More Cargoes

“One o’ them things what won’t never be cleared up properly,” said the cook comfortably.

“Well, I don’t like to say it,” said the skipper, “but I must. The only man who could have taken it was Hutchins.”

“Wot, sir,” said Dan, “that blessed man! Why, I’d laugh at the idea.”

“He couldn’t do it,” said the boy, “not if he tried he couldn’t. He was too good.”

“He’s taken that twenty-three poun’,” said the skipper deliberately; “eighteen, we’ll call it, because I’m goin’ to have five of it back.”

“You’re labourin’ under a great mistake, sir,” said Dan ambiguously.

“Are you going to give me that money?” said the skipper loudly.

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, no,” said the cook, speaking for the rest as he put his foot on the companion-ladder. “Brother ‘Utchins gave us that money for singing them ‘ims so well. ‘E said so, and we ain’t ‘ad no call to think as it warn’t honestly come by. Nothing could ever make us think that, would it, mates?”

“Nothing,” said the others with exemplary firmness. “It couldn’t be done.”

They followed the cook up on deck, and leaning over the side, gazed in a yearning fashion toward the place where they had last seen their benefactor. Then, with a sorrowful presentiment that they could never look upon his like again, they turned away and prepared for the labours of the day.

THE DISBURSEMENT SHEET

The old man was dead, and his son Edward reigned in his stead. The old man had risen from an humble position in life; his rule was easy, and his manner of conducting business eminently approved of by the rough old seamen who sailed his small craft round the coast, and by that sharp clerk Simmons, on whose discovery the old man was wont, at times, to hug himself in secret. The proceedings, when one of his skippers came home from a voyage, were severely simple. The skipper would produce a bag, and, emptying it upon the table, give an account of his voyage; whenever he came to an expenditure, raking the sum out of the heap, until, at length, the cash was divided into two portions, one of which went to the owner, the other to the skipper.

But other men other manners. The books of the inimitable Simmons being overhauled, revealed the startling fact that they were kept by single entry; in addition to which, a series of dots and dashes appeared against the figures, forming a code, the only key to which was locked up somewhere in Simmons’s interior.

“It’s a wonder the firm hasn’t gone bankrupt long ago,” said the new governor, after the clerk had explained the meaning of various signs and wonders. “What does this starfish against the entry mean?”

“It isn’t a starfish, sir,” said Simmons; “it means that one bag of sugar got wetted a little; then, if the consigners notice it, we shall know we have got to allow for it.”

“A pretty way of doing business, upon my word. It’ll all have to be altered,” said the other. “I must have new offices too; this dingy little hole is enough to frighten people away.”

The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Captain Fazackerly, of the schooner Sarah Ann, who, having just brought up in the river, had hastened to the office to report.

“Mornin’, sir,” said the captain respectfully; “I’m glad to see you here, sir, but the office don’t seem real like without your father sitting in it. He was a good master, and we’re all sorry to lose him.”

“You’re very good,” said the new master somewhat awkwardly.

“I expect it’ll take some time for you to get into the way of it,” said the captain with a view to giving the conversation a more cheerful turn.

“I expect it will,” said the new master, thinking of the starfish.

“It’s a mercy Simmons was not took too,” said the captain, shaking his head. “As it is, he’s spared; he’ll be able to teach you. There ain’t”—he lowered his voice, not wishing to make Simmons unduly proud—“there ain’t a smarter clerk in all Liverpool than wot he is.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said the new master, regarding the old man with raised eyebrows, as he extricated a plethoric-looking canvas bag from his jacket pocket and dropped it with a musical crash on the chipped office table. His eyebrows went still higher, as the old man unfastened the string, and emptying the contents on to the table, knitted his brows into reflective wrinkles, and began to debit the firm with all the liabilities of a slow but tenacious memory.

“Oh, come,” said the owner sharply, as the old man lovingly hooked out the sum of five-and-sixpence as a first instalment, “this won’t do, cap’n.”

“Wot won’t do, Mas’r Edward?” inquired the old man in surprise.

“Why this way of doing business,” said the other. “It’s not business-like at all, you know.”

“Well, it’s the way me an’ your pore old father has done it this last thirty year,” said the skipper, “an’ I’m sure I’ve never knowingly cheated him out of a ha’penny; and a better man o’ business than your father never breathed.”

“Yes; well, I’m going to do things a bit differently,” said the new master. “You must give me a proper disbursement sheet, cap’n, if you please.”

“And what may that be?” inquired Captain Fazackerly as, with great slowness, he gathered, up the money and replaced it in the bag; “I never heard of it afore.”

“Well, I haven’t got time to teach you bookkeeping,” said the other, somewhat nettled at the old man’s manner. “Can’t you get some of your brother captains to show you? Some deep-sea man would be sure to know.”

“I’ll see what I can do, sir,” said the skipper slowly as he turned towards the door. “My word was always good enough for your father.”

In a moody, indignant frame of mind he stuck his hands furiously in his trousers’ pockets, and passed heavily through the swing-doors. At other times he had been wont to take a genial, if heavy interest in passing events; but, in this instance, he plodded on, dwelling darkly upon his grievance, until he reached, by the mere force of habit, a certain favourite tavern. He pulled up sharply, and, as a mere matter of duty and custom, and not because he wanted it, went in and ordered a glass of gin.

He drank three, and was so hazy in his replies to the young lady behind the bar, usually a prime favourite, that she took offence, and availing herself, for private reasons, of a public weapon, coldly declined to served him with a fourth.

“Wot?” said the astounded Fazackerly, coming out of his haze.

“You’ve had enough!” said the girl firmly, “You get aboard again, and mind haw you do so.”

The skipper gazed at her for a moment in open-mouthed horror, and then jamming his hat firmly over his brows, stumbled out of the door and into the street, where he ran full into the arms of another mariner who was just entering.

“Why, Zacky, my boy,” cried the latter, clapping him lustily on the back, “how goes it?”

In broken indignant accents the other told him.

“You come in with me,” said the newcomer.

“I’ll never enter that pub again,” said the skipper.

“You come in with me,” said the master-mind firmly.

Captain Fazackerly hesitated a moment, and then, feeling that he was safe in the hands of the master of a foreign-going barque, followed him into the bar, and from behind his back glared defiantly at his fair foe.

“Two glasses o’ gin, my dear,” said Captain Tweedie with the slightest possible emphasis.

The girl, who knew her customer, served him without a murmur, deftly avoiding the gaze of ungenerous triumph with which the injured captain favoured her as he raised the cooling beverage to his lips. The glass emptied, he placed it on the counter and sighed despondently.

“There’s something up with you, Zacky,” said Tweedie, eyeing him closely as he bit the end off a cigar; “you’ve got something on your mind.”

“I’ve been crool hurt,” said his friend in a hard, cold voice. “My word ain’t good enough for the new guv’nor; he wants what he calls a disbursement sheet.”

“Well, give him one,” said Tweedie. “You know what it is, don’t you?”

Captain Fazackerly shook his head, and pushing the glasses along the counter nodded for them to be refilled.

“You come aboard with me,” said Tweedie after they had emptied them.

Captain Fazackerly, who had a doglike faith in his friend, followed him into the street and on to his barque. In a general way he experienced a social rise when he entered the commodious cabin of that noble craft, and his face grew in importance as his host, after motioning him to a seat, placed a select array of writing materials before him.