Once Aboard the Lugger-- The History of George and his Mary

by W. W. Jacobs

  Mary no longer could endure it. Impulsively leaning forward, armsoutstretched, hands clasped, "Oh, Mr. Wyvern!" she cried. "You're _not_angry with George, _are_ you? He _couldn't_ help sending you to thatinn, _could_ he?"

  Constraint fled. "Of course I'm not," Bill declared. "Not a bit. I'vecome here to congratulate you both. I--"

  George sprang forward; grasped Bill's hand. "Good old buck!" he cried."Good old Bill! I'm awfully sorry, Bill. You're a stunner, Bill. Isn'the a stunner, Mary?"

  "He _is_ a stunner," Mary agreed.

  The stunner, red beneath this praise, warmly returned George's grip.When they released, "I say, George, you _are_ an ass, you know," hesaid. "Why on earth didn't you tell me what you were up to?"

  "You weren't there, old man, when it began. You were in London. How onearth was I to know your paper would come plunging into the business?"The memory of the pains that paper had caused him swept all else fromGeorge's mind. Indignation seized him. "It was a scandalous bit of work,Bill. 'Pon my soul it's simply shameful that a newspaper can go andinterfere in a purely private matter like that. Yes, it is, Mary. Don'tyou interrupt. Bill understands. I don't blame you, Bill; you were doingyour duty. I blame the editor. What did he want to push into it for? Itell you that paper drove me up and down the country till I was prettywell dead. It's all very well for you to grin, Bill."

  "I'm not grinning."

  "You are grinning." George threw a bitter note into his declamations."Of course, you can afford to grin. What was agony to me was hotstuff for you. I expect you've made your reputation over this show.Everything's turned out all right for you--"

  Bill took that bitter note. "Rather!" he broke in. "Rather! I pulled itoff, didn't I? I found the rotten cat, didn't I? I wasn't made a fool offor two days in a country inn, was I? I've not got the sack all throughyou, have I?"

  George instantly forgot his personal sorrows. "Oh, I say, Bill, youhaven't, have you?"

  Bill, not expecting the interruption, confessed a little lamely: "No,I haven't. I _haven't_--as it turns out. But I might have--if it wasn'tfor--" He paused a moment; sadly said, "Anyway, just as I thought I'dgot her, I've lost Margaret again."

  In those fierce days when her Bill was the Daily Special Commissioner,Margaret had confided in Mary the promise Mr. Marrapit had made shouldBill find the cat. Now Mary was filled with sympathy. "Oh, Mr. Wyvern!"she cried, "I _am_ sorry! What has happened? How do you know? Do tell useverything of when you went to Herons' Holt last night."

  Bill took a chair. He said gloomily: "There's not much to tell. I feltI couldn't wait at that infernal inn any longer, so I left the detectivein charge, went to the inn where we'd found George, didn't see him, andcame back to Herons' Holt. I saw old Marrapit for about two minutes inthe hall. He foamed at me all about George, foamed out that I was one ofGeorge's friends, and foamed me out of the door before I could get in aword. Said I never was to come near the place again. I asked him aboutMargaret, and he had a kind of fit--a kind of fit."

  George said softly: "I know what you mean, old man."

  "A kind of fit," Bill gloomily repeated. Then he struck one clenchedfist into the palm of the other hand. "And hang it!" he cried, "I've wonher! According to the bargain old Marrapit made with me, I've won her.If it had not been for me you wouldn't have taken the cat to that hutin the wood, and if you hadn't taken it there Marrapit wouldn't have it_now_. It's through me he got it, isn't it?"

  "Bill," George told him, "it is. You rotted my show all right. Nomistake about that."

  It was a fearful situation as between these two young men. In silence,in gloom, they gazed each upon the ground.

  Bill took a glance at George's face; turned hurriedly from the despairthere stamped; set his eyes upon my pretty Mary. He gave a sigh.

  "But, George, old man, you've come out of it the better," he said."You've lost the money you wanted, but you've got your--you've got MissHumfray. I've lost my--I've lost Margaret."

  In great melancholy George rose; crossed to his Mary; sat upon the armof her chair; caressed her pretty shoulders.

