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

by W. W. Jacobs

  Yet beautifully he could preserve the dignity that was his right.Preserving it now, he gave his hand to Bill but did not move hisposition.

  "It is a great pleasure to me to meet you, sir," Bill told him.

  "You have only lately joined the ranks of journalism, Mr. Bitt tellsme," Mr. Vivian Howard graciously replied. "It is the stepping-stone toliterature. Never forget that. Never lose sight of that. I shall watchyour career with the greatest interest."

  Mr. Bitt broke in a trifle impatiently: "Well, well, we must keep tobusiness just now. Mr. Howard will kindly give us a daily interview,Wyvern, until the feuilleton starts, or until the cat is found. You'dbetter--"

  Bill took a pace back; faced them both. "No need," he cried in burstingwords. "The cat is found!"

  The cigarette dropped from Mr. Vivian Howard's lip to his waistcoat. Hebrushed at it violently; burnt his fingers; brushed again; swore witha ferocity that would have astonished his admirers; sprang to his feetamid a little shower of sparks and cloud of ash. "Found!" he exclaimed;jabbed a burnt finger in his mouth and thickly repeated, "Found!"

  Mr. Bitt simultaneously rose. "Found?" cried Mr. Bitt. "What the--"

  "I have the finder here," Bill told them; stepped to the door.

  On legs that shook my agitated George advanced.

  Mr. Vivian Howard drew forth his suffering finger with a loud pop; madethree hasty strides to George; took the cat. "Abishag!" he cried inecstasy, "Abishag!"

  In very gloomy tones Mr. Bitt announced that he was bust. "Well, I'mbust!" he said. "I'm bust. It _is_ your cat, eh?"

  Mr. Vivian Howard nodded the head he was bending over his Abishag.

  Bill signalled to George a swift wink. George drew a handkerchief; wipedfrom his face the beaded agony.

  Mr. Bitt dropped heavily into his seat. "Of course I'm very glad, Mr.Howard," he announced stonily. "_Very_ glad. At the same time--at thesame _time_--" He turned upon George with a note that was almost savage."You, sir!" he cried.

  George started painfully.

  "How the--How did you come to find this cat?"

  George forced his pocket handkerchief into his trousers pocket; rammedit down; cleared his throat; ran a finger round the inside of hiscollar; cleared again; said nothing.

  Bill hurried to the rescue. "Like this, sir. Let me tell you. Thisgentleman was at Paltley Hill, a place on the South-Western. He used tolive there. He found the cat in a deserted kind of hut, took charge ofit. I happened to meet him and brought him along. By Jove, sir, onlypublished this morning and found within a few hours! It's pretty good,isn't it?"

  Mr. Bitt spoke with great disgust. "Pretty _good!_" he cried bitterly."Pretty _good!_" He had no fit words in which to express his feeling."Kindly step in there a moment," he addressed George.

  George trembled into the adjoining room indicated; closed the door.

  Mr. Bitt turned to Mr. Vivian Howard. "It will always be a greatpleasure to me," he told the great novelist, "to think that the _Daily_was the means of restoring your cat."

  "I never shall forget it," Mr. Vivian Howard assured him. The famousauthor placed himself upon the couch, caressed Abishag the Shunamiteupon his lap. "Never shall forget it. It was more than good of you,Mr. Bitt, to take up the matter and offer so handsome a reward. It waspublic-spirited."

  Mr. Bitt's deprecatory little laugh had a rueful note.

  He nerved himself to step upon the delicate ground that lay between himand his purpose. This man had not known Mr. Vivian Howard sufficientlylong to put to him directly that the reward was offered, and gladlyagreed to by Mr. Howard, for purposes of respective self-advertisementagreeable at once to the paper and to the man who stood for Englishliterature. He nerved himself:

  "When you say public-spirited, Mr. Howard, you use the right term. I donot attempt to deny that I fully appreciated that this reward for yourcat, and the interview you agreed to give us, would greatly benefitour paper. Why should I deny it? We editors must be business men first,nowadays; journalists afterwards. But I do ask you to believe me, Mr.Howard, that in offering this reward, in arousing this interest, I hadin view also a matter that has been my aim since I was at College."

  Mr. Bitt's college was Rosa Glen College, 156 Farmer Road, Peckham; buthe preferred the briefer designation.

  "The aim," he continued, gathering courage as he detected in Mr. VivianHoward's face a look which seemed to show that the famous author wasadvancing upon the delicate ground to meet him, "the aim of attractingthe people to good literature."

  Mr. Vivian Howard, as standing for that literature, took the impliedcompliment with a bow. "I congratulate you, Mr. Bitt."

