Ben Sees It Through

‘Where is your home?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What?’

‘’Oo?’

‘I said, where is your home?’

‘Oh,’ said Ben. ‘I ain’t got none.’

‘Ain’t got none,’ murmured the young man, reflectively. ‘I see. I see.’

The homelessness of Ben appeared to interest him. A sudden burst of spray interrupted the interest and sent them both back. But it did not separate them. When Ben returned to the taff-rail he found the young man still by his side. He seemed to have drawn an inch or two closer.

‘No home,’ said the young man, sympathetically. ‘That’s unfortunate. What’ll you do?’

‘Well, I ain’t rightly decided yet,’ answered Ben. ‘They wants me in the Cabbynet.’

‘In the Ministry of Repartee?’

‘’Oo?’

‘Never mind. Don’t let’s start that again. But seriously—haven’t you got a job?’

‘Wot? Work?’

‘You’ve been working on this ship.’

‘Yus, I ’ad ter. On’y way ter git me passage ’ome, see. “Can you look arter a cow?” they ses. “Yus,” I ses. That’s the way ter git on, that is. Say “Yus,” and ’ope. But I ’oped fer one cow, and they give me fifty. And forty-nine kicked me. Everyone bar Molly.’

The young man laughed, but Ben didn’t. He was thinking of Molly. Molly had the nicest eyes, and he’d named her after someone he’d left behind him in Spain. Someone who had not been fortunate enough to get a job on a ship, but who was going to return to England somehow or other the moment she got the chance!

The coast of England continued to bob up and down. Only, for a few seconds, it ceased to be the coast of England, and became the coast of Spain. The long straight smudge that would presently materialise into Southampton changed temporarily into a mountainous outline, with dead men upon it, and bulging black moustaches, and daggers so long that they could go right through you and still have room for a couple more. But there was something else, also, upon that mountainous outline. Something that gave a queer beauty to the hideousness … something that made one almost regretful one had left it … companionship …

‘If you want a job when we land, I dare say I could find it for you.’

Ben came to with a jerk.

‘You’ve got to eat, I expect, like the rest of us, eh? And you can’t get cake for nothing.’

‘Wot sort of a job?’ asked Ben.

‘Well—how about that job you’ve dreamed of?’ smiled the young man. ‘Good pay and no work?’

‘Go on!’ said Ben.

The young man laughed. He grinned down on Ben, while Ben squinted up at him. Ben’s head ended where the young man’s chin began.

‘I know a job like that,’ remarked the young man. ‘Maybe, for once in your life, you’re going to be lucky!’

‘Yus, but why should yer give it ter me?’ demanded Ben, suspiciously. ‘’Oo’s toldjer I’ve got the qualiticashuns?’

‘What! To receive a couple of quid a week for doing nothing?’ retorted the young man. ‘You can hold out your hand, can’t you?’

‘Eh?’ muttered Ben. ‘Cupple o’ quid?’

Forty pounds of chedder!

‘And, after all, I owe you something, don’t I, for bumping into you like that and making you lose your cap. By the way, I’ll have to buy you another.’

So it was this young fellow who had made him lose his cap, was it? Well, the gust of wind had certainly seemed a bit solid, now Ben came to think of it! But, at the moment, there were more important things to think of. This job! Go on! Did he really mean it?

Ben did not like work. Not, at least, the kind of work he was given on the rare occasions when work came his way. You can’t dream that all the figures in Madame Tussaud’s are made of gorganzoler, or that you are hibernating in a hole in gruyere, while you are rubbing cows with a clothes-brush and trying to avoid their feet. But Ben realised that, as a general principle, you can’t make money in this ill-managed world without being expected to do something for it—and two pounds a week for the simple operation of holding out one’s hand was arresting.

‘Wot’d I ’ave ter do?’ he inquired.

‘I’ve told you,’ answered the young man. ‘Nothing.’

‘Yus, but I mean—ter git it?’

‘Oh, just call at an address I’d give you.’

‘Where?’

‘In London.’

‘’Ow’d I git ter Lunnon?’

‘Fare’s included. And—as I mentioned—that new cap.’

‘Go on!’

‘I’ve gone on. Now it’s your turn.’

‘Look ’ere,’ said Ben, coming to grips. ‘D’yer mean ter tell me that orl I’ve gotter do is jest ter say Yus?’

‘Yus,’ nodded the young man. ‘Provided my friend also says Yus.’

‘’Oo’s ’e?’

‘I’ll tell you, if you want the job.’

Ben closed his eyes and thought hard. He always closed his eyes when he thought hard. When you think hard you have to push, like, against the darkness. Yet was there, in this case, anything to think hard about?

Life had made Ben suspicious of everything and everybody. The cow Molly, and the girl the cow had been named after, were the only earthly items he would recommend to God when asked for his opinion; the only items that hadn’t got a catch in them somewhere. This young fellow beside him probably had dozens of catches in him! Just the same, with two quid a week and nothing to do—could one go wrong?

‘I’m on!’ said Ben, suddenly opening his eyes.