  "You don't know what you're talking about, Bill. Bill, we're in a mostfearful hole. We haven't got a sou, and I've got no work. You're doingwell. You're making money. You're bound to get Margaret in time. As forus--"

  Bill was deeply stirred. "I say, I am sorry," he told them. He sat upvery straight. "Look here, don't get down on your luck. Come out andhave lunch with me and tell me just how you're fixed. If a small loanwill do you any good I'm certain my guv'nor will stand it. He likesyou awfully, George. Come on. I shan't see you again otherwise for sometime. I'm off on another Special Commissioner job for the _Daily_, youknow."

  George gave a slight shudder. "Oh? Thank goodness, I'm not the object ofit this time. What is it?"

  "What is it? Why, you've seen the _Daily_ this morning, haven't you?"

  "I'll never open the infernal thing again."

  Bill did not heed the aspersion. "It's really rather funny, you know,"he went on. "Look here." He tugged at his pocket; produced a _Daily_.

  A pencil dislodged by the paper fell to the ground; rolled beneath thetable.

  Bill stooped after it. The cat that lay there, disturbed, walkedforth--arching its proud orange back.

  II.

  With eyes that goggled tremendously Bill stared at it; with a fingerthat shook he pointed at it; turned his head to George. "George," heasked, "whose cat is that?"

  George looked at Mary; gave a bitter little laugh. "I suppose it'sours," he replied. "Eh, Mary?"

  A sad little smile his Mary gave, "I suppose it is," she agreed.

  From one to the other Bill looked, suspicion in those goggling eyes.

  "You _suppose_ it is?" he emphasised. Again he swiftly looked fromGeorge to Mary; again stared at the splendid orange form. "George," hesaid sharply--"George, what is that cat's name?"

  George regarded him with a whimsical smile. "Bill, you old duffer, youdon't think it's the Rose, do you?"

  Yet more sharply than before Bill spoke. "George, is that cat's nameAbishag?"

  "_Abishag?_ What an awful--"

  Bill turned from him with an impatient gesture. He called to the cat,"Abishag! Abishag!"

  With upreared tail the fine creature trotted to him.

  "Good Lord!" George broke out. "Is that _your_ cat, Bill?"

  Bill turned upon him. "_My_ cat! You know thundering well it's not mycat."

  "But it knows you, Mr. Wyvern," Mary told him wonderingly.

  There was sorrow, a look of pity in this young man's eyes asreproachfully he regarded my Mary.

  He swung round upon George. "George, you've made a fool of me once--"

  "I don't know what on earth's the matter with you," George told him.

  With knitted brows Bill for a moment searched his face. "I ask youpoint-blank," he said slowly. "Did you steal this cat, George?"

  George struck the stern young man upon the back. "Is _that_ what you'redriving at, you old ass? Stole it! D'you suppose I'll ever _touch_ acat again? That's the infernal cat Mrs. Major left in that hut when shehooked off the Rose. Marrapit told you, didn't he?"

  Into a chair Bill collapsed--legs thrust straight before him, headagainst the cushioned back. He gasped. "George, this is a licker, afair licker." Enormously this staggered man swelled as he inhaled atremendous breath; upon a vast sigh he let it go. "That cat--" he said.He got to his legs and paced the room; astonished, Mary and Georgeregarded him. "That cat--I'll bet my life that's the cat!"

  III.

  My Mary was trembling before this fearful agitation. For support shetook her George's hand. "Oh, Mr. Wyvern!" she cried, "whatever isit? Have we got into another awful trouble through those dreadful,_dreadful_ cats?"

  "Look at the _Daily_," Bill said. "Look at the _Daily_. George, give mea cigarette. I must smoke. This is an absolute licker."

  My frightened Mary jumped for the paper where it had fallen; spreadit upon the table; opened it. "Oh, George!" she cried. "Oh, George!";pre
ssed a pretty finger upon these flaming words:

  ANOTHER CAT OUTRAGE.

  AMAZING STORY.

  MR. VIVIAN HOWARD'S FAMOUS PET

  STOLEN WHILE BACK TURNED.

  "DAILY" OFFER.

  500 POUNDS FOR OUR READERS.

  My Mary's golden head, my George's head of brown, pressed and nudged aswith bulging eyes they read the crisp, telling paragraphs that followedin a column of leaded type.

  Readers of the _Daily_, it appeared, would be astonished to learnthat the abduction of Mr. Marrapit's famous cat, the Rose ofSharon--concerning the recovery of which all hope had now beenabandoned--had been followed by a similar outrage of a nature even moresensational, more daring.

  Mr. Vivian Howard, the famous author and dramatist, whose new novel,"Amy Martin," _Daily_ readers need not be reminded, was to start in the_Daily_ as a feuilleton on Monday week, had been robbed of his famouscat "Abishag the Shunamite."

