by W. W. Jacobs
Produced by David Widger
ODD CRAFT
By W.W. Jacobs
ADMIRAL PETERS
Mr. George Burton, naval pensioner, sat at the door of his lodgingsgazing in placid content at the sea. It was early summer, and the airwas heavy with the scent of flowers; Mr. Burton's pipe was cold andempty, and his pouch upstairs. He shook his head gently as he realisedthis, and, yielding to the drowsy quiet of his surroundings, laid asidethe useless pipe and fell into a doze.
"Sat at the door of his lodgings gazing in placid contentat the sea."]
He was awakened half an hour later by the sound of footsteps. A tall,strongly built man was approaching from the direction of the town, andMr. Burton, as he gazed at him sleepily, began to wonder where he hadseen him before. Even when the stranger stopped and stood smiling downat him his memory proved unequal to the occasion, and he sat staring atthe handsome, shaven face, with its little fringe of grey whisker,waiting for enlightenment.
"George, my buck," said the stranger, giving him a hearty slap on theshoulder, "how goes it?" "D--- _Bless_ my eyes, I mean," said Mr.Burton, correcting himself, "if it ain't Joe Stiles. I didn't know youwithout your beard."
"That's me," said the other. "It's quite by accident I heard where youwere living, George; I offered to go and sling my hammock with old Dinglefor a week or two, and he told me. Nice quiet little place, Seacombe.Ah, you were lucky to get your pension, George."
"I deserved it," said Mr. Burton, sharply, as he fancied he detectedsomething ambiguous in his friend's remark.
"Of course you did," said Mr. Stiles; "so did I, but I didn't get it.Well, it's a poor heart that never rejoices. What about that drink youwere speaking of, George?"
"I hardly ever touch anything now," replied his friend.
"I was thinking about myself," said Mr. Stiles. "I can't bear the stuff,but the doctor says I must have it. You know what doctors are, George!"
Mr. Burton did not deign to reply, but led the way indoors.
"Very comfortable quarters, George," remarked Mr. Stiles, gazing roundthe room approvingly; "ship-shape and tidy. I'm glad I met old Dingle.Why, I might never ha' seen you again; and us such pals, too."
His host grunted, and from the back of a small cupboard, produced abottle of whisky and a glass, and set them on the table. After amomentary hesitation he found another glass.
"Our noble selves," said Mr. Stiles, with a tinge of reproach in histones, "and may we never forget old friendships."
Mr. Burton drank the toast. "I hardly know what it's like now, Joe," hesaid, slowly. "You wouldn't believe how soon you can lose the taste forit."
Mr. Stiles said he would take his word for it. "You've got some nicelittle public-houses about here, too," he remarked. "There's one Ipassed called the Cock and Flowerpot; nice cosy little place it would beto spend the evening in."
"I never go there," said Mr. Burton, hastily. "I--a friend o' mine heredoesn't approve o' public-'ouses."
"What's the matter with him?" inquired his friend, anxiously.
"It's--it's a 'er," said Mr. Burton, in some confusion.
Mr. Stiles threw himself back in his chair and eyed him with amazement.Then, recovering his presence of mind, he reached out his hand for thebottle.
"We'll drink her health," he said, in a deep voice. "What's her name?"
"Mrs. Dutton," was the reply.
Mr. Stiles, with one hand on his heart, toasted her feelingly; then,filling up again, he drank to the "happy couple."
"She's very strict about drink," said Mr. Burton, eyeing theseproceedings with some severity.
"Any--dibs?" inquired Mr. Stiles, slapping a pocket which failed to ringin response.
"She's comfortable," replied the other, awkwardly. "Got a littlestationer's shop in the town; steady, old-fashioned business. She'schapel, and very strict."
"Just what you want," remarked Mr. Stiles, placing his glass on thetable. "What d'ye say to a stroll?"
