The Skippers Wooing | Page 7

having furnished
him with this information, meekly suggested that they should drag
Gravesend first.
It was midnight when they got the anchor up and dropped silently down
the river. Gravesend was silent, and the dotted lines of street lamps
shone over a sleeping town as the Seamew crept softly by.
A big steamer in front whistled warningly for the pilot's boat, and
slowing up as the small craft shot out from the shore to meet it, caused

a timely diversion to the skipper's melancholy by lying across his bows.
By the time he had fully recovered from the outrage and had drunk a
cup of coffee, which had been prepared in the galley, Gravesend had
disappeared round the bend, and his voluntary search had commenced.
CHAPTER III.
They made Brittlesea in four days--days in which the skipper, a prey to
gentle melancholy, left things mostly to the mate. Whereupon
melancholia became contagious, and Sam's concertina having been
impounded by the energetic mate, disaffection reared its ugly head in
the foc'sle and called him improper names when he was out of earshot.
They entered the small river on which stands the ancient town of
Brittlesea at nightfall. Business for the day was over. A few fishermen,
pipe in mouth, lounged upon the quay, while sounds of revelry, which
in some mysterious way reminded the crew of their mission to find
Captain Gething, proceeded from the open doors of a small tavern
opposite. The most sanguine of them hardly expected to find him the
first time; but, as Sam said, the sooner they started the better. For all
they knew he might be sitting in that very public-house waiting to be
found.
They went ashore a little later and looked for him there, but without
success. All they did find was a rather hot-tempered old man, who,
irritated by the searching scrutiny of the cook, asked him shortly
whether he had lost anything, because, if so, and he, the cook, thought
he was sitting on it, perhaps he'd be good enough to say so. The cook
having replied in fitting terms, they moved off down the quay to the
next tavern. Here they fared no better, Dick declaring that the beer was
if anything worse than the other, and that nobody who had lived in the
place any time would spend his money there. They therefore moved on
once more, and closing time came before their labors were half
completed.
"It's quite a little romans," said Sam thickly, as he was pushed outside
the last house of call, and a bolt shot desolately behind him. "Where

shall we go now?"
"Get back to the ship," said Dick; "come along."
"Not 'fore I foun' 'im," said Sam solemnly, as he drew back from Dick's
detaining hand.
"You won't find him to-night, Sam," said the cook humorsomely.
"Why not?" said Sam, regarding him with glassy eyes. "We came out
fin' 'im!"
"Cos it's dark, for one thing," said the cook.
Sam laughed scornfully.
"Come on!" said Dick, catching him by the arm again.
"I come out fin' cap'n, cap'n--fin' 'im," said Sam. "I'm not goin' back
'thout 'im."
He rolled off down the road, and the two men, the simple traditions of
whose lives forbade them to leave a shipmate when in that condition,
followed him, growling. For half an hour they walked with him through
the silent streets of the little town. Dick with difficulty repressing his
impatience as the stout seaman bent down at intervals and thoroughly
searched doorsteps and other likely places for the missing man. Finally,
he stopped in front of a small house, walked on a little way, came back,
and then, as though he had suddenly made up his mind, walked towards
it.
"Hold him, cook!" shouted Dick, throwing his arms around him.
The cook flung his arms round Sam's neck, and the two men, panting
fiercely, dragged him away.
"Now you come aboard, you old fool!" said Dick, losing his temper;
"we've had enough o' your games."

"Leg go!" said Sam, struggling.
"You leave that knocker alone, then," said Dick warningly.
"'E's in there!" said Sam, nodding wisely at the house.
"You come back, you old fool!" repeated Dick. "You never 'ort to 'ave
nothin' stronger than milk."
"Ole my coat, cookie!" said Sam, his manner changing suddenly to an
alarming sternness.
"Don't be a fool, Sam!" said the cook entreatingly.
"'Ole my coat!" repeated Sam, eyeing him haughtily.
"You know you haven't got a coat on," said the cook appealingly.
"Can't you see it's a jersey? You ain't so far gone as all that!"
"Well, 'ole me while I take it off," said Sam, sensibly.
Against his better sense the cook steadied the stout seaman while he
proceeded to peel, Dick waited until the garment--a very tight one--was
over