  The whole reading public were well aware of Mr. Howard's devotion tothis valuable pet. Scarcely a portrait of Mr. Howard was extant that didnot show Abishag the Shunamite by his side.

  It was a melancholy coincidence that in the interview granted to the_Daily_ by Mr. Howard last Saturday he had told that Abishag had satupon his table while every single word of the manuscript of "AmyMartin" was penned. He had admitted that she was his mascot. Withouther presence he could not compose a line. _Daily_ readers would imagine,then, Mr. Howard's prostration at his appalling loss.

  The occurrence had taken place on Monday night. As _Daily_ readers werewell aware, Mr. Howard had for some weeks been staying at the house ofhis widowed mother in Sussex Gardens. Nightly at nine it had been hiscustom to stroll round the gardens before settling down for three hours'work upon "Amy Martin." During his stroll Abishag would slip into thegardens, meeting her master upon his completion of the circuit.

  According to this practice, Mr. Howard, on Monday night, had followedhis usual custom. He believed he might possibly have walked a littleslower than usual as he was pondering deeply over his final revise ofthe proof of "Amy Martin." Otherwise his programme was identical withits usual performance. But upon his return the cat was not to be found.

  Theories, suggestions, investigations that had already been made,followed. The _Daily_ abundantly proved that the cat had not strayedbut had been deliberately stolen by someone well acquainted with Mr.Howard's nightly promenade; pointed out that this second outrage showedthat no one possessing a valuable cat was safe from the machinations ofa desperate gang; asked, Where are the police? and concluded with thepica sub-head:

  "DAILY" OFFER.

  The _Daily,_ it appeared, on behalf of the whole reading public of GreatBritain, the Colonies, America, and the many Continental countriesinto whose tongues Mr. Howard's novels had been translated, offered 500pounds to the person who would return, or secure the return of, Abishagthe Shunamite, and thus restore peace to the heart of England's premiernovelist, whose new story, "Amy Martin," would start in the _Daily_ onMonday week.

  A sketch-map of Sussex Gardens, entitled "Scene of the Outrage," showed,by means of dotted lines, (A) Route taken by Mr. Vivian Howard; (B)Route into Gardens taken by cat; (C) Supposed route taken by thief.

  Mr. Henry T. Bitt had achieved a mammoth splash.

  IV.

  The golden head and the head of brown lifted simultaneously from thepaper; stared towards Bill, pacing, smoking.

  Tremendous possibilities flickered in George's mind; made hisvoice husky. "Bill," he asked, "do you believe that cat is thisAbishag--Vivian Howard's Abishag?"

  Bill nodded absently. This man's thoughts were afar--revolving thissituation he had named "licker." "Look at the description," he said."Look at the cat. It knows its name, doesn't it? I've seen a life-sizepainting of Abishag. It's a cert."

  George dropped upon the sofa; his thoughts, too, rushed afar.

  Tremendous possibilities danced a wild jig in his Mary's pretty head;trembled her voice. "Oh, Mr. Wyvern!" she appealed, "what does it mean?What does it mean--for us?"

  "It's a licker," Bill told her. "It's a fair licker."

  Mary dropped by her George's side; to his her thoughts rushed.

  Presently Bill threw away his cigarette; faced George. He said slowly:"Mrs. Major must have stolen this cat, George. But how did she get it?She's been at Herons' Holt the last week."

  Mary gave a little jump. "Oh, Mr. Wyvern, she went up to town on Mondaytill Tuesday."

  Bill struck a hand upon the table. "That fixes it. By gum, thatfixes it! I tell you what it is, George. I tell you what it is. Ibelieve--yes, I believe she'd seen this cat before, knew it was like theRose, and meant to have palmed it off on old Marrapit herself so as toget him to take her back. Margaret told me all about her getting thesack. I bet my life that's it. By gum, _what_ a splash for the _Daily!_"And upon this fine thought the young man stood with sparkling eyes.

  George timidly touched the castles he had been building: "Bill, where doI--where do Mary and I come in?"

  Bill clapped his hands together. "Why, my good old buck, don't yousee?-don't you realise?-you get this L500. Just do you, eh?"

  _"Runnygate!"_ George burst out with a violent jerk; clasped his Mary inan immense hug.

  _"Runnygate!"_ came thickly from his Mary, face squashed against thissplendid fellow.

