by W. W. Jacobs
Produced by David Widger
ODD CRAFT
By W.W. Jacobs
THE CASTAWAY
Mrs. John Boxer stood at the door of the shop with her hands clasped onher apron. The short day had drawn to a close, and the lamps in thenarrow little thorough-fares of Shinglesea were already lit. For a timeshe stood listening to the regular beat of the sea on the beach somehalf-mile distant, and then with a slight shiver stepped back into theshop and closed the door.
"Mrs. John Boxer stood at the door of the shop with herhands clasped on her apron."]
The little shop with its wide-mouthed bottles of sweets was one of herearliest memories. Until her marriage she had known no other home, andwhen her husband was lost with the _North Star_ some three years before,she gave up her home in Poplar and returned to assist her mother in thelittle shop.
In a restless mood she took up a piece of needle-work, and a minute ortwo later put it down again. A glance through the glass of the doorleading into the small parlour revealed Mrs. Gimpson, with a red shawlround her shoulders, asleep in her easy-chair.
Mrs. Boxer turned at the clang of the shop bell, and then, with a wildcry, stood gazing at the figure of a man standing in the door-way. Hewas short and bearded, with oddly shaped shoulders, and a left leg whichwas not a match; but the next moment Mrs. Boxer was in his arms sobbingand laughing together.
Mrs. Gimpson, whose nerves were still quivering owing to the suddennesswith which she had been awakened, came into the shop; Mr. Boxer freed anarm, and placing it round her waist kissed her with some affection on thechin.
"He's come back!" cried Mrs. Boxer, hysterically.
"Thank goodness," said Mrs. Gimpson, after a moment's deliberation.
"He's alive!" cried Mrs. Boxer. "He's alive !"
She half-dragged and half-led him into the small parlour, and thrustinghim into the easy-chair lately vacated by Mrs. Gimpson seated herselfupon his knee, regardless in her excitement that the rightful owner waswith elaborate care selecting the most uncomfortable chair in the room.
"Fancy his coming back!" said Mrs. Boxer, wiping her eyes. "How did youescape, John? Where have you been? Tell us all about it."
Mr. Boxer sighed. "It 'ud be a long story if I had the gift of tellingof it," he said, slowly, "but I'll cut it short for the present. Whenthe _North Star_ went down in the South Pacific most o' the hands gotaway in the boats, but I was too late. I got this crack on the head withsomething falling on it from aloft. Look here."
He bent his head, and Mrs. Boxer, separating the stubble with herfingers, uttered an exclamation of pity and alarm at the extent of thescar; Mrs. Gimpson, craning forward, uttered a sound which might meananything--even pity.
"When I come to my senses," continued Mr. Boxer, "the ship was sinking,and I just got to my feet when she went down and took me with her. How Iescaped I don't know. I seemed to be choking and fighting for my breathfor years, and then I found myself floating on the sea and clinging to agrating. I clung to it all night, and next day I was picked up by anative who was paddling about in a canoe, and taken ashore to an island,where I lived for over two years. It was right out o' the way o' craft,but at last I was picked up by a trading schooner named the _Pearl,_belonging to Sydney, and taken there. At Sydney I shipped aboard the_Marston Towers,_ a steamer, and landed at the Albert Docks thismorning."
"Poor John," said his wife, holding on to his arm. "How you must havesuffered!"
"I did," said Mr. Boxer. "Mother got a cold?" he inquired, eying thatlady.
"No, I ain't," said Mrs. Gimpson, answering for herself. "Why didn't youwrite when you got to Sydney?"
"Didn't know where to write to," replied Mr. Boxer, staring. "I didn'tknow where Mary had gone to."
"You might ha' wrote here," said Mrs. Gimpson.
"Didn't think of it at the time," said Mr. Boxer. "One thing is, I wasvery busy at Sydney, looking for a ship. However, I'm 'ere now."
"I always felt you'd turn up some day," said Mrs. Gimpson. "I feltcertain of it in my own mind. Mary made sure you was dead, but I said'no, I knew better.'"