  "Now, the _Daily_ is young," Mr. Bitt earnestly continued. "The_Daily_ has yet to make its way. If your 'Amy Martin' starts in normalcircumstances a week hence, it will mean that this contribution to ourhighest literature will fall only to a comparatively small circleof people. But if--but if, as I had hoped, we had morning by morningattracted more and more readers by the great interest taken in yourloss, 'Amy Martin' would then have introduced our best fiction to apublic twice or thrice as large as our present circulation represents."

  "You mean--?" the great author inquired.

  "I mean," Mr. Bitt told him, "that for this reason I cannot butregret that the excitement aroused should disappear with our issue ofto-morrow. I mean, Mr. Howard, that for the reason I have named Ido think it is almost our _duty_--our _duty_, for the reason I havenamed--to conceal the cat's recovery for--er--for a day or so."

  Mr. Bitt blew his nose violently to conceal his agitation. This man wasnow in the precise centre of the delicate ground; was in considerablefear that it might open and swallow him.

  But Mr. Vivian Howard's reply made that ground of rock-like solidity.

  "As you put the matter, Mr. Bitt, I must say I agree. It would be falsemodesty on my part to pretend I do not recognise the worth of 'AmyMartin,' and the desirability of introducing it as widely as possible.Certainly that could best have been accomplished by Abishag not havingbeen recovered so soon. But as it is--I do not see what can be done. Youdo not, of course, suggest deliberate deception of the public?"

  "Certainly _not!_" cried Mr. Bitt with virtuous warmth. Since this wasprecisely what he did suggest and most earnestly desired, he repeatedhis denial: "Certainly _not_! At the same time--"

  "One moment," Mr. Vivian Howard interrupted. "This cat was obviouslystolen by someone and placed in the hut where it was found. Very well.We prosecute. We prosecute, and I could give you every morning my viewson the guilt or otherwise--"

  Mr. Bitt shook his head. "I had thought of that. It won't do. It won'tdo, Mr. Howard. For one thing, a rigorous prosecution and sentence mightcreate bad feeling against the paper. You have no idea how curious thepublic is in that way. For another, you, as the injured party, oughtnot to comment; and certainly I could not publish your views. The matterwould be _sub judice_ directly arrest was made; and I once got into veryserious trouble over a _sub judice_ matter--very serious trouble indeed.I shall not touch the law, Mr. Howard. It is unwise. At the same time,I think the thief should be made to suffer--be given a thorough fright.Now, if we inform the public that practically our Special Commissionerhas his hand on the cat--which will be perfectly true--and is almostcertain as to the identity of the thief--if we keep this up for thefew days necessary for the publication of those magnificent articlesof yours on 'What my Loss means to Me,' we shall be accomplishing threeexcellent objects. We shall be terrifying an evil-doer--we may take itfor granted he reads the _Daily_; we shall be giving the public thosearticles which most certainly ought not to be lost to literature; and weshall be widening the sphere of influence of 'Amy Martin.'"

  Mr. Vivian Howard did not hesitate. "It is impossible to override yourarguments, Mr. Bitt. I think we shall be doing _right_."

  Mr. Bitt concealed his immense joy. "I am convinced of it, Mr. Howard,"he said. "_Convinced_. The modern editor and the man of letters of yourstanding have enormous responsibilities."
r />   Impelled by the virtuous public duty they were performing, the two mensilently grasped hands.

  CHAPTER X.

  A Perfectly Splendid Chapter.

  Mr. Bitt turned to Bill; indicated the door behind which my poor Georgewas wrestling in prayer. "The only difficulty is with that chap inthere. He knows the cat is found! How can we--"

  "If you will leave that to me, sir," Bill told him, "I think I canarrange it without difficulty."

  "Or danger?" added Mr. Vivian Howard, who, standing for Englishliterature, would not lightly imperil his integrity.

  "Or the least danger," Bill affirmed. "He's a kind of friend ofmine--did I mention that, sir? I'll fix it up in a minute."

  He stepped briskly to George; closed the door behind him.

  George said faintly: "Say it quick, Bill. Quick."

  "You've got it, old man. Got it."

  George rose to his feet; stretched his arms aloft; wildly waved them.The tremendous shout for which he opened his mouth was stayed upon hislips by Bill's warning finger. He hurled himself on a couch; rolled inecstasy.

  Rapidly Bill outlined the proposals. Then he struck a heavy hand uponGeorge's shoulder. "And I've got it too!" he cried in an exultantwhisper. "I've got it too! I've got Margaret!"

  "Margaret! However--?"

