The Lady of the Barge, W. W. Jacobs [feel good books to read txt] 📗

get to Hong-kong,” said the skipper. “Meantime, no work, no food; d’ye hear? Start and cook the breakfast, Mr. Doctor; and you, Mr. Lawyer, turn to and ask the boy to teach you an A.B.’s duties.”

He walked back to the cabin; and the new cook was slowly pushed toward the galley by the second officer, the new A.B., under the same gentle guidance, being conducted back to the forecastle.

Fortunately for the new seamen the weather continued fine, but the heat of the galley was declared by the new cook to be insupportable. From the other hands they learned that they had been shipped with several others by a resourceful boardinghouse master. The other hands, being men of plain speech, also said that they were brought aboard in a state of beastly and enviable intoxication, and chaffed crudely when the doctor attributed their apparent state of intoxication to drugs.

“You say you’re a doctor?” said the oldest seaman.

“I am,” said Carson, fiercely.

“Wot sort of a doctor are you, if you don’t know when your licker’s been played with, then?” asked the old man, as a grin passed slowly from mouth to mouth.

“I suppose it is because I drink so seldom,” said the doctor, loftily. “I hardly know the taste of liquor myself, while as for my friend Mr. Thomson, you might almost call him a teetotaler.”

“Next door to one,” said the solicitor, who was sewing a patch on his trousers, as he looked up approvingly.

“You might call ’im a sailor, if you liked,” said another seaman, “but that wouldn’t make him one. All I can say is I never ’ad enough time or money to get in the state you was both in when you come aboard.”

If the forecastle was incredulous, the cabin was worse. The officers at first took but little notice of them, but feeling their torn and tattered appearance was against them, they put on so many airs and graces to counteract this that flesh and blood could not endure it quietly. The cook would allude to his friend as Mr. Thomson, while the A.B. would persist in referring, with a most affected utterance, to Dr. Carson.

“Cook!” bawled the skipper one day when they were about a week out.

Dr. Carson, who was peeling potatoes, stepped slowly out of the galley and went toward him.

“You say ‘Sir,’ when you’re spoken to,” said the skipper, fiercely.

The doctor sneered.

“My⁠—if you sneer at me, I’ll knock your head off!” said the other, with a wicked look.

“When you get back to Melbourne,” said the doctor, quietly, “you’ll hear more of this.”

“You’re a couple of pickpockets aping the gentleman,” said the skipper, and he turned to the mate. “Mr. Mackenzie, what do these two ragamuffins look like?”

“Pickpockets,” said the mate, dutifully.

“It’s a very handy thing,” said the old man, jeeringly, “to have a doctor aboard. First time I’ve carried a surgeon.”

Mr. Mackenzie guffawed loudly.

“And a solicitor,” said the skipper, gazing darkly at the hapless Harry Thomson, who was cleaning brasswork. “Handy in case of disputes. He’s a real sea lawyer. Cook!”

“Sir?” said the doctor, quietly.

“Go down and tidy my cabin, and see you do it well.”

The doctor went below without a word, and worked like a housemaid. When he came on deck again, his face wore a smile almost of happiness, and his hand caressed one trousers pocket as though it concealed a hidden weapon.

For the following three or four days the two unfortunates were worked unceasingly. Mr. Thomson complained bitterly, but the cook wore a sphinxlike smile and tried to comfort him.

“It won’t be for long, Harry,” he said, consolingly.

The solicitor sniffed. “I could write tract after tract on temperance,” he said, bitterly. “I wonder what our poor wives are thinking? I expect they have put us down as dead.”

“Crying their eyes out,” said the doctor, wistfully; “but they’ll dry them precious quick when we get back, and ask all sorts of questions. What are you going to say, Harry?”

“The truth,” said the solicitor, virtuously.

“So am I,” said his friend; “but mind, we must both tell the same tale, whatever it is. Halloa! what’s the matter?”

“It’s the skipper,” said the boy, who had just run up; “he wants to see you at once. He’s dying.”

He caught hold of the doctor by the sleeve; but Carson, in his most professional manner, declined to be hurried. He went leisurely down the companion-ladder, and met with a careless glance the concerned faces of the mate and second officer.

“Come to the skipper at once,” said the mate.

“Does he want to see me?” said the doctor, languidly, as he entered the cabin.

The skipper was lying doubled up in his bunk, his face twisted with pain. “Doctor,” he panted, “give me something quick. There’s the medicine-chest.”

“Do you want some food, sir?” inquired the other, respectfully.

“Food be damned!” said the sufferer. “I want physic. There’s the medicine-chest.” The doctor took it up and held it out to him. “I don’t want the lot,” moaned the skipper.

“I want you to give me something for red-hot corkscrews in the inside.”

“I beg your pardon,” said the doctor, humbly; “I’m only the cook.”

“If you⁠—don’t⁠—prescribe for me at once,” said the skipper, “I’ll put you in irons.”

The doctor shook his head. “I shipped as cook,” he said, slowly.

“Give me something, for Heaven’s sake!” said the skipper, humbly. “I’m dying.” The doctor pondered.

“If you dinna treat him at once, I’ll break your skull,” said the mate, persuasively.

The doctor regarded him scornfully, and turned to the writhing skipper.

“My fee is half a guinea a visit,” he said, softly; “five shillings if you come to me.”

“I’ll have half a guinea’s worth,” said the agonized skipper.

The doctor took his wrist, and calmly drew the second officer’s watch from its owner’s pocket. Then he inspected the sick man’s tongue, and shaking his head, selected a powder from the chest.

“You mustn’t mind its being nasty,” he said. “Where’s a spoon?”

He looked round for one, but the skipper took the powder from his hand, and licked it from the paper as though it had been sherbet.

“For mercy’s sake don’t