Mr. Burton assented, and, having replaced the black bottle in thecupboard, led the way along the cliffs toward the town some half-miledistant, Mr. Stiles beguiling the way by narrating his adventures sincethey had last met. A certain swagger and richness of deportment wereexplained by his statement that he had been on the stage.
"Only walking on," he said, with a shake of his head. "The only speakingpart I ever had was a cough. You ought to ha' heard that cough, George!"
Mr. Burton politely voiced his regrets and watched him anxiously. Mr.Stiles, shaking his head over a somewhat unsuccessful career, was makinga bee-line for the Cock and Flowerpot.
"Just for a small soda," he explained, and, once inside, changed his mindand had whisky instead. Mr. Burton, sacrificing principle to friendship,had one with him. The bar more than fulfilled Mr. Stiles's ideas as toits cosiness, and within the space of ten minutes he was on excellentterms with the regular clients. Into the little, old-world bar, with itsloud-ticking clock, its Windsor-chairs, and its cracked jug full ofroses, he brought a breath of the bustle of the great city and tales ofthe great cities beyond the seas. Refreshment was forced upon him, andMr. Burton, pleased at his friend's success, shared mildly in hisreception. It was nine o'clock before they departed, and then they onlyleft to please the landlord.
"Nice lot o' chaps," said Mr. Stiles, as he stumbled out into the sweet,cool air. "Catch hold--o' my--arm, George. Brace me--up a bit."
Mr. Burton complied, and his friend, reassured as to his footing, burstinto song. In a stentorian voice he sang the latest song from comicopera, and then with an adjuration to Mr. Burton to see what he wasabout, and not to let him trip, he began, in a lumbering fashion, todance.
Mr. Burton, still propping him up, trod a measure with fewer steps, andcast uneasy glances up the lonely road. On their left the sea brokequietly on the beach below; on their right were one or two scatteredcottages, at the doors of which an occasional figure appeared to gazein mute astonishment at the proceedings.
"Dance, George," said Mr. Stiles, who found his friend rather anencumbrance.
"Hs'h! Stop!" cried the frantic Mr. Burton, as he caught sight of awoman's figure bidding farewell in a lighted doorway.
Mr. Stiles replied with a stentorian roar, and Mr. Burton, clingingdespairingly to his jigging friend lest a worse thing should happen, castan imploring glance at Mrs. Dutton as they danced by. The evening wasstill light enough for him to see her face, and he piloted the corybanticMr. Stiles the rest of the way home in a mood which accorded but ill withhis steps.
His manner at breakfast next morning was so offensive that Mr. Stiles,who had risen fresh as a daisy and been out to inhale the air on thecliffs, was somewhat offended.
"You go down and see her," he said, anxiously. "Don't lose a moment; andexplain to her that it was the sea-air acting on an old sunstroke."
"She ain't a fool," said Mr. Burton, gloomily.
He finished his breakfast in silence, and, leaving the repentant Mr.Stiles sitting in the doorway with a pipe, went down to the widow's tomake the best explanation he could think of on the way. Mrs. Dutton'sfresh-coloured face changed as he entered the shop, and her still goodeyes regarded him with scornful interrogation.
"I--saw you last night," began Mr. Burton, timidly.
"I saw you, too," said Mrs. Dutton. "I couldn't believe my eyesight atfirst."
"It was an old shipmate of mine," said Mr. Burton. "He hadn't seen mefor years, and I suppose the sight of me upset 'im."
"I dare say," replied the widow; "that and the Cock and Flowerpot, too.I heard about it."
"He would go," said the unfortunate.
"You needn't have gone," was the reply.
"I 'ad to," said Mr. Burton, with a gulp; "he--he's an o
ld officer o'mine, and it wouldn't ha' been discipline for me to refuse."
"Officer?" repeated Mrs. Dutton.
"My old admiral," said Mr. Burton, with a gulp that nearly choked him."You've heard me speak of Admiral Peters?"
"_Admiral?_" gasped the astonished widow.
"What, a-carrying on like that?"
"He's a reg'lar old sea-dog," said Mr. Burton. "He's staying with me,but
