Ben Sees It Through

‘Good,’ answered the young man. ‘Then I’ll see you again when we’re off the boat, eh?’

The next moment, he was gone.

Ben stared after him. When they were off the boat, eh? P’r’aps that was the catch!

But the future, on a heaving ship, is less vital than the present, and the disappearance of the young man brought thoughts back to one’s stomach. A wave struck the ship’s side with a hearty smack. ‘Fust was right,’ reflected Ben, as the spray showered down upon him. ‘I didn’t orter’ve ’ad that fag.’

Another figure approached. It was the petty officer who looked after the man who looked after the cows.

‘Taking a little holiday?’ he inquired, with good-humoured sarcasm.

‘You gotter come up from cows sometimes,’ Ben defended himself. ‘They ain’t vilette der parme!’

‘That’s all right,’ nodded the officer. ‘You look a bit green.’

‘Put green by me, and you wouldn’t recekernise it,’ answered Ben. ‘’Ow long afore we’re goin’ ter stand on somethink that don’t wobble?’

‘We’ll soon be in now,’ smiled the officer, ‘and I can’t say I’ll be sorry, either, after this dirty bit o’ Channel. But, I say, you’re not supposed to jaw with the nobs, you know!’

He glanced at the gold-tipped cigarette, as he spoke. Ben was still sticking it.

‘’E begun it,’ replied Ben. ‘’Oo is ’e?’

‘Not seen him before, eh?’

‘Never set eyes on ’im.’

‘Well, he’s had his eyes on you more than once during the voyage. Supercargo. Came on board the same port you did. Hallo, what’s happened to your top hat?’

‘Gorn hoverboard, arter me yeller gloves,’ answered Ben.

‘Well, see you don’t foller them!’ grinned the officer, as the ship gave another heave. ‘It’s time you were getting below again.’

Ben nodded. After all, it didn’t really matter. It was equally uncomfortable everywhere.

The cow Molly greeted him with friendliness. He swore that she knew him, just as he knew her. Her mouth, and the tongue that came out of it to lick his fingers, was especially soft, and when the man and the animal stared wordlessly into each other’s eyes, they understood each other. ‘Life’s not much fun,’ said the cow’s eyes. ‘Mouldy,’ replied Ben’s. ‘Frightening,’ said the cow’s. ‘’Orrible,’ said Ben’s. ‘But you seem all right,’ said the cow’s. ‘You ain’t so bad yerself,’ said Ben’s.

Then he scratched the cow where cows like it, behind the ears, and then held out his hand to be licked. It was a very young cow, and Ben, despite his lines, had never really grown up.

Now, while the boat drew into Southampton Water, he stared at Molly for the last time, and a very queer sensation assailed him. If you had asked him whether it was sentiment or sea-sickness, he’d have tossed for it.

‘I ’ope they’re good ter yer,’ he said. ‘If they ain’t, jest drop us a line.’

The cow looked back, solemnly. And who shall prove that, within the muddy mournfulness of its limited comprehension, it did not receive some fragment of Ben’s message?

But the business of bringing a boat into port makes no allowance for either sentiment or sea-sickness, and before long Ben was busy with, not one cow, but fifty. They had to be examined. They had to be disturbed. They had to be shooed into new places where they belonged, and out of other places where they didn’t; round a yawning hole; over a board flooring, down a gangway, into a fenced enclosure. Then fresh officials took charge, driving them into a waiting truck.

And so the fifty cows passed out of Ben’s life, and at last he found himself a free man again.

A free man? Technically, yes. But, in a sense, he envied the cows as he stood on the dock with neither plan nor prospect. They, at least, had somewhere to go!

‘Well—here we are again,’ said a voice beside him.

It was the supercargo. In the midst of kicking cattle, Ben had forgotten him!

‘Oh—you agine?’ he blinked.

‘Yes, me agine,’ answered the young man. ‘Have you got your discharge?’

‘Eh? Yus.’

‘Splendid! Then let’s be getting along!’

Ben stared at the young man, incredulously. So it wasn’t a catch, after all?

‘Yer mean—that job?’ he asked.

‘Course,’ nodded the young man. ‘What did you take me for? I’m the sort that sticks to my word, I am. Step lively.’

He seemed in a hurry to be off. In such a hurry, in fact, that he suddenly seized Ben’s arm, and began trundling him away.

‘Oi! Are we goin’ in fer a air record or somethink?’ demanded Ben.

‘We’ve got to find a shop before it closes, haven’t we?’ replied the young man. ‘No, no! Not that way—this way!’

He swung Ben round a corner, and then round another corner. Ben began to gasp. Then a taxi loomed before them and Ben found himself shooting in. The door slammed. The taxi began to move.

‘Wot’s orl this?’ panted Ben.

‘I’m a hustler,’ admitted the young man, ‘when there’s a reason.’

‘Yus, but wot’s the reason?’

The young man considered for a moment, then gave a reason.

‘If we hadn’t hurried, we’d have missed this taxi,’ he explained, ‘and if we’d missed this taxi we might have missed our shop.’

‘Wot shop?’

‘Where’s your memory, man? I’m getting you a new cap, aren’t I? And now suppose we stop talking, and try thinking? Thinking’s so much more restful, isn’t it?’

Ben subsided. Thinking was certainly more restful. The only trouble was, one didn’t know quite what to think. The taxi made its way inland, and soon the docks were well in their rear. Narrow streets widened. The sense of ships grew less. Shops replaced blank brick walls, and chimneys funnels.

‘Oi!’ cried Ben, suddenly. ‘There’s ’ats!’

‘Eh?’ exclaimed his companion, jerked out of a reverie.

‘’Ats,’ repeated Ben. ‘’At shop. ’Ats.’