The Wheel O' Fortune Part 5

"Well, he was signalin' somebody, an' it wasn't me."

Then remarking that the unknown craft looked like a curiously-colored pirate, the captain squeezed himself into a seat. When the train ran into and backed out of Cannon Street, Stump was puzzled. He opened the carpet-bag, and drew forth a s.h.i.+p's compa.s.s, which he consulted. After a few minutes' rapid traveling his doubts seemed to subside, and he replaced the compa.s.s. Producing a cake of tobacco, he cut off several shavings with an exceedingly sharp knife, rolled them between his broad palms, filled a pipe, lit it, and whetted the knife on the side of his boot. d.i.c.k noticed that all his actions were wonderfully nimble for a man of his build. Any stranger who imagined that this squat Hercules was slow and ponderous in movement would be wofully mistaken if he based hostilities on that presumption.

Perhaps the captain missed the companions.h.i.+p of the stout lady he had parted from at Charing Cross, or it might be that his gruffness was a matter of habit--at any rate, after a puff or two, he spoke to Royson again.

"D'ye know wot time we're due at Dover?" he asked.

"Yes, at 10.50."

"We don't stop long there?"

"No. The boat sails ten minutes later."

"Good. I don't cotton on to these blessed trains. Every time they jolt I fancy we're on the rocks. Give me a s.h.i.+p, an' the steady beat of the screw, sez I. Then I know where I am."

"I quite agree with you, captain, but you must put up with a fair spell of railway b.u.mping before you reach Ma.r.s.eilles."

Stump gave him a questioning look. Royson did not resemble the type of land shark with which he was familiar. Yet his eyes gleamed like those of a perplexed bull.

"I s'pose you heard my missus an' me talking of Ma.r.s.eilles," he growled, "but how do you know I'm a captain."

"It is written on your bag."

"Well, my missus wrote that--"

"Moreover," went on d.i.c.k, determined to break the ice, "I'm your second mate."

"Wot?" roared Stump, leaning forward and placing a hand on each knee, while his fiery glance took in every detail of Royson's appearance.

"You--my--second--mate?"

The words formed a crescendo of contemptuous a.n.a.lysis. But d.i.c.k faced the storm boldly.

"Yes," he said. "I don't see any harm in stating the fact, now that I know who you are."

"Harm! Who said anything about harm? Wot sort of sailor d'ye call yerself? Who ever heard of a sailor in knickers?"

Then it dawned on Royson that the captain's wrath was comprehensible.

There is in every male Briton who goes abroad an ingrained instinct that leads him to don a costume usually a.s.sociated with a Highland moor. Why this should be no man can tell, but nine out of ten Englishmen cross the Channel in sporting attire, and Royson was no exception to the rule. In his case a sheer revolt against the "office"

suit had induced him to dress in clothes which recalled one glorious summer on the Westmoreland hills. Their incongruity did not appeal to him until Captain Stump forcibly drew attention thereto, and his hearty laugh at the way in which he was enlightened did not tend to soothe his skipper's indignation.

"Second mate!" bellowed Stump again, calling the heavens to witness that there never was such another, "Where's yer ticket? Seein' is believin', they say. Who did you go to sea with? When did you pa.s.s?"

"I have no certificate, if that is what you mean, and I have never been to sea," said Royson.

This remark impressed Stump as an exquisite joke. His rage yielded to a rumble of hoa.r.s.e laughter.

"Lord love a duck!" he guffawed. "If only I'd ha' knowed, I could have told my missus. It would have cheered her up for a week. Never mind.

We've a few minutes in Dover. I'll send her a picture postcard. It'll 'arf tickle 'er to death."

Evidently the captain meant to add certain explanatory remarks which would account for that Gargantuan tickling. d.i.c.k, anxious not to offend his future commander, smiled sheepishly, and said:

"Sorry I can't supply you with a photograph."

Stump's gaze rested on his stockings, loose breeches, Norfolk jacket and deerstalker cap.

"Damme," he grinned, "it's better than a pantomime. Second mate! Is there any more like you on the train? P'haps that chap in the next caboose, in a fur coat an' top hat, is the steward. An' wot'll Tagg say?"

"I don't know," said d.i.c.k, half inclined to resent this open scorn.

"Who is Tagg, anyhow?"

Stump instantly became silent. He seemed to remember his "sailing orders." He muttered something about "playin' me for a sucker," and shut his lips obstinately. Not another word did he utter until they reached Dover. He smoked furiously, gave Royson many a wrathful glance, but bottled up the tumultuous thoughts which troubled him. On board the steamer, however, curiosity conquered prudence. After surveying d.i.c.k's unusual proportions from several points of view, he came up and spoke in what he intended to be a light comedy tone.

"I say, Mr. Second Mate," he said, "I don't see the Plimsoll Mark on the funnel. Do you?"

"No, captain. I expect it has been washed off."

"If I was you I'd write to the Board of Trade about it."

"Best let sleeping dogs lie, captain."

"Why?"

"Because they might look for yours, and as it ought to be round your neck they would say you were unseaworthy."

"So you know what it is, you long swab?"

"Yes. Come and have a drink. That will reach your load-line all right."

Royson had hit on the right method of dealing with Stump. The skipper promised himself some fun, and they descended to the saloon. The Channel was in boisterous mood, and d.i.c.k staggered once or twice in transit. Stump missed none of this, and became more jovial. Thus might one of the Hereford stots he resembled approach a green pasture.

"If you ask the steward he'll bring you some belayin' tackle," he said.

"I am a trifle crank just now," admitted Royson, "but when the wind freshens I'll take in a reef or two."

Stump looked up at him.

"You've put me clean, out of reckonin'. Never bin to sea, you say?

Wot's yer name?"

"King, Richard King."

"Damme, I'm comin' to like you. You're a bit of a charak-ter. By the time the _Aphrodite_ points her nose home again I'll 'ave you licked into shape."

They were crossing the saloon, and were sufficiently noteworthy by force of contrast to draw many eyes. Indeed, were Baron von Kerber on board, he must have been disagreeably impressed by the fact that in sending the short skipper and the long second mate of the _Aphrodite_ to Ma.r.s.eilles in company he had supplied an unfailing means of tracking their movements. Of course, he was not responsible for the chance that threw them together, but the mere presence of two such men on the same vessel would be remembered quite easily by those who make it their business to watch trans-Channel pa.s.sengers.

Royson gave no thought to this factor in the queer conditions then shaping his life. Had Stump remained taciturn, it might have occurred to him that they were courting observation. But it needed the exercise of much resourcefulness to withstand the stream of questions with which his commander sought to clear the mystery attached to a second mate who knew not the sea. Luckily, he emerged from the flood with credit; nay, the examiner himself was obliged at times to a.s.sume a knowledge which he did not possess, for, if Stump knew how to con a s.h.i.+p from port to port, Royson could give reasons for great circle sailing which left Stump gasping. At last, the stout captain could no longer conceal his amazement when Royson had recited correctly the rules of the road for steams.h.i.+ps crossing:

If to my Starboard Red appear, It is my duty to keep clear; Act as Judgment says is proper-- "Port"--or "Starboard"--"Back"--or "Stop her!"