There was something in Mrs. Gimpson's manner of saying this thatimpressed her listeners unfavourably. The impression was deepened when,after a short, dry laugh _a propos_ of nothing, she sniffed again--threetimes.
"Well, you turned out to be right," said Mr. Boxer, shortly.
"I gin'rally am," was the reply; "there's very few people can take mein."
She sniffed again.
"Were the natives kind to you?" inquired Mrs. Boxer, hastily, as sheturned to her husband.
"Very kind," said the latter. "Ah! you ought to have seen that island.Beautiful yellow sands and palm-trees; cocoa-nuts to be 'ad for thepicking, and nothing to do all day but lay about in the sun and swim inthe sea."
"Any public-'ouses there?" inquired Mrs. Gimpson.
"Cert'nly not," said her son-in-law. "This was an island--one o' thelittle islands in the South Pacific Ocean."
"What did you say the name o' the schooner was?" inquired Mrs. Gimpson.
"_Pearl,_" replied Mr. Boxer, with the air of a resentful witness undercross-examination.
"And what was the name o' the captin?" said Mrs. Gimpson.
"Thomas--Henery--Walter--Smith," said Mr. Boxer, with somewhat unpleasantemphasis.
"An' the mate's name?"
"John Brown," was the reply.
"Common names," commented Mrs. Gimpson, "very common. But I knew you'dcome back all right--I never 'ad no alarm. 'He's safe and happy, mydear,' I says. 'He'll come back all in his own good time.'"
"What d'you mean by that?" demanded the sensitive Mr. Boxer. "I comeback as soon as I could."
"You know you were anxious, mother," interposed her daughter. "Why, youinsisted upon our going to see old Mr. Silver about it."
"Ah! but I wasn't uneasy or anxious afterwards," said Mrs. Gimpson,compressing her lips.
"Who's old Mr. Silver, and what should he know about it?" inquired Mr.Boxer.
"He's a fortune-teller," replied his wife. "Reads the stars," said hismother-in-law.
Mr. Boxer laughed--a good ringing laugh. "What did he tell you?" heinquired. "Nothing," said his wife, hastily. "Ah!" said Mr. Boxer,waggishly, "that was wise of 'im. Most of us could tell fortunes thatway."
"That's wrong," said Mrs. Gimpson to her daughter, sharply. "Right'sright any day, and truth's truth. He said that he knew all about Johnand what he'd been doing, but he wouldn't tell us for fear of 'urting ourfeelings and making mischief."
"Here, look 'ere," said Mr. Boxer, starting up; "I've 'ad about enough o'this. Why don't you speak out what you mean? I'll mischief 'im, the oldhumbug. Old rascal."
"Never mind, John," said his wife, laying her hand upon his arm. "Hereyou are safe and sound, and as for old Mr. Silver, there's a lot o'people don't believe in him."
"Ah! they don't want to," said Mrs. Gimpson, obstinately. "But don'tforget that he foretold my cough last winter."
"Well, look 'ere," said Mr. Boxer, twisting his short, blunt nose into asnear an imitation of a sneer as he could manage, "I've told you my storyand I've got witnesses to prove it. You can write to the master of theMarston Towers if you like, and other people besides. Very well, then;let's go and see your precious old fortune-teller. You needn't say who Iam; say I'm a friend, and tell 'im never to mind about making mischief,but to say right out where I am and what I've been doing all this time.I have my 'opes it'll cure you of your superstitiousness."
"'Well, look 'ere,' said Mr. Boxer, 'I've told you mystory and I've got witnesses to prove it.'"]
"We'll go round after we've shut up, mother," said Mrs. Boxer. "We'llhave a bit o' supper first and then start early."
Mrs. Gimpson hesitated. It is never pleasant to submit one'ssuperstitions to the tests of the unbelieving, but after the attitude shehad taken up she was extremely loath to allow her son-in-law a triumph.
"Never mind, we'll say no more about
