best, his only, plan.
"Grin on, you old lunatic! But I warn you, if you seek to make my life a misery by pouring lover-like descriptions of my sisterinto my unwilling ear, I'll abandon myself to the mercy of the ocean, and sneak off alone in the Captain's gig."
"Well, I do want to talk to you about your sister."
Dick groaned again. He was in great good humour; his feet were beating a lively tattoo; Masters continued:
"But I don't propose now, or hereafter, to say one word about her appearance, manner or ways."
"Thanks, thanks, kind sir. For this relief much thanks. Excuse this emotion; they are tears of relief."
There was a limit; Masters was reaching it. Was forced into saying, half seriously, half jokingly:
"You are the most unsympathetic, hard-hearted brute that ever existed."
Dick grinned. It was exactly what he wanted to hear; took the utterance as the greatest possible compliment. He was succeeding admirably; restraining his delight, he said:
"Your flattery is too subtle. You wrap it up too much: like an American caramel. Please remember that my perception is not as delicate as yours."
"There is one thing I wanted to ask you, but whilst you are in this mood, I won't."
He turned to walk away. Dick realized the possibility of carrying a joke too far; in a minute was all repentance. He would not have wounded his friend's feelings for worlds; called out:
"Come back.... Orate. I'll be as sober as a judge."
He fully meant that.
Masters walked back to where Dick was sitting; stood facing the boy again. It was plain that he was really worried; evidently had something on his mind. Dick paid as much quiet attention as it was possible for him to bestow as the author spoke:
"You will oblige me very much by listening. This business reminds me of the boys and the frog, and I am not finding the rôle of frog a pleasant one to fill. If you will drop stone throwing and let me croak, I shall take it as a particular favour."
"Croak on."
"When I told you that I had lived at Wivernsea for years, I should have said only a month in each year. I go down there each October."
"This is of absorbing interest!"
Dick's intentions were good, but his highspirits got the better of him. The look on his companion's face induced him to settle for another effort of solemnity.
"It was necessary for me to tell you that; by way of explanation of how little I know of Ivy Cottage!"
"Croak on."
Masters was leaning against the handrail, his fingers handling the ropes which supported the lifeboat. He put both arms through and, resting so, spoke on:
"People in Wivernsea—who don't know your sister—don't speak well of the place, Dick."
"What do you mean—haunted?"
"No. Worse than that."
The gravity in the speaker's manner was not without its effect on the boy. A spasm of pain shot across his face; he sat up soberly enough now. The feet ceased their drumming; the hands came out of his pockets; the air of nonchalance fell from him like a mask.
"Worse? What?"
"That is what I am anxious to have explained. In a sense, it is no business of mine, but I want it cleared up for your sister's sake; and I think you ought to know."
"What?"
"This tittle-tattle I am referring to. Itgoes to the length of saying that people living at Ivy Cottage go under false names. That not long since, the sheriff was in possession under a warrant of execution and the furniture was seized. Of course, I know they are all lies——"
"You're wrong, Prince. There is a basis of truth in it."
Masters started in surprise. Dick's head was bent, to hide the flush of shame on his face. He spoke in a troubled voice; then suddenly lifted his head; meant to speak honestly, said:
"I am the foundation of that; the miserable cause of that rumour."
"You!"
"Yes. You can't help despising my meanness when I have told you, even if you don't already. It is due to you that I should explain how it came about. I have had drinking bouts similar to the last one you helped me out of——"
"Thelast one."
"Please God—yes; the last one. At the commencement of one of them, about six months ago, I fell an easy victim to some card-sharpers; I was a stranger within their gates and they took me in—literally. I had no more idea what I was playing than I had of the character of the players. A thousandpounds was the amount they said I had lost, and I was too far gone to deny it. Of course I had not that money on me. I was made to sign a cheque they drew on my bankers on a half-sheet of note paper with a penny stamp stuck on it."
"I see."
"I was reaching the shaky stage then, Prince, when the hands need a ton-weight pressure to prevent their acting like aspen leaves. The bank refused payment on the ground of 'difference of signature.' The card-sharping people consulted the six-and-eightpenny fraternity and issued a writ for that thousand pounds. Served it on me whilst I was lying in bed in a state of mental insensibility."
"Is it possible? I wonder the process-server was allowed to enter your room."
"He was the kind that could not be kept out. They had a wily little lawyer acting for them—I found this all out afterwards, of course. He found out the name of the medical man attending me and presented himself as the doctor's assistant; so served me."
"What a beastly trick!"
"Success attended its performance, though. The game was in their own hands, and they were playing it by the end-justifying-the-meansrule. Eight days after service judgment was signed and an execution was put in at my sister's house at Wivernsea."
"Why on earth there?"
