by W. W. Jacobs
Produced by David Widger
CAPTAINS ALL
By W.W. Jacobs
THE MADNESS OF MR. LISTER
"The Madness of Mr. Lister."]
Old Jem Lister, of the _Susannah,_ was possessed of two devils--the loveof strong drink and avarice--and the only thing the twain had in commonwas to get a drink without paying for it. When Mr. Lister paid for adrink, the demon of avarice masquerading as conscience preached ateetotal lecture, and when he showed signs of profiting by it, the demonof drink would send him hanging round public-house doors cadging fordrinks in a way which his shipmates regarded as a slur upon the entireship's company. Many a healthy thirst reared on salt beef and tickledwith strong tobacco had been spoiled by the sight of Mr. Lister standingby the entrance, with a propitiatory smile, waiting to be invited in toshare it, and on one occasion they had even seen him (him, Jem Lister,A.B.) holding a horse's head, with ulterior motives.
It was pointed out to Mr. Lister at last that his conduct was reflectingdiscredit upon men who were fully able to look after themselves in thatdirection, without having any additional burden thrust upon them. BillHenshaw was the spokesman, and on the score of violence (miscalledfirmness) his remarks left little to be desired. On the score ofprofanity, Bill might recall with pride that in the opinion of hisfellows he had left nothing unsaid.
"You ought to ha' been a member o' Parliament, Bill," said Harry Lea,when he had finished.
"It wants money," said Henshaw, shaking his head.
Mr. Lister laughed, a senile laugh, but not lacking in venom.
"That's what we've got to say," said Henshaw, turning upon him suddenly."If there's anything I hate in this world, it's a drinking miser. Youknow our opinion, and the best thing you can do is to turn over a newleaf now."
"Take us all in to the Goat and Compasses," urged Lea; "bring out some o'those sovrins you've been hoarding."
Mr. Lister gazed at him with frigid scorn, and finding that theconversation still seemed to centre round his unworthy person, went up ondeck and sat glowering over the insults which had been heaped upon him.His futile wrath when Bill dogged his footsteps ashore next day andrevealed his character to a bibulous individual whom he had almostpersuaded to be a Christian--from his point of view--bordered upon themaudlin, and he wandered back to the ship, wild-eyed and dry of throat.
For the next two months it was safe to say that every drink he had hepaid for. His eyes got brighter and his complexion clearer, nor washe as pleased as one of the other sex might have been when theself-satisfied Henshaw pointed out these improvements to his companions,and claimed entire responsibility for them. It is probable that Mr.Lister, under these circumstances, might in time have lived down histaste for strong drink, but that at just that time they shipped a newcook.
He was a big, cadaverous young fellow, who looked too closely after hisown interests to be much of a favourite with the other men forward. Onthe score of thrift, it was soon discovered that he and Mr. Lister hadmuch in common, and the latter, pleased to find a congenial spirit, wasdisposed to make the most of him, and spent, despite the heat, much ofhis spare time in the galley.
"You keep to it," said the greybeard impressively; "money was made to betook care of; if you don't spend your money you've always got it. I'vealways been a saving man--what's the result?"
The cook, waiting some time in patience to be told, gently inquired whatit was.
"'Ere am I," said Mr. Lister, good-naturedly helping him to cut acabbage, "at the age of sixty-two with a bank-book down below in mychest, with one hundered an' ninety pounds odd in it."
"One 'undered and ninety pounds!" repeated the cook, with awe.
"To say nothing of other things," continued Mr. Lister, with joyfulappreciation of the effect he was producing. "Altogether I've got alittle over four 'undered pounds."
The cook gasped, and with gentle firmness took the cabbage from him asbeing unfit work for a man of such wealth.
"It's very nice," he said, slowly. "It's very nice. You'll be able tolive on it in your old age."
Mr. Lister shook his head mournfully, and his eyes became humid.
"There's no old age for me," he said, sadly; "but you needn't tell them,"and he jerked his thumb towards the forecastle.
"No, no," said the cook.
"I've never been one to talk over my affairs," said Mr. Lister, in a lowvoice. "I've never yet took fancy enough to anybody so to do. No, mylad, I'm saving up for somebody else."
"What are you going to live on when you're past work then?" demanded theother.
Mr. Lister took him gently by the sleeve, and his voice sank with thesolemnity of his subject: "I'm not going to have no old age," he said,resignedly.
"Not going to live!" repeated the cook, gazing uneasily at a knife by hisside. "How do you know?"
"I went to a orsepittle in London," said Mr. Lister. "I've been to twoor three altogether, while the money I've spent on doctors is more than Ilike to think of, and they're all surprised to think that I've lived solong. I'm so chock-full o' complaints, that they tell me I can't livemore than two years, and I might go off at any moment."
"Well, you've got money," said the cook, "why don't you knock off worknow and spend the evenin' of your life ashore? Why should you save upfor your relatives?"
"I've got no relatives," said Mr. Lister; "I'm all alone. I 'spose Ishall leave my money to some nice young feller, and I hope it'll do 'imgood."
With the dazzling thoughts which flashed through the cook's brain thecabbage dropped violently into the saucepan, and a shower of coolingdrops fell on both men.
"I 'spose you take medicine?" he said, at length.
"A little rum," said Mr. Lister, faintly; "the doctors tell me that it isthe only thing that keeps me up--o' course, the chaps down there "--heindicated the forecastle again with a jerk of his head--"accuse me o'taking too much."
"What do ye take any notice of 'em for?" inquired the other, indignantly.
"I 'spose it is foolish," admitted Mr. Lister; "but I don't like beingmisunderstood. I keep my troubles to myself as a rule, cook. I don'tknow what's made me talk to you like this. I 'eard the other day you waskeeping company with a young woman."
"Well, I won't say as I ain't," replied the other, busying himself overthe fire.
"An' the best thing, too, my lad," said the old man, warmly. "It keepsyou stiddy, keeps you out of public-'ouses; not as they ain't good inmoderation--I 'ope you'll be 'appy."
A friendship sprang up between the two men which puzzled the remainderof the crew not a little.
The cook thanked him, and noticed that Mr. Lister was fidgeting with apiece of paper.
"A little something I wrote the other day," said the old man, catchinghis eye. "If I let you see it, will you promise not to tell a soul aboutit, and not to give me no thanks?"
The wondering cook promised, and, the old man being somewhat emphatic onthe subject, backed his promise with a home made affidavit of singularpower and profanity.
"Here it is, then," said Mr. Lister.
The cook took the paper, and as he read the letters danced before him.He blinked his eyes and started again, slowly. In plain black and whiteand nondescript-coloured finger-marks, Mr. Lister, after a generalstatement as to his bodily and mental health, left the whole of hisestate to the cook. The will was properly dated and witnessed, and thecook's voice shook with excitement and emotion as he offered to hand itback.
"I don't know what I've done for you to do this," he said.
Mr. Lister waved it away again. "Keep it," he said, simply; "whileyou've got it on you, you'll know it's safe."
From this moment a friendship sprang up between the two men which puzzled
the remainder of the crew not a little. The attitude of the cook was asthat of a son to a father: the benignancy of Mr. Lister beautiful tobehold. It was noticed, too, that he had abandoned the reprehensiblepractice of hanging round tavern doors in favour of going inside anddrinking the cook's health.
"A friendship sprang up between the two men which puzzledthe remainder of the crew not a little."]
For about six months the cook, although always in somewhat