  "Like this. Plain as a fiddle-stick. To-morrow, when we get out thisstory about practically having our hand on the thief, I shall go bangdown to Marrapit with the paper and tell him I know it was Mrs. Majorwho took the cat. You can imagine the state that'll put 'em both in.Then--then, my boy, I shall say 'Let Margy and me carry on and fix itup forthwith, and I'll promise Mrs. Major shall never hear a word moreabout the matter.' He'll agree like a shot. The chief's not going toprosecute, you see; so neither Mrs. Major nor you ever will hear a wordmore. George, we've done it! Done it! You've got your Mary and I've gotmy Margy!"

  With swelling bosoms, staring eyes, upon this tremendous happening thetwo young men clasped hands; stood heavily breathing. These men wereglimpsing heaven.

  When they unlocked, George said: "There's one thing, Bill. Go in andtell that precious pair they can hold over the discovery till theyplease and that I shall never breathe a word. But tell 'em this: I don'tagree unless I have my cheque right away."

  Bill advised no stipulations.

  George stood firm: "I don't care a snap, Bill. I will have it now. I'vebeen badgered about quite enough. I want to feel safe. I'll either loseit all or have it all. No more uncertainty. Anything might happen duringthe week, for all I know."

  Bill took the message.

  Upon immediate payment Mr. Bitt at first stuck. "He might turn back onus, or start blackmailing us. He may have stolen the cat himself for allwe know."

  "All the more likely, in that case, to keep his mouth shut," commentedMr. Vivian Howard. Despite he stood for literature, this man had strongbusiness instincts.

  Bill urged compliance. He knew this finder of the cat; would speak forhim as for himself.

  Mr. Bitt put a quill into his inkstand; took George's name; wrote aslip; handed it to Bill. "Take that to the cashier, Wyvern. He'll giveyou the cheque. Clear your friend out. Eh? No--no need for me to see himagain. Of course you must get his story of how he found the cat, to usewhen the 'What my Loss means to Me' articles run out. Then come back andwe'll fix up to-morrow's account."

  A cabman drove to St. Peter's Hospital a seemingly insane young man,who bounded into the cab with a piece of paper in his hand; who sang andrattled his heels upon the foot-board, shouted to passers-by; who paidwith two half-crowns; who bounded, paper still fluttering in hand, upthe steps of the Dean's entrance with a wild and tremendous whoop.

  George had scarcely explained to the Dean an incoherent story of L500won through a newspaper competition, when the Mr. Lawrence, M.R.C.S.,L.R.C.P., whose practice was at Runnygate, arrived.

  Informally the purchase was at once arranged; a further meeting settled.George bolted to another cab; drove to Meath Street by way of theflorist near Victoria Station; took aboard an immense basket of flowers.

  At the house he gathered the flowers beneath his arm; on the wayupstairs shifted them to his hands; flung wide the door.

  His Mary, white, a tooth on a trembling lip, her pretty hands clasped,was before him. In a great whirling shower he flung the blossoms abouther; then took her in his arms.

  "Runnygate, Mary! Darling old girl, Runnygate!"

  He kissed his Mary.

  Last Shots from the Bridge.

  If you had patience for another peep from the bridge that I can build,you might catch a glimpse or so.

  Bending over you might see Bill seated at the editor's table of theeditor's room of a monstrously successful monthly magazine of mostmonstrous fiction that Mr. Bitt's directors have started; Margaret, thatsentimental young woman, by her husband's side is correcting theproofs of a poem signed "Margaret Wyvern." It is of the most exquisitemelancholy.

  Bending over you might see George upon one of the summer evenings when,his duties through, he is taking his Mary for a drive in the countrybehind that rising seaside resort Runnygate. They are plunging along ina tremendous dogcart drawn by an immense horse. George is fully occupiedwith his steed; Mary, peeping at constant intervals through the veilthat hides the clear blue eyes and the ridiculous little turned-up noseof her baby, at every corner says: "Oh, George! Georgie, do be careful!We were on _one_ wheel then, I _know_ we were!" But along the level thewind riots at her pretty curls as she sits up very straight and veryproud, smiling at this splendid fellow beside her.

  Bending over you might see the garden of Herons' Holt, Mr. Fletcherleading from the house the fat white pony and tubby wide car which Mrs.Marrapit, formerly Mrs. Major, has prevailed upon her husband to buy.The pony has all the docile qualities of a blind sheep, but Mr. Fletcheris in great terror of it. When, while being groomed, it suddenly liftsits head, Mr. Fletcher drops his curry-comb and retires from the stallat great speed. "It's 'ard," says Mr. Fletcher--"damn 'ard. I'm agardener, I am; not a 'orse-breaker."

  THE END.