Sea Urchins. William Wymark Jacobs

/p>

      Sea Urchins

      SMOKED SKIPPER

      Wapping Old Stairs?” said the rough individual, shouldering the bran-new sea-chest, and starting off at a trot with it; “yus, I know the place, captin. Fust v’y’ge, sir?”

      “Ay, ay, my hearty,” replied the owner of the chest, a small, ill-looking lad of fourteen. “Not so fast with those timbers of yours. D’ye hear?”

      “All right, sir,” said the man, and, slackening his pace, twisted his head round to take stock of his companion.

      “This ain’t your fust v’y’ge, captin,” he said admiringly; “don’t tell me. I could twig that directly I see you. Ho, what’s the use o’ trying to come it over a poor ‘ard-working man like that?”

      “I don’t think there’s much about the sea I don’t know,” said the boy in a satisfied voice. “Starboard, starboard your hellum a bit.”

      The man obeying promptly, they went the remainder of the distance in this fashion, to the great inconvenience of people coming from the other direction.

      “And a cheap ‘arf-crown’s worth, too, captin,” said the man, as he put the chest down at the head of the stairs and thoughtfully sat on it pending payment.

      “I want to go off to the Susan Jane,” said the boy, turning to a waterman who was sitting in his boat, holding on to the side of the steps with his hand.

      “All right,” said the man, “give us a hold o’ your box.”

      “Put it aboard,” said the boy to the other man.

      “A’ right, captin,” said the man, with a cheerful smile, “but I’ll ‘ave my ‘arf-crown fust if you don’t mind.”

      “But you said sixpence at the station,” said the boy.

      “Two an’ sixpence, captin,” said the man, still smiling, “but I’m a bit ‘usky, an’ p’raps you didn’t hear the two—‘arf a crown’s the regler price. We ain’t allowed to do it under.”

      “Well, I won’t tell anybody,” said the boy.

      “Give the man ‘is ‘arf-crown,” said the waterman, with sudden heat; “that’s ‘is price, and my fare’s eigh-teen pence.”

      “All right,” said the boy readily; “cheap, too. I didn’t know the price, that’s all. But I can’t pay either of you till I get aboard. I’ve only got sixpence. I’ll tell the captain to give you the rest.”

      “Tell ‘oo?” demanded the light-porter, with some violence.

      “The captain,” said the boy.

      “Look ‘ere, you give me that ‘arf-crown,” said the other, “else I’ll chuck your box overboard, an’ you after it.”

      “Wait a minute, then,” said the boy, darting away up the narrow alley which led to the stairs; “I’ll go and get change.”

      “‘E’s goin’ to change ‘arf a suvren, or p’raps a suvren,” said the waterman; “you’d better make it five bob, matey.”

      “Ah, an’ you make yours more,” said the light-porter cordially. “Well, I’m– Well of all the–”

      “Get off that box,” said the big policeman who had come back with the boy. “Take your sixpence an’ go. If I catch you down this way again–”

      He finished the sentence by taking the fellow by the scruff of the neck and giving him a violent push as he passed him.

      “Waterman’s fare is threepence,” he said to the boy, as the man in the boat, with an utterly expressionless face, took the chest from him, “I’ll stay here till he has put you aboard.”

      The boy took his seat, and the waterman, breathing hard, pulled out towards the vessels in the tier. He looked at the boy and then at the figure on the steps, and, apparently suppressing a strong inclination to speak, spat violently over the side.

      “Fine big chap, ain’t he?” said the boy.

      The waterman, affecting not to hear, looked over his shoulder, and pulled strongly with his left towards a small schooner, from the deck of which a couple of men were watching the small figure in the boat.

      “That’s the boy I was going to tell you about,” said the skipper, “and remember this ‘ere ship’s a pirate.”

      “It’s got a lot o’ pirates aboard of it,” said the mate fiercely, as he turned and regarded the crew, “a set o’ lazy, loafing, idle, worthless–”

      “It’s for the boy’s sake,” interrupted the skipper.

      “Where’d you pick him up?” inquired the other.

      “He’s the son of a friend o’ mine what I’ve brought aboard to oblige,” replied the skipper. “He’s got a fancy for being a pirate, so just to oblige his father I told him we was a pirate. He wouldn’t have come if I hadn’t.”

      “I’ll pirate him,” said the mate, rubbing his hands.

      “He’s a dreadful ‘andful, by all accounts,” continued the other; “got his ‘ed stuffed full o’ these ‘ere penny dreadfuls till they’ve turned his brain almost. He started by being an Indian, and goin’ off on ‘is own with two other kids. When ‘e wanted to turn cannibal the other two objected, and gave ‘im in charge. After that he did a bit o’ burgling, and it cost ‘is old man no end o’ money to hush it up.”

      “Well, what did you want him for?” grumbled the mate.

      “I’m goin’ to knock the nonsense out of him,” said the skipper softly, as the boat grazed the side. “Just step for’ard and let the hands know what’s expected of ‘em. When we get to sea it won’t matter.”

      The mate moved off grumbling, as the small fare stood on the thwarts and scrambled up over the side. The waterman passed up the chest, and dropping the coppers into his pocket, pushed off again without a word.

      “Well, you’ve got here all right, Ralph?” said the skipper. “What do you think of her?”

      “She’s a rakish-looking craft,” said the boy, looking round the dingy old tub with much satisfaction; “but where’s your arms?”

      “Hush!” said the skipper, and laid his finger on his nose.

      “Oh, all right,” said the youth testily, “but you might tell me.”

      “You shall know all in good time,” said the skipper patiently, turning to the crew, who came shuffling up, masking broad grins with dirty palms.

      “Here’s a new shipmate for you, my lads. He’s small, but he’s the right stuff.”

      The newcomer drew himself up, and regarded the crew with some dissatisfaction. For desperadoes they looked far too good-tempered and prone to levity.

      “What’s the matter with you, Jem Smithers?” inquired the skipper, scowling at a huge fair-haired man, who was laughing discordantly.

      “I was thinkin’ o’ the last party I killed, sir,” said Jem, with sudden gravity. “I allers laugh when I think ‘ow he squealed.”

      “You laugh too much,” said the other sternly, as he laid a hand on Ralph’s shoulder. “Take a lesson from this fine feller; he don’t laugh. He acts. Take ‘im down below an’ show him ‘is bunk.”

      “Will you please to follow me, sir?” said Smithers, leading the way below. “I dessay you’ll find it a bit stuffy, but that’s owing to Bill Dobbs. A regler old sea-dog is Bill, always sleeps in ‘is clothes and never washes.”

      “I don’t think the worse of him for that,” said Ralph, regarding the fermenting Dobbs kindly.

      “You’d best keep a civil tongue in your ‘ed, my lad,” said Dobbs shortly.

      “Never mind ‘im,” said Smithers cheerfully; “nobody takes any notice o’ old Dobbs. You can ‘it ‘im if you like. I won’t let him hurt you.”

      “I don’t want to start by quarrelling,” said Ralph seriously.

      “You’re afraid,” said Jem tauntingly; “you’ll never make one of us. ‘It ‘im; I won’t let him hurt you.”

      Thus aroused, the boy, first directing Dobbs’ attention