"Part of the game they were playing. They had made inquiries, and found that I was living in London at the time in a furnished flat. I suppose they relied on my sister paying the execution out."
"Which she did?"
"She flew up to London, and consulted our family lawyer. He looked into the thing at the Law Courts; read the affidavit of service and things of that sort; saw that the whole matter was in order. They came on to see me, but I was in the snakes-on-the-wall stage at the time; didn't know them from Adam and Eve. The family lawyer—one of the best, but rather inclined to look on the breath of scandal as a fatal thing—advised a settlement. Said that, even if she turned the execution out, they might proceed against me in bankruptcy. Pointed out that expenses were piling up, and—well, Sis paid the sheriff."
"How ghastly!"
"I used a stronger word. My adjectives were like fireworks, then I came round and learnt what had been done: but it was too late. All I could do was to give Sis a chequefor what was paid, and ask her to forgive me; which, dearest of dear souls, she has done a dozen times in my miserable life."
Dick looked the picture of dejection by the time he had finished. Masters was not, however, observing him: was following out his own train of thought.
"Of course. That explains. News of a thing like that, and in another name too, would speedily spread over a small place like Wivernsea."
"As easily as jam is spread on a piece of bread. I never thought of that, though. What a beast—what a perfect beast I have been!"
Dick was of an excitable temperament: the alcohol in his thermometer—his spirits—was ever at the fever-heat of exuberance or deep down at the zero of dejection. But little was needed to carry him to either extreme: therein lay his danger. Masters knew it; yet he said:
"If I had only known all this a few weeks ago, I should not be on this boat now."
"I am glad you lacked the knowledge, then, Prince. For if you hadn't come aboard when you did, I shouldn't be here either."
Masters regretted his reproachful speech the moment it was uttered. Instantlychanged its tone; put up a warning finger as he cried threateningly:
"Dick!"
"I know it, dear old chap; I know what my intent was. But don't let's talk about it now."
"Or ever again."
The cloud cleared from the lad's face; he responded heartily:
"Right!"
At the moment the gong sounded in the engine-room. An air of bustle pervaded the ship. They looked to discover the cause.
"Hullo! Why, look here! Here we are at Madeira."
They were. So absorbed had they been in conversation as not to notice how near they were to land. The usual excitement of a stoppage now occupied their attention.
The vessel was to stay at Madeira for a time. Stores had to be taken in and the passengers allowed a chance of seeing the place before the vessel was turned for her homeward voyage.
Masters and Dick spent their whole time on shore; always in each other's company. The author explained that he liked sympathy in his admiration for the lions of the port. The one made many sketches and the other many mental notes.
They were quite good friends again.
Two days after;La Mascottesteamed away from Madeira. The list of the ship's passengers had been added to. Two new persons were aboard, returning to England.
Masters and Dick were seated on deck in their usual places. The one writing, the other sketching; suddenly a voice behind them said:
"If it were needed, here is more evidence of the smallness of the world."
The voice had that settled Society drawl about it. Particularly unwelcome hearing away from its proper setting: the surroundings in which it is usually to be heard. In its own sphere it is bad enough; is positively jarring in the unconventional atmosphere of aboard-ship life.
At any rate, Dick found it so, if judgment might be framed from his expression. Helooked the reverse of pleased, but subdued the feeling as he turned round and spoke:
"Hullo! I didn't see you come aboard. How do you do, old fellow? How do you do, Miss Chantrelle?... Let me introduce Mr. Masters to you." He knew his friend's real name now, and was rather proud of it. "Mr. William Masters.... Yes, the novelist—Miss Chantrelle... Her brother, Percy Chantrelle."
They formed, more or less, a quartette on the voyage home. Dick saw he was in for it and could not help himself—easy-going Dick! Occasionally they paired off: Miss Chantrelle and Dick and the two men.
Masters prided himself on possession of an ability to read faces; he had no liking for the two new ones which had come aboard at Madeira. Miss Chantrelle's more especially repelled him. Not because he preferred her brother; rather that he set up a higher standard as necessary for women than men.
Human nature was a power Masters ever recognized. He could forgive a man being hard, calculating and selfish, but not a woman; in Miss Chantrelle's face he read all those attributes. Still, they were Dick's friends, more or less; so, in a measure, they became his.
Amy Chantrelle was equally quick in facialperusal; speedily read distrust in Masters'. She had not lived in the world without acquiring its knowledge; was wise enough to appreciate the power in others she possessed herself. She was a distinctly clever, shrewd, woman of the world.
Nothing would have arisen from all this, but for the rattling of Master Dick's tongue. He told of Prince Charlie's matrimonial intent: the possibility of friend merging into brother-in-law. At heart he was so proud of this possibility that he would have liked to proclaim it from the house-tops—masthead would perhaps have been a more suitable word.
