The Skippers Wooing | Page 3

gammoning me?" demanded the
mate, seizing him by the collar.
"Come and see for yourself," said Henry.
The mate released him, and stood eyeing him with a puzzled expression
as a thousand-and-one little eccentricities on the part of the skipper
suddenly occurred to him.
"Go and make yourself tidy," he said sharply; "and mind if I find
you've been doing me I'll flay you alive."
The boy needed no second bidding. He dashed up on deck and,
heedless of the gibes of the crew, began a toilet such as he had never
before been known to make within the memory of man.
"What's up, kiddy?" inquired the cook, whose curiosity became
unbearable.
"Wot d'you mean?" demanded Henry with dignity.
"Washin', and all that," said the cook, who was a plain creature.

"Don't you ever wash yourself, you dirty pig?" said Henry elegantly. "I
s'pose you think doin' the cookin' keeps you clean, though."
The cook wrung his hands, and, unconscious of plagiarism, told Sam
he'd be 'ung for 'im.
"Me and the mate are goin' for a little stroll, Sam," observed the youth
as he struggled into his jersey. "Keep your eyes open, and don't get into
mischief. You can give Slushy a 'and with the sorsepans if you've got
nothin' better to do. Don't stand about idle."
The appearance of the mate impeded Sam's utterance, and he stood
silently by the others, watching the couple as they clambered ashore. It
was noticed that Henry carried his head very erect, but whether this was
due to the company he was keeping or the spick-and-span appearance
he made, they were unable to determine.
"Easy--go easy," panted the mate, mopping his red face with a
handkerchief. "What are you in such a hurry for?"
"We shall be too late if we don't hurry," said Henry; "then you'll think
I've been tellin' lies."
The mate made no further protest, and at the same rapid pace they
walked on until they reached a quiet road on the outskirts of Gravesend.
"There he is!" said Henry triumphantly, as he stopped and pointed up
the road at the figure of a man slowly pacing up and down. "She's at a
little school up at the other end. A teacher or somethin'. Here they
come."
As he spoke a small damsel with a satchel and a roll of music issued
from a house at the other end of the road, the advanced guard of a small
company which in twos and threes now swarmed out and went their
various ways.
"Nice girls, some of 'em!" said Henry, glancing approvingly at them as
they passed. "Oh, here she comes! I can't say I see much in her myself."

The mate looked up and regarded the girl as she approached with
considerable interest. He saw a pretty girl with nice gray eyes and a
flush, which might be due to the master of the Seamew--who was
following at a respectful distance behind her--trying to look
unconcerned at this unexpected appearance.
"Halloa, Jack!" he said carelessly.
"Halloa!" said the mate, with a great attempt at surprise. "Who'd ha'
thought o' seeing you here!"
The skipper, disdaining to reply to this hypocrisy, stared at Henry until
an intelligent and friendly grin faded slowly from that youth's face and
left it expressionless. "I've just been having a quiet stroll," he said,
slowly turning to the mate.
"Well, so long!" said the latter, anxious to escape.
The other nodded, and turned to resume his quiet stroll at a pace which
made the mate hot to look at him. "He'll have to look sharp if he's going
to catch her now," he said thoughtfully.
"He won't catch her," said Henry; "he never does--leastways if he does
he only passes and looks at her out of the corner of his eye. He writes
letters to her of a night, but he never gives 'em to her."
"How do you know?" demanded the other.
"Cos I look at 'im over his shoulder while I'm puttin' things in the
cupboard," said Henry.
The mate stopped and regarded his hopeful young friend fixedly.
"I s'pose you look over my shoulder too, sometimes?" he suggested.
"You never write to anybody except your wife," said Henry carelessly,
"or your mother. Leastways I've never known you to."
"You'll come to a bad end, my lad," said the mate thickly; "that's what

you'll do."
"What 'e does with 'em I can't think," continued Henry, disregarding his
future. "'E don't give 'em to 'er. Ain't got the pluck, I s'pose. Phew!
Ain't it 'ot!"
They had got down to the river again, and he hesitated in front of a
small beer-shop whose half open door and sanded floor offered a
standing invitation to passers-by.
"Could you do a bottle o' ginger-beer?" inquired the mate, attracted in