The Young Trawler, R. M. Ballantyne [dark books to read TXT] 📗

I suppose she knows, and that’s enough for me.”

“Shine yer boots, sir?” said a small voice cutting short these broken remarks.

“What?”

“Shine yer boots, sir, an’ p’raps I can ’elp yer to clear up yer mind w’en I’m a doin’ of it.”

It was the voice of a small shoeblack, whose eyes looked wistful.

The captain glanced at his boots; they wanted “shining” sadly, for the nautical valet who should have attended to such matters had neglected his duty that morning.

“Where d’ee live, my lad?” asked the captain, who, being large-hearted and having spent most of his life at sea, felt unusual interest in all things terrestrial when he chanced to be on shore.

“I live nowheres in par-tickler,” answered the boy.

“But where d’ee sleep of a night?”

“Vell, that depends. Mostly anywheres.”

“Got any father?”

“No, sir, I hain’t; nor yet no mother—never had no fathers nor mothers, as I knows on, an’ wot’s more, I don’t want any. They’re a chancey lot, is fathers an’ mothers—most of ’em. Better without ’em altogether, to my mind. Tother foot, sir.”

Looking down with a benignant smile at this independent specimen of humanity, the captain obeyed orders.

“D’ee make much at this work now, my lad?” asked the captain.

“Not wery much, sir. Just about enough to keep soul an’ body together, an’ not always that. It was on’y last veek as I was starvin’ to that extent that my soul very nigh broke out an’ made his escape, but the doctor he got ’old of it by the tail an’ ’eld on till ’e indooced it to stay on a bit longer. There you are, sir; might shave in ’em!”

“How much to pay?”

“Vell, gen’lemen usually gives me a penny, but that’s in or’nary cases. Ven I has to shine boots like a pair o’ ships’ boats I looks for suthin’ hextra—though I don’t always get it!”

“There you are, my lad,” said the captain, giving the boy something “hextra,” which appeared to satisfy him. Thereafter he proceeded to the Bridge, and, embarking on one of the river steamers, was soon deposited at Pimlico. Thence, traversing St. George’s Square, he soon found himself in the little street in which dwelt the Misses Seaward. He looked about him for some minutes and then entered a green-grocer’s shop, crushing his hat against the top of the door-way.

Wishing the green-grocer good-morning he asked if lodgings were to be had in that neighbourhood.

“Well, yes, sir,” he replied, “but I fear that you’d find most of ’em rather small for a man of your size.”

“No fear o’ that,” replied the captain with a loud guffaw, which roused the grocer’s cat a little, “I’m used to small cabins, an’ smaller bunks, d’ee see, an’ can stow myself away easy in any sort of hole. Why, I’ve managed to snooze in a bunk only five foot four, by clewin’ up my legs—though it wasn’t comfortable. But it’s not the size I care about so much as the character o’ the landlady. I like tidy respectable people, you see—havin’ bin always used to a well-kept ship.”

“Ah! I know one who’ll just suit you. Up at the other end o’ the street. Two rooms kept by a young widow who—”

“Hold hard there,” interrupted the captain; “none o’ your young widows for me. They’re dangerous. Besides, big as I am, I don’t want two rooms to sleep in. If you know of any old maid, now, with one room—that’s what would suit me to a tee; an easy-going sort o’ woman, who—”

“I know of two elderly ladies,” interrupted the green-grocer, thoughtfully; “they’re sisters, and have got a small room to let; but—but—they’re delicate sort o’ creeters, you know; have seen better days, an’ are raither timid, an’ might want a female lodger, or a man who—who—”

“Out with it,” interrupted the captain, “a man who is soft-spoken and well-mannered—not a big noisy old sea-horse like me! Is that what you would say?”

“Just so,” answered the green-grocer with an amiable nod.

“What’s the name of the sisters?”

“Seaward.”

“Seaward! eh!” exclaimed the captain in surprise. “That’s odd, now, that a seafarin’ man should be sent to seaward for his lodgin’s, even when he gets on shore. Ha! ha! I’ve always had a leanin’ to seaward. I’ll try the sisters. They can only tell me to ’bout ship, you know, and be off on the other tack.”

And again the captain gave such boisterous vent to his mirth that the green-grocer’s cat got up and walked indignantly away, for, albeit well used to the assaults of small boys, it apparently could not stand the noise of this new and bass disturber of the peace.

Having ascertained that the Misses Seaward dwelt above the shop in which he stood, Captain Bream went straight up-stairs and rapped heavily at their door.

Now, although the sisters had been gradually reduced to the extreme of poverty, they had hitherto struggled successfully against the necessity of performing what is known as the “dirty work” of a house. By stinting themselves in food, working hard at anything they succeeded in getting to do, and mending and re-mending their garments until it became miraculous, even to themselves, how these managed to hang together, they had, up to that period in their history, managed to pay to a slender little girl, out of their slender means, a still more slender salary for coming night and morning to clean their grate, light their fire, carry out their ashes, brush their boots, wash their door-steps, and otherwise perform work for which the sisters were peculiarly unfitted by age, training, and taste. This girl’s name was Liffie Lee. She was good as far as she went but she did not go far. Her goodness was not the result of principle. She had no principle; did not know what the word meant, but she had a nature, and that nature was soft, unselfish, self-oblivious,—the last a blessing of incalculable price!

