Rub-A-Dub-Dub
Page 18
Anyway, I was going to change, but then I figured they had to get around to cleaning the cabins pretty soon, so I just put on my shirt and grabbed the same jacket and beat it. I went up and hid in the lifeboat on the boat deck. But after an hour or so, I figured I’d come down and get some clean underwear and pick up that fruit while I was about it, but when I get down there here’s this little character coming out of the cabin and pretending he’s talking to Mazie. Well, I didn’t know if it was just a trap or if the guy was nuts or what, but I figured I’d let the stewardess find out. I tipped her off and waited, but when she started to scream, I headed back to my lifeboat in a hurry, believe me!
Incidentally, Captain, about those lifeboats. Did you ever try to spend any time in one of them? Maybe for a boat drill they’re all right—though I doubt it—but five minutes in the one I was in would have been too much, let alone since Wednesday morning. What day is it now, by the way? I sort of lost track. I’d sure hate to spend a month or two drifting all over the Atlantic in one of those wooden shoes in case this crate ever hit a floating beer case and went down. I think I broke a tooth on that rock they got marked hardtack, and when did they fill those water canisters? When they built this tub back in the First World War? And how much extra would it really have cost to put in a couple of bottles of booze? In case of sickness, say? I’m not much of a drinker, but at least booze doesn’t get stale.
And would it have killed them to have upholstered those seats? Man, I’ve got calluses on top of calluses. . . .
STATEMENT BY SIR PERCIVAL PUGH:
It is tragic that my client—my new client, that is—was the victim of unfortunate circumstances in that he just happened to be holding a fruit knife in his hand while his loving wife was attempting to embrace him to show her appreciation for his efforts to fix her shower so she could enjoy her morning ablutions. Had he not made the attempt—and successfully—she might well have taken with pneumonia, for I’m sure you all recall my client’s constant reference to cold water. I’m not sure if failure to maintain an adequate hot-water supply doesn’t appear as malfeasance under Her Majesty’s Regulations for the Operation of Seagoing Ships Flying the Union Jack, but you may be sure the matter will be investigated thoroughly and those responsible brought to justice!
Did I hear someone in the audience ask, what about his confession?
What confession?
Surely you intelligent ladies and gentlemen will not be misled by the hysterical words of a poor chap forced to undergo the deprivation of drinking only water for a period of several days, nor by his suffering the pangs of toothache due to our lifeboats being supplied with the stalest of provender undoubtedly at the behest of company directors seeking only profit rather than caring about the comfort of the passengers in their charge. The Captain and I have been friends for many years, but friendship cannot be used to avoid official responsibility where—not only a man’s freedom, but his comforts, as well—are concerned. Just think, ladies and gentlemen, in case of an emergency you might have been the one to discover the brackish nature of the water and the indurate nature of the buns.
Confession, forsooth! The tormented words of a man who has been made to sleep on the rigid seat of a lifeboat designed with no thought of anything except the cheapest way to prevent the ship line from facing insurance claims!
Confession, indeed! Ah, no, ladies and gentlemen! Under far less pressure have stronger men quailed, broken, muttered the first foolish falsehood that came to their benumbed brain. A few days’ rest under my care and I am sure that the truth shall emerge. Rather than condemn, we should applaud. Mr. Maxwell Carpenter had the great satisfaction of knowing his wife died in comfort, due to his ministrations to the plumbing of her shower. Her last earthly feelings had to be of warmth; the warmth of the water her husband had arranged, the warmth of his affection—nay, love—for her; the warmth of happiness.
How many of us, tragically and inadvertently causing the death of a dear one through an unfortunate accident such as occurred in this case, can say we have left our loved one in such comfort . . . ?
(Unbridled applause by the audience, led by none other than James V. King, master-at-arms, who was seen to unashamedly brush aside a tear.)
STATEMENT BY CAPTAIN CHARLES EVERTON MANLEY-NORVILLE (in an aside to his old friend Sir Percival Pugh):
I imagine you’ll be getting off at Gibraltar with the prisoner, Percy. Don’t come back.
STATEMENT BY MR. TIMOTHY BRIGGS (as he and his companions carry their own luggage down the gangplank at Gibraltar):
Next time maybe you bright lads will pay some attention to me. I tried to tell you all along that we should have our eyes peeled for that spiv steward who turned me in. . . .