  When they unlocked my blushing Mary suddenly paled: "Oh, but you, Mr.Wyvern--you found it really."

  "Not much," Bill declared. "Not likely. You found it. I couldn't havethe reward, anyway. I'm one of the staff." He repeated the fine words:"One of the _staff_."

  She made to thank him. "Besides," he interrupted her, "I'll make a lotout of it. I'm doing awfully well. The chief was awfully pleased withthe way I ran that Rose of Sharon job. Of course this is twice as big asplash, because Vivian Howard's mixed up in it. Look what a boost itis for our new serial--look what a tremendous ad. it is for the paper!Directly Howard came to us the editor dropped the Rose like a hot coal;plumped for this and put me in charge. Now I've pulled it off, justthink how bucked up he'll be! It's a licker, George--a licker allround."

  "Bill," George said, "I can't speak about it. My head's whirling. Ibelieve it's a dream."

  Indeed this George had rushed through so much in the past hours, wasnow suddenly come upon so much, that the excitement, as he attemptedrealisation, was of stunning effect. He sat white, head in hands.

  "Jolly soon show you!" Bill cried. "Come to the office straight away.Bring the cat. I was to meet the chief and Vivian Howard there attwelve."

  George sprang to his feet; ruddy again of face. "Come on!" he cried."Bill, if it isn't his Abishag, if there's any hitch, I'll--I'll--oh,Mary, don't build too highly on this, old girl!"

  "Shall I come, Georgie?"

  George hesitated. "Better not. Better not, if you don't mind. I couldn'tbear to see your face if Vivian Howard says it isn't the cat."

  White-faced, between tears and smiles, his Mary waved from the window asGeorge, cat under arm, turned the corner with Bill.

  CHAPTER IX

  Excursions In A Newspaper Office.

  I.

  Silent, white and stern of face, occupied with immense thoughts, theyoung men sat as the cab they had found outside Battersea Park stationsped them towards Fleet Street.

  They were upon the Embankment, rattling beneath Hungerford Bridge, whenfrom the tangle of his plans Bill at last drew a thread; weaved it towords. "George, we mustn't tell the chief anything about your beingmixed up with the other cat outrage--the Rose. It might be awkward."

  George shifted the hand that firmly held Abishag on the seat betweenthem; squeezed that fine creature's head to him with his arm; with hishandkerchief wiped his sweating palms.

  "It's _going_ to be awkward," he said--"damned awkward! I see that. Oh,Bill!"

  He groaned. This young man was in desperate agitation.

  "Buck up," Bill told him. "This is a cert. Safe as houses."

  "All very well for you, Bill.
I seem to have been living one giganticlie all the past week."

  "Well, you have, you know," Bill granted. "By gum, you have! But youaren't now. You didn't steal _this_ cat. You found it just as anyoneelse might have found it. All I tell you is: Don't say anything aboutthe Rose. Don't open your mouth, in fact. Leave the gassing to me."

  It was upon this repeated injunction that my poor George tottered up thestairs of the _Daily_ office, cat in arm, in Bill's wake.

  II.

  Bill rapped upon Mr. Bitt's door; poked in his head at the answeringcall; motioned my trembling George to wait; stepped over the threshold.

  Mr. Bitt sat behind a broad table; before him, deep in an armchair,smoking a cigarette, lay Mr. Vivian Howard.

  "Ah! Wyvern," spoke Mr. Bitt. "Mr. Howard, this is Mr. Wyvern, one of mybrightest young men. From to-day he takes in hand this business."

  Mr. Vivian Howard did not rise; stretched a white hand to Bill. Thisman had an appreciation of the position he had won. This man stood forEnglish literature. Within a wide estimate of public opinion, andwithin that immense estimate of him that was his own, this man stood forliterature. In a manner worthy of his proud standing this man comportedhimself. The talents that were his belonged to the nation, and veryfreely he gave them to the people. This man did not deny himself to thecrowd as another might have denied himself. Of him it never could besaid that he missed opportunity to let the public feed upon him. Thisman made such opportunities. Where excitement was, there this man,pausing between his novels, would step in. If a murder-trial had thepublic attention this man would write upon that trial; if interestwere fixed upon a trade dispute this man would by some means draw thatinterest upon himself. Nothing was too small for this man. Walking thepublic places he did not shrink from recognition; he gladly permittedit. Not once but many times, coming upon a stranger reading one ofhis novels, he had announced himself; autographed the copy. This man'scharacter was wholly in keeping with his gifts.