Miss Chantrelle listened with interest; scarcely sympathetic interest, but the distinction was not obvious. It was unobserved by Dick, and he felt himself encouraged to expound the subject he had so much at heart. Was led on to so doing by skilfully-put questions such as only a woman would know how to frame.
Amy Chantrelle was greatly displeased; all her sympathy was assumed. The Chantrelles were poor. Both brother and sister were well-favoured; each looked to marriage as a little boat in which the storm of life might be weathered.
They inclined to the belief that Percywas a favourite with Mrs. Seton-Carr. Now that she was a widow there was hope, a very strong hope too, in their hearts that she might be induced to change her name to that of Chantrelle.
As a matter of fact, they were coming to England for the very purpose of trying to induce her to do so; the Seton-Carr bank balance serving as the lodestone.
They had imagined her left fairly well-to-do, but when they saw in the newspapers the amount her husband's estate was sworn under, their breaths were taken away! They promptly packed and set out for England, home and beauty—not forgetting the aforesaid credit balance.
They were greatly disturbed by what they heard on the boat: when Dick told of the position Masters was hoping to fill. The disturbance rapidly shaped into indignation: they looked on it as an endeavour to take the bread from out their mouths. The pleasant voyage they had looked forward to was not without its unpleasant moments.
"Never mind, Percy." The sister speaking to her brother one day. "Given a clear field, you will go in and win yet."
"The clearness of the field is——"
"Leave that to me; I'll make it my business to see that you have a clear field."
The brother shook his head as he responded gloomily:
"Easier said than done, I fancy, Sis. I'm not overbrimming with hope."
"There is no need for despondency. We will arrange to go to Wivernsea right off. That young fool Dick is finger-twistable: I can make him do anything."
The brother needed more than mere words to convince him; observed sneeringly:
"Except propose marriage to you!"
An ugly light came into her eyes. His shaft had gone in up to the feather; she spoke bitterly:
"Yes. He is not of the impressionable kind. I don't suppose any woman will ever get him."
"Odds on that, Amy, if you fail to bring him up to the scratch."
"But I can make him arrange for us to visit there. His sister thinks everything of him.... Masters won't go there."
"Don't be so sure of that."
"I am. He is one of those thin-skinned, sensitive sort of beasts. There has been some misunderstanding—probably of his own creation—which he counts on being able to wipe away. But he has never stayed there; we have. He goes year after year to roomsin the place; he'll put up at the same rooms again."
"Think so?"
"Am certain of it. I can read the man as easily—well, as easily as his books are read."
"Yes, he's read. A popular writer like that must be earning pots of money in royalties. Might be worth setting your cap at, Amy."
He looked at his sister critically. She was a handsome girl. The face a trifle hard, perhaps, but not every man goes in for melting beauty; some look for character—so thought her brother.
Bitter laughter shaped on her lips at her brother's suggestion; a woman ever takes defeat badly; she replied:
"I am not his sort; I am not the kind of woman he writes about! He can dissect me, probably has done so, as easily as you can carve a pigeon. Besides, he's dead gone on Mabel."
"Curse him!"
"By all means. But whatever you do, don't fear him. Outwardly he is as cold as ice; inside there is a raging volcano. Women don't hanker after that kind of love, if there's anything more outwardly tempestuous: like yourself. They are apt to judge of the surface."
"Thanks!"
"Oh! It's true; we don't want to mince words. That's where the average woman makes a fool of herself; where your chance comes in. Masters is worth fifty of you, but there are no scales to balance or register values of that kind."
"Thanks again!"
"Oh, we know it, you and I. We can speak to each other without putting foot on the soft pedal. He has a nature which would make him stick to a woman till, literally, death did them part. Yours is of the type which would prompt thoughts of a separation the moment the woman's bank balance ran out."
"And you?"
He could not resist the sneer; she had fingered a sore place. But he did not hurt her this time; she owned up at once:
"Cast in the same mould! I did not mean blame to you. My own glass-house prevents stone-throwing. I was merely stating facts; I would not have them otherwise. Men like Masters are profitless in this world. When virtue is its own reward, the reward is usually too small to be seen with the naked eye. I have a distinct preference for qualifications which are otherwise."
Percy smiled. Was full of admirationpoints for his sister. She was the stronger of the two: he ever recognized that; she continued bitterly:
"Virtue is all very well for woman: it may serve her purpose. For a man it is a useless luxury."
His own non-possession of it made him smile again; she went on:
"As you don't seem inclined to take the initiative I shall do so myself. Before we reach Wivernsea, Mabel will have received a letter from me. I am going to write it ready to post at the first port we touch. It will go by the overland route."
It did.