It was Liffie Lee who responded to Captain Bream’s knock. She was at the time about to leave the house in undisturbed possession of its owners—or rather, occupiers.

“Does a Miss Seaward live here?”

It was a dark passage, and Liffie Lee almost quaked at the depth and metallic solemnity of the voice, as she glanced up at the spot where it appeared to come from.

“Yes, sir.”

“May I see her?”

“I—I’ll see, sir, if you’ll wait outside, sir.”

She gently yet quickly shut the door in the captain’s face, and next moment appeared in the little parlour with a flushed face and widely open eyes.

The biggest man she had ever seen, or heard, she said, wanted to see Miss Seaward.

Why did he want to see her and what was his name?

She didn’t know, and had omitted to ask his name, having been so frightened that she had left him at the door, which she had shut against him.

“An’, please, Miss,” continued Liffie, in a tone of suppressed eagerness, “if I was you I’d lock the parlour door in case he bu’sts in the outer one. You might open the winder an’ screech for the pleece.”

“Oh! Liffie, what a frightened thing you are,” remonstrated Jessie, “go and show the man in at once.”

“Oh! no, Miss,” pleaded Liffie, “you’d better ’ave ’im took up at once. You’ve no notion what dreadful men that sort are. I know ’em well. We’ve got some of ’em where we live, and—and they’re awful!”

Another knock at this point cut the conversation short, and Kate herself went to open the door.

“May I have a word with Miss Seaward?” asked the captain respectfully.

“Ye’es, certainly,” answered Kate, with some hesitation, for, although reassured by the visitor’s manner, his appearance and voice alarmed her too. She ushered him into the parlour, however, which was suddenly reduced to a mere bandbox by contrast with him.

Being politely asked to take a chair, he bowed and took hold of one, but on regarding its very slender proportions—it was a cane chair—he smiled and shook his head. The smile did much for him.

“Pray take this one,” said Jessie, pointing to the old arm-chair, which was strong enough even for him, “our visitors are not usually such—such—”

“Thumping walruses! out with it, Miss Seaward,” said the captain, seating himself—gently, for he had suffered in this matter more than once during his life—“I’m used to being found fault with for my size.”

“Pray do not imagine,” said Jessie, hastening to exculpate herself, “that I could be so very impolite as—as to—”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” interrupted the captain, blowing his nose—and the familiar operation was in itself something awful in such a small room—“and I am too big, there’s no doubt about that however, it can’t be helped. I must just grin and bear it. But I came here on business, so we’ll have business first, and pleasure, if you like, afterwards.”

“You may go now,” said Kate at this point to Liffie Lee, who was still standing transfixed in open-mouthed amazement gazing at the visitor.

With native obedience and humility the child left the room, though anxious to see and hear more.

“You have a furnished room to let I believe, ladies,” said the captain, coming at once to the point.

Jessie and Kate glanced at each other. The latter felt a strong tendency to laugh, and the former replied:—

“We have, indeed, one small room—a very small room, in fact a mere closet with a window in the roof,—which we are very anxious to let if possible to a lady—a—female. It is very poorly furnished, but it is comfortable, and we would make it very cheap. Is it about the hiring of such a room that you come?”

“Yes, madam, it is,” said the captain, decisively.

“But is the lady for whom you act,” said Jessie, “prepared for a particularly small room, and very poorly furnished?”

“Yes, she is,” replied the captain with a loud guffaw that made the very windows vibrate; “in fact I am the lady who wants the room. It’s true I’m not very lady-like, but I can say for myself that I’ll give you less trouble than many a lady would, an’ I don’t mind the cost.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Miss Seaward with a mingled look of amusement and perplexity which she did not attempt to conceal, while Kate laughed outright; “why, sir, the room is not much, if at all, longer than yourself.”

“No matter,” returned the captain, “I’m nowise particular, an’ I’ve been recommended to come to you; so here I am, ready to strike a bargain if you’re agreeable.”

“Pray, may I ask who recommended you?” said Jessie.

The seaman looked perplexed for a moment.

“Well, I didn’t observe his name over the door,” he said, “but the man in the shop below recommended me.”

“Oh? the green-grocer!” exclaimed both ladies together, but they did not add what they thought, namely, that the green-grocer was a very impertinent fellow to play off upon them what looked very much like a practical joke.

“Perhaps the best way to settle the matter,” said Kate, “will be to show the gentleman our room. He will then understand the impossibility.”

“That’s right,” exclaimed the captain; rising—and in doing so he seemed about to damage the ceiling—“let’s go below, by all means, and see the cabin.”

“It is not down-stairs,” remarked Jessie, leading the way; “we are at the top of the house here, and the room is on a level with this one.”

“So much the better. I like a deck-cabin. In fact I’ve bin used to it aboard my last ship.”

On being ushered into the room which he wished to hire, the sailor found himself in an apartment so very unsuited to his size and character that even he felt slightly troubled.

“It’s not so much the size that bothers me,” he said, stroking his chin gently, “as the fittings.”

There was some ground for the seaman’s perplexity, for the closet in which he stood, apart from the fact of its being only ten feet long by six broad, had been arranged by the tasteful sisters after the manner of a lady’s boudoir, with a view to captivate some poor sister of very limited means, or, perhaps, some humble-minded and possibly