Short Cruises | Page 2

my wife is."
Mr. Stokes, who was by no means a favorite of the lady in question,
nodded. "You were a bit larky, too," he said thoughtfully. "You 'ad
quite a little slapping game after you pretended to steal her brooch."
"I s'pose when a gentleman's with a lady he 'as got to make 'imself
pleasant?" said Mr. Henshaw, with dignity. "Now, if my missis speaks
to you about it, you say that it wasn't me, but a friend of yours up from
the country who is as like me as two peas. See?"

"Name o' Dodd," said Mr. Stokes, with a knowing nod. "Tommy
Dodd."
"I'm not playing the giddy goat," said the other, bitterly, "and I'd thank
you not to."
"All right," said Mr. Stokes, somewhat taken aback. "Any name you
like; I don't mind."
Mr. Henshaw pondered. "Any sensible name'll do," he said, stiffly.
"Bell?" suggested Mr. Stokes. "Alfred Bell? I did know a man o' that
name once. He tried to borrow a bob off of me."
"That'll do," said his friend, after some consideration; "but mind you
stick to the same name. And you'd better make up something about
him--where he lives, and all that sort of thing--so that you can stand
being questioned without looking more like a silly fool than you can
help."
"I'll do what I can for you," said Mr. Stokes, "but I don't s'pose your
missis'll come to me at all. She saw you plain enough."
They walked on in silence and, still deep in thought over the matter,
turned into a neighboring tavern for refreshment. Mr. Henshaw drank
his with the air of a man performing a duty to his constitution; but Mr.
Stokes, smacking his lips, waxed eloquent over the brew.
"I hardly know what I'm drinking," said his friend, forlornly. "I suppose
it's four-half, because that's what I asked for."
Mr. Stokes gazed at him in deep sympathy. "It can't be so bad as that,"
he said, with concern.
"You wait till you're married," said Mr. Hen-shaw, brusquely. "You'd
no business to ask me to go with you, and I was a good-natured fool to
do it."
"You stick to your tale and it'll be all right," said the other. "Tell her

that you spoke to me about it, and that his name is Alfred Bell--B E
double L--and that he lives in--in Ireland. Here! I say!"
"Well," said Mr. Henshaw, shaking off the hand which the other had
laid on his arm.
"You--you be Alfred Bell," said Mr. Stokes, breathlessly.
Mr. Henshaw started and eyed him nervously. His friend's eyes were
bright and, he fancied, a bit wild.
"Be Alfred Bell," repeated Mr. Stokes. "Don't you see? Pretend to be
Alfred Bell and go with me to your missis. I'll lend you a suit o' clothes
and a fresh neck-tie, and there you are."
"What?" roared the astounded Mr. Henshaw.
"It's as easy as easy," declared the other. "Tomorrow evening, in a new
rig-out, I walks you up to your house and asks for you to show you to
yourself. Of course, I'm sorry you ain't in, and perhaps we walks in to
wait for you."
"Show me to myself?" gasped Mr. Henshaw.
Mr. Stokes winked. "On account o' the surprising likeness," he said,
smiling. "It is surprising, ain't it? Fancy the two of us sitting there and
talking to her and waiting for you to come in and wondering what's
making you so late!"
Mr. Henshaw regarded him steadfastly for some seconds, and then,
taking a firm hold of his mug, slowly drained the contents.
"And what about my voice?" he demanded, with something
approaching a sneer.
[Illustration: And what about my voice 020]
"That's right," said Mr. Stokes, hotly; "it wouldn't be you if you didn't
try to make difficulties."

"But what about it?" said Mr. Henshaw, obstinately.
"You can alter it, can't you?" said the other.
They were alone in the bar, and Mr. Henshaw, after some persuasion,
was induced to try a few experiments. He ranged from bass, which hurt
his throat, to a falsetto which put Mr. Stokes's teeth on edge, but in vain.
The rehearsal was stopped at last by the landlord, who, having twice
come into the bar under the impression that fresh customers had entered,
spoke his mind at some length. "Seem to think you're in a blessed
monkey-house," he concluded, severely.
"We thought we was," said Mr. Stokes, with a long appraising sniff, as
he opened the door. "It's a mistake anybody might make."
He pushed Mr. Henshaw into the street as the landlord placed a hand on
the flap of the bar, and followed him out.
"You'll have to 'ave a bad cold and talk in 'usky whispers," he said
slowly, as they walked along. "You caught a cold