Read Ebook: Odds and ends by Croker B M Bithia Mary

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Ebook has 789 lines and 42758 words, and 16 pages

about the Army--I wanted to be a sailor, and my mother struck; and here I am--at twenty-four--an incapable idiot!"

"But you can turn your hand to something."

"I can ride to hounds, and manage a boat, I'm a bit of a carpenter, I can photograph, and I know something of machinery."

"Yes, you could say it," rejoined the other significantly.

"Have you any suggestion to make, sir? You seemed to have some proposition."

"I 'ave--it's this. Suppose you go off for three years wherever you like--it must be out of Great Britain--and you will not correspond with Nancy more than every six months. You will go into the world like a man, not like a dressed-up young nincompoop, and make ten thousand pounds. When you bring me that, I will put forty thousand to it and give you Nancy."

"Some men pick it up in Wall Street in one afternoon--some make it by a stroke of the pen. Why! I've even been told--but I don't believe it--that women get as much as that for a novel!"

"All these are clever people--they have capital, or brains, or both. I have neither one nor the other."

"Oh ho! so you are going to cry off--and not take up my challenge, eh?"

"If I thought I had the very smallest chance--of--winning, you know I'd jump at it like a shot."

Nancy Pottinger was twenty, a pretty little dark-eyed girl, animated and energetic, clever, resourceful, and plucky.

"At best, I'm such a duffer," he groaned.

"Not at all; you want self-confidence. You can do lots of things perfectly. You can mend a watch, or a bicycle, and doctor dogs."

"Oh yes, I can do lots of odds and ends; I'm what you may call Jack-of-all-trades, and master of none!"

"Sounds like an Arabian Night's tale!" he exclaimed, "but I say, old chap, I believe I could put you on to a good thing. If it comes off--I'll be your best man."

"You will be the best man I've ever met, if you put me on to that good job. I don't care what it is."

"Then listen. I know you don't mind roughing it, and have got a level head, are a fair shot with a revolver, and don't drink."

"No; get along, Bobby."

"It only happened a month ago. She was bound from Marseilles to Singapore, and ran on something about seventy miles below here--and lies a total wreck."

Jack nodded his head.

"And that's just what I am in search of, these two years, so I'm your man," announced Jack with emphasis.

"Mind you, it is not a kid-glove job; you run a good many risks, both from the Arabs, and others."

"I don't mind that; nothing venture, nothing have. Can you give me a hint of the whereabouts of the coin?"

"No--not exactly; it would be libellous. However, unless you are a regular thickhead, you will soon see how the land lies, and if you do find out anything strange, communicate with Suakim at once."

"And if I find nothing but stale stores, and rats?"

"You must risk that, and take your chance; it is just a bit of a gamble, but mind you, I've given you what you are hunting for all over the place, and that is, a straight tip."

Previous to taking over charge, Jack Truman had gleaned some particulars of the wreck. She had gone aground most unexpectedly, when the passengers were all at lunch; there was no panic, everything had been managed with the utmost pluck and coolness. The weather was calm, and passengers had gone off comfortably in boats, had landed about four o'clock in the afternoon, and been subsequently transported on to Suakim. The level-headed captain carried away his log-book, chronometer, and most of his possessions in the steam-launch, and had been warmly applauded for his courage, and resource.

With such an incentive, Jack worked ceaselessly. He searched almost day and night, anxious to discover some clue before he was relieved, or the derelict went to pieces, and he was compelled to abandon her, and take to the boat. He believed he might find the desired object in the captain's cabin, and every day he examined it. Every day he turned out the bunk, the drawers, the desk; he lifted the carpet--but all proved useless.

The cat and the caretaker had become close friends; she accorded him her society; twice a day he gave her some tinned milk in a saucer , and she in return showed her gratitude by occasionally bringing him a dead rat. The ship was alive with them; what they existed on was a mystery; but they overran the saloon, the lower deck, and swarmed up the rigging. Truman often shot them with his revolver--practice, to keep his eye in!

"Off coast. Lat. ... can't miss it ... tower rock ... it daytime ... wire as arrang...."

Talking of full moon, what was this enormous shadow on the sky-light? He looked up, and was confronted by a pair of watery grey eyes, and a large crimson face. In another moment the face was thrust into the cabin and a tall bare-footed man in blue shirt and trousers said hoarsely:

"Hullo, boss, so you have found something!" and he grinned, and pointed to the paper, and the broken boards. "I've had my eye on you! I always guessed this was a put-up job, and a mighty neat one too."

"Who the devil are you?" demanded Jack, sliding off the bunk, and rising to his feet.

"Your gen'leman companion," folding his bare arms. "I am Joe Todd--one of the crew; I was a bit 'on' when she struck, and in my berth; the boats forgot me in the scramble. I declare, when I woke, and found what had happened, I thought I was dreaming; however, I have been pretty comfortable--the best of liquor free, and I have not wasted my opportunities--a bottle of French brandy and a couple of fizz a day, eh? What beats me is having no baccy. The smell of yours drove me nigh crazy! So here I am--and in the nick of time!"

