Hocken and Hunken | Page 6

the back of the shop.
"Hullo, there!"
Mr Philp faced about solidly, composedly.
"I was thinkin'," said he, "as I'd bid you three-an'-six for this, if you've
done with it. I've long been wantin' something o' the sort, for
interments."
"Done with you!" said Captain Cai, reaching for it and clapping it on
his head. "Only you must send round for it to-morrow, when I've found
myself something more up-to-date." Again he contemplated his shaven
image in the mirror. "Lord! A man do look younger without a
chin-beard!"
"Ay, Cap'n." Barber Toy, knuckles on hips, regarded and approved his
handiwork. "The world's afore 'ee. Go in and win!"
As he stepped out upon the Quay, Captain Cai lifted his gaze towards
the tower of the Parish Church, visible above an alley-way that led
between a gable-end of the Town Hall and the bulging plank of the
"King of Prussia." Aloft there the clock began to chime out the eight

notes it had chimed, at noon and at midnight, through his boyhood, and
had been chiming faithfully ever since.
Yes, it was good to be home! Captain Cai would have been astonished
to learn that his thirty-five years at sea had left any corner for sentiment.
Yet a sudden mist gathered between him and the face of the old clock.
Nor had it cleared when, almost punctually on the last stroke, a throng
of children came pouring from school through the narrow alley-ways.
They ran by him with no more than a glance, not interrupting their
shouts. In a moment the Quay was theirs; they were at leap-frog over
the bollards; they were storming the sand-heap, pelting a king of the
castle, who pelted back with handfuls. Captain Cai felt an absurd sense
of being left out in the cold. Not a child had recognised him.
All very well . . . but to think that these thirty-odd years had made not a
scrap of difference--that the Quay lay as it had lain, neglected, untidy
as ever! Thirty-odd years ago it had been bad enough. But what
conscience was there in standing still and making no effort to move
with the times? As Barber Toy said, it was scandalous.
CHAPTER III.
TABB'S CHILD.
"Three hundred pounds a-year . . ." mused Captain Cai between two
puffs of tobacco smoke. He repeated the words, rolling them in his
mouth, as though they tasted well. "You're pretty sure 'twill come to
that?"
"Sure," answered Mr Rogers. The pair had dined, and were now
promoting digestion with pipes and grog in Mr Rogers' bow-window
overlooking the harbour. "You might put your money to an annuity, o'
course, an' live like a lord: but I'm reckonin' it in safe ord'nary
investments, averagin' (let's say) four per cent. An' that's leavin' out
your thirty-odd shares in the Hannah Hoo, when she's for sale.
Ship-auctions be chancey things in these days, an' private purchasers
hard to find."

"I never knew 'em when they weren't," said Captain Cai.
"When d'ye pay off, by the way?"
"Not till Saturday. There's no hurry. When a man drops hook on his last
cruise I allow 'tis his duty to tidy up an' leave all ship-shape; in justice
to hisself, you understand. There's Tregaskis an' the crew, too,--old
shipmates every one--"
The chandler nodded.
"Ay, you're to be envied, Cap'n. There's others--masters of oil-tanks, f'r
instance--as makes their pile faster; some of em' in ways that needn't be
mentioned atween you an' me. But slow an' honest has been your motto;
an' here you be--What's your age? Fifty? Say fifty at the outside.--Here
you be at fifty with a tidy little income and a clean conscience to sit
with in your pew o' Sundays; nothing to do o' week-days but look after
a few steady-goin' investments an' draw your little dividends."
"That'd be more business than I've a mind for, Rogers," answered
Captain Cai; "at any rate, while you live. I've a-left my affairs to you
these twelve year, an' mean to continue, please God--you knowin' my
ways."
The chandler blinked. "That's very han'some o' ye, Cap'n," he said after
a long pause. "But--"
"There's no 'but' about it," interrupted Captain Cai shortly, looking
away and resting his gaze on the Hannah Hoo out in the harbour, where
she lay on the edge of the deep-water channel among a small crowd of
wind-bounders. Her crew had already made some progress in
unbending sails, and her stripped spars shone as gold against the
westering sunlight. "No 'but' about it, Rogers--unless o' course you're
unwillin'."
"What's willin' or unwillin' to a man broken in health as I be? That's the
p'int, Cap'n--here, set opposite to 'ee, staring 'ee in the face--a hulk,
shall we say?--rudder gone, ridin' to a thread o' life--" "You'll ride to it

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