Many Cargoes | Page 9

mate gloomily. "It's life or death to
me."
"Oh, nonsense," said Hetty. "She won't know of your foolishness. I
won't tell her."
"I tell you," said the mate desperately, "there never was a Kitty Loney.
What do you think of that?"
"I think you are very mean," said the girl scornfully; "don't talk to me
any more, please."
"Just as you like," said the mate, beginning to lose his temper.
He pushed his plate from him and departed, while the girl, angry and
resentful, put the potatoes back as being too floury for consumption in
the circumstances.
For the remainder of the passage she treated him with a politeness and
good humour through which he strove in vain to break. To her surprise
her father made no objection, at the end of the voyage, when she
coaxingly suggested going back by train; and the mate, as they sat at
dummy-whist on the evening before her departure, tried in vain to
discuss the journey in an unconcerned fashion.
"It'll be a long journey," said Hetty, who still liked him well enough to
make him smart a bit, "What's trumps?"
"You'll be all right," said her father. "Spades."
He won for the third time that evening, and, feeling wonderfully well
satisfied with the way in which he had played his cards generally, could

not resist another gibe at the crestfallen mate.
"You'll have to give up playing cards and all that sort o' thing when
you're married, Jack," said he.
"Ay, ay," said the mate recklessly, "Kitty don't like cards."
"I thought there was no Kitty," said the girl, looking up, scornfully.
"She don't like cards," repeated the mate. "Lord, what a spree we had.
Cap'n, when we went to the Crystal Palace with her that night."
"Ay, that we did," said the skipper.
"Remember the roundabouts?" said the mate.
"I do," said the skipper merrily. "I'll never forget 'em."
"You and that friend of hers, Bessie Watson, lord how you did go on!"
continued the mate, in a sort of ecstasy. The skipper stiffened suddenly
in his chair. "What on earth are you talking about?" he inquired gruffly.
"Bessie Watson," said the mate, in tones of innocent surprise. "Little
girl in a blue hat with white feathers, and a blue frock, that came with
us."
"You're drunk," said the skipper, grinding his teeth, as he saw the trap
into which he had walked.
"Don't you remember when you two got lost, an' me and Kitty were
looking all over the place for you?" demanded the mate, still in the
same tones of pleasant reminiscence.
He caught Hetty's eye, and noticed with a thrill that it beamed with soft
and respectful admiration.
"You've been drinking," repeated the skipper, breathing hard. "How
dare you talk like that afore my daughter?"

"It's only right I should know," said Hetty, drawing herself up. "I
wonder what mother'll say to it all?"
"You say anything to your mother if you dare," said the now maddened
skipper. "You know what she is. It's all the mate's nonsense."
"I'm very sorry, cap'n," said the mate, "if I've said anything to annoy
you, or anyway hurt your feelings. O' course it's your business, not
mine. Perhaps you'll say you never heard o' Bessie Watson?"
"Mother shall hear of her," said Hetty, while her helpless sire was
struggling for breath.
"Perhaps you'll tell us who this Bessie Watson is, and where she lives?"
he said at length.
"She lives with Kitty Loney," said the mate simply.
The skipper rose, and his demeanour was so alarming that Hetty shrank
instinctively to the mate for protection. In full view of his captain, the
mate placed his arm about her waist, and in this position they
confronted each other for some time in silence. Then Hetty looked up
and spoke.
"I'm going home by water," she said briefly.

THE CAPTAIN'S EXPLOIT
It was a wet, dreary night in that cheerless part of the great metropolis
known as Wapping. The rain, which had been falling heavily for hours,
still fell steadily on to the sloppy pavements and roads, and joining
forces in the gutter, rushed impetuously to the nearest sewer. The two
or three streets which had wedged themselves in between the docks and
the river, and which, as a matter of fact, really comprise the beginning
and end of Wapping, were deserted, except for a belated van crashing
over the granite roads, or the chance form of a dock-labourer plodding
doggedly along, with head bent in distaste for the rain, and hands sunk

in trouser-pockets.
"Beastly night," said Captain Bing, as he rolled out of the private bar of
the "Sailor's Friend," and, ignoring the presence of the step, took a little
hurried run across the pavement. "Not fit for a dog to be out