Sea Urchins

“Ah, that’s its secret,” said the engineer; “a good many people would like to know that, but nobody has found out yet. It’s a magic bird, and when you’ve said that you’ve said all there is to say about it.”

Mrs. Gannett, wrinkling her forehead, eyed the marvellous bird curiously.

“You’ll find it’s quite true,” said Gannett; “when I come back that bird’ll be able to tell me how you’ve been and all about you. Everything you’ve done during my absence.”

“Good gracious!” said the astonished Mrs. Gannett.

“If you stay out after seven of an evening, or do anything else that I shouldn’t like, that bird’ll tell me,” continued the engineer impressively. “It’ll tell me who comes to see you, and in fact it will tell me everything you do while I’m away.”

“Well, it won’t have anything bad to tell of me,” said Mrs. Gannett composedly, “unless it tells lies.”

“It can’t tell lies,” said her husband confidently, “and now, if you go and put your bonnet on, we’ll drop in at the theatre for half an hour.”

It was a prophetic utterance, for he made such a fuss over the man next to his wife offering her his opera-glasses, that they left, at the urgent request of the management, in almost exactly that space of time.

“You’d better carry me about in a bandbox,” said Mrs. Gannett wearily as the outraged engineer stalked home beside her. “What harm was the man doing?”

“You must have given him some encouragement,” said Mr. Gannett fiercely—“made eyes at him or something. A man wouldn’t offer to lend a lady his opera-glasses without.”

Mrs. Gannett tossed her head—and that so decidedly, that a passing stranger turned his head and looked at her. Mr. Gannett accelerated his pace, and taking his wife’s arm, led her swiftly home with a passion too great for words.

By the morning his anger had evaporated, but his misgivings remained. He left after breakfast for the Curlew, which was to sail in the afternoon, leaving behind him copious instructions, by following which his wife would be enabled to come down and see him off with the minimum exposure of her fatal charms.

Left to herself Mrs. Gannett dusted the room, until, coming to the parrot’s cage, she put down the duster and eyed its eerie occupant curiously. She fancied that she saw an evil glitter in the creature’s eye, and the knowing way in which it drew the film over it was as near an approach to a wink as a bird could get.

She was still looking at it when there was a knock at the door, and a bright little woman—rather smartly dressed—bustled into the room, and greeted her effusively.

“I just came to see you, my dear, because I thought a little outing would do me good,” she said briskly; “and if you’ve no objection I’ll come down to the docks with you to see the boat off.”

Mrs. Gannett assented readily. It would ease the engineer’s mind, she thought, if he saw her with a chaperon.

“Nice bird,” said Mrs. Cluffins, mechanically bringing her parasol to the charge.

“Don’t do that,” said her friend hastily.

“Why not?” said the other.

“Language!” said Mrs. Gannett solemnly.

“Well, I must do something to it,” said Mrs. Cluffins restlessly.

She held the parasol near the cage and suddenly opened it. It was a flaming scarlet, and for the moment the shock took the parrot’s breath away.

“He don’t mind that,” said Mrs. Gannett.

The parrot, hopping to the farthest corner of the bottom of his cage, said something feebly. Finding that nothing dreadful happened, he repeated his remark somewhat more boldly, and, being convinced after all that the apparition was quite harmless and that he had displayed his craven spirit for nothing, hopped back on his perch and raved wickedly.

“If that was my bird,” said Mrs. Cluffins, almost as scarlet as her parasol, “I should wring its neck.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Gannett solemnly. And having quieted the bird by throwing a cloth over its cage, she explained its properties.

“What!” said Mrs. Cluffins, unable to sit still in her chair. “You mean to tell me your husband said that!”

Mrs. Gannett nodded.

“He’s awfully jealous of me,” she said with a slight simper.

“I wish he was my husband,” said Mrs. Cluffins in a thin, hard voice. “I wish C. would talk to me like that I wish somebody would try and persuade C. to talk to me like that.”

“It shows he’s fond of me,” said Mrs. Gannett, looking down.

Mrs. Cluffins jumped up, and snatching the cover off the cage, endeavoured, but in vain, to get the parasol through the bars.

“And you believe that rubbish!” she said scathingly. “Boo, you wretch!”

“I don’t believe it,” said her friend, taking her gently away and covering the cage hastily just as the bird was recovering, “but I let him think I do.”

“I call it an outrage,” said Mrs. Cluffins, waving the parasol wildly. “I never heard of such a thing; I’d like to give Mr. Gannett a piece of my mind. Just about half an hour of it. He wouldn’t be the same man afterwards—I’d parrot him.”

Mrs. Gannett, soothing her agitated friend as well as she was able, led her gently to a chair and removed her bonnet, and finding that complete recovery was impossible while the parrot remained in the room, took that wonder-working bird outside.

By the time they had reached the docks and boarded the Curlew Mrs. Cluffins had quite recovered her spirits. She roamed about the steamer asking questions, which savoured more of idle curiosity than a genuine thirst for knowledge, and was at no pains to conceal her opinion of those who were unable to furnish her with satisfactory replies.

“I shall think of you every day, Jem,” said Mrs. Gannett tenderly.

“I shall think of you every minute,” said the engineer reproachfully.

He sighed gently and gazed in a scandalised fashion at Mrs. Cluffins, who was carrying on a desperate flirtation with one of the apprentices.

“She’s very light-hearted,” said his wife, following the direction of his eyes.

“She is,” said Mr. Gannett curtly, as the unconscious Mrs. Cluffins shut her parasol and rapped the apprentice playfully with the handle. “She seems to be on very good terms with Jenkins, laughing and carrying on. I don’t suppose she’s ever seen him before.”

“Poor young things,” said Mrs. Cluffins solemnly, as she came up to them. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Gannett; I’ll look after her and keep her from moping.”

“You’re very kind,” said the engineer slowly.

“We’ll have a jolly time,” said Mrs. Cluffins. “I often wish my husband was a seafaring man. A wife does have more freedom, doesn’t she?”

“More what?” inquired Mr. Gannett huskily.

“More freedom,” said Mrs. Cluffins gravely. “I always envy sailors’ wives. They can do as they like. No husband to look after them for nine or ten months in the year.”

Before the unhappy engineer could put his indignant thoughts into words there was a warning cry from the gangway, and with a hasty farewell he hurried below. The visitors went ashore, the gangway was shipped, and in response to the clang of the telegraph the Curlew drifted slowly away from the quay and headed for the swing-bridge slowly opening in front of her.

The two ladies hurried to the pier-head and watched the steamer down the river until a bend hid it from view. Then Mrs. Gannett, with a sensation of having lost something, due, so her friend assured her, to the want of a cup of tea, went slowly back to her lonely home.

In the period of grass-widowhood which ensued, Mrs. Cluffins’s visits formed almost the sole relief to the bare monotony of existence. As a companion the parrot was an utter failure, its language being so irredeemably bad that it spent most of its time in the spare room with a cloth over its cage, wondering when the days were going to lengthen a bit. Mrs. Cluffins suggested selling it, but her friend repelled the suggestion with horror, and refused to entertain it at any price, even that of the publican at the corner, who, having heard of the bird’s command of language, was bent upon buying it.