"Why did you not show before? Where do you stow yourself?"

"Aye, that's telling! I suppose you're in charge of the liquor--eh? The old Hooker has some of the best; I would have lain doggo still, but for the baccy--it drew me out, that pipe of yourn. What's this?" suddenly making a snatch at the papers.

"Only a plan of the ship," replied Truman, keeping his fury under control.

"No you don't!" cried Jack, making a dash to recapture his prize, but the other was too quick for him; and now began within the limited space of that small cabin a most desperate struggle between the two men. Round and round, and up and down, and to and fro they wrestled.--The cat, in alarm, took refuge in a little rack.--Jack was as hard as an open-air life, youth, temperance, and exercise could make him. The sailor's was a bigger, heavier, more powerful frame--and he was half mad with brandy.

The chances were five to one that Jack would tire down his opponent, when his foot slipped, and he fell on the back of his head, with the sailor a-top of him.

The fall stunned him, and when he came to his senses he was lying on the floor, the contents of the cabin were scattered in all directions, and it was empty. He lay for some time endeavouring to re-arrange his ideas. He recalled the sailor, the struggle, and the fact that he had gone off with the clue in his possession. He rose, and with difficulty staggered to the door; it was locked on the outside.

Jack's frenzy at having the cup of attainment snatched from his lips, his bitter disappointment, and his bad fall, combined to throw him into a fever. He lay half delirious all that night; with morning, he recovered, rose, and endeavoured to burst open the door; no use--it was strong and held fast; he could not blow off the lock, for his revolver was in the saloon. Parched with thirst, he emptied the water jug, which he had luckily replenished at night-fall. The sympathetic cat crept into the port-hole; later she returned bringing him a rat. A horrible idea came to him. Was it possible that he might yet be compelled to exist upon the cat's bounty? No, no--he had not come to that; but by the second afternoon--after thirty-six hours' imprisonment--he was nearly mad with hunger and thirst--especially thirst.

The moon rose; he stood with his face to the port-hole endeavouring to catch a breath of air, yet what was the good of prolonging the agony, since die he must? Hours passed, and then, as he stood, he seemed to hear a distant sound, not the lazy plash of the water, or the boisterous singing of the drunkard, but a far-away humming and throbbing--it was the steam-launch!

Yes, nearer and nearer it approached. His heart beat as if it would choke him. He trembled so violently, he could hardly stand. Now he could hear voices, and he shouted with all his remaining strength. After what seemed a whole week of waiting, he heard steps coming down the companion; the door was flung open, he was free. Here were two or three officers and officials, who were come to relieve him; they were amazed indeed to discover Truman locked into a cabin, and looking death-like, with staring hollow eyes, and parched, cracked lips. What had happened?

"Now we will go and find the ruffian," said the principal official; "we must tackle him quickly, and not let him have a chance to make away with his prize."

The sailor was easily discovered--his resounding snores betrayed him; he lay extended at full length on a sofa in the saloon, fast asleep, with an empty bottle beside him. His sleep was a stupor so profound that he had not heard the launch arrive, and he never stirred, whilst careful fingers removed two pieces of much damaged paper from his filthy trouser pocket.

Finally, when they roused him unceremoniously, he sat up, stared, and exclaimed, "Bless us if this b'ain't another blooming dream!" Subsequently he admitted that "he had forgotten the other cove; he had not been, so to say, sober since he saw him, and fought him for a greedy swab--well, it might be a day ago--it might be two or three."

Last, but not least, Jack Truman received a substantial cheque, which he immediately carried home, and laid before Boaz Pottinger, who gave him, according to his promise, ?40,000, and the hand of his daughter Nancy.

HELEN, OR SEMIRAMIS?

Professor Julian Serle never intended to marry, and up to the age of forty-five clung bravely to this resolve. He was a well-known authority on Assyria, had written successful books, read impressive papers, and was precisely at that point in his career when much was expected of him. His mode of life fluctuated between periods of incessant and engrossing labour, and spells of "butterflying" in smart society.

The Professor was well off, and a world-wide traveller. When in London he occupied comfortable chambers in Whitehall Court, and was a member of the Athenaeum and other clubs. Returning from Egypt, where he had spent the winter--working on an important book--he, so to speak, fell! Among the crowd of Anglo-Indians on board the steamer which he joined at Port Said, was Miss Helen Thursby, a popular girl among her fellow-passengers, handsome, lively, good-natured, and accomplished. She played accompaniments, amused children, interested their mothers, and fascinated men, both young and old.

Their charming new acquaintance made no secret of the fact that for the last two years she had been a governess in Simla, and was now returning to England, before joining her only near relative, a married brother in Canada.

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