Produced by David Widger. *SALTHAVEN* _By_ W. W. JACOBS 1908 ââââ CONTENTS ILLUSTRATIONS CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXVI ââââ ILLUSTRATIONS I Thought I Heard a Manâs Voice The Office Boy Caught the Junior Partner Best and Prettiest Girl in Salthaven It Was a Comfortable Position Immersed in a Bundle of Papers A Fine Show of Indignation Were Regulating Their Pace by Hers Nothing Loath, Gave a Tug Presented Him With the Bananas Proceeded With Almost Equal Care to Assist Her Mother Mrs. Willett and Mrs. Chinnery Confronted Each Other She Placed It Between his Lips With a Little Jab To Bassett, the Best of Boys Iâm Choking No Wonder I Thought You Was a Lady I Came to Ask Your Advice Holding a Handkerchief to his Bleeding Face Iâve Got a Bone to Pick With You She Said, âNonsenseâ he Replied, Softly He Leaned Back in his Chair I Heard You Come In, he Said, in a Stealthy Whisper Think Iâm the Most Forgetful Man in Salthaven Iâve Got to Go, Too, Said the Captain She Seated Herself on a Pile of Timber I Donât Like Leaving Him Here Corner of the Bank Of England Mind, I Havenât Promised Cut Short in his Expressions of Pleasure C-ck! he Said, Waggishly She Drew the Ring from Her Finger Itâs to Make You Leave off Loving Me Time! Cried Captain Sellers Donât You Think Captain Trimblett is Lucky Snatching his Hat from Its Peg You Look Very Nice, Dear You Can Have a Little Drop Yourself Marvellous Piece of Jugglery Donât Go, he Said, Hastily Wedged Under a Dressing-table Brought the Curtains Down With Him Waved Herself off the Fence on to The Stones His Cigar Fell Unheeded to the Floor An Enormous Fist Held Just Beneath his Nose CHAPTER I MR. JOHN VYNER, ship-owner, pushed his chair back from his writing-table and gazed with kindly condescension at the chief clerk as he stood before it with a handful of papers. "We shall be able to relieve you of some of your work soon, Hartley," he said, slowly. "Mr. Robert will come into the firm next week." The chief clerk bowed. "Three years at Cambridge," resumed Mr. Vyner, meditatively, "and two years spent up and down the world studying the business methods of other nations ought to render him invaluable to us." "No doubt, sir," said Hartley. "It is an excellent training." "For a time," said the ship-owner, leaning back and placing the tips of his fingers together, "for a time I am afraid that he will have to have your room. Later onâhaâif a room shouldâhaâfall vacant in the building, we might consider taking it." "Yes, sir," said the other. "And, of course," resumed Mr. Vyner, "there is one great advantage in your being in the general office which must not be overlooked; you can keep an eye on the juniors better." "It is cheerful, too, sir," suggested the chief clerk; "the only thingâ" "Yes?" said Mr. Vyner, somewhat loudly. Mr. Hartley shrank a little. "I was going to say that it is rather a small room for Mr. Robert," he said, quickly. "It will do for a time," said the other. "Andâand I think I told you, sir, that there is an unpleasant smâodour." Mr. Vyner knitted his brows. "I offered to have that seen to, but you said that you didnât mind it," he remarked. "Just so, sir," said Hartley; "but I was thinking of Mr. Robert. He might not like it; itâs very strong at timesâvery strong indeed." "You ought to have had it attended to before," said Mr. Vyner, with some severity. "You had better call at Gillowsâ on your way home and ask them to send a man up first thing to-morrow morning." He drew his chair to the table again, and Hartley, after lingering a moment, withdrew to his own room. Ten out of his thirty-five years of service had been passed there, and he stifled a sigh as he looked at the neat array of drawers and pigeon-holes, the window overlooking the bridge and harbour, and the stationerâs almanac which hung over the fireplace. The japanned letter-rack and the gum-bottle on the small mantelpiece were old friends. The dayâs work completed, he walked home in sober thought. It was a pleasant afternoon in May, but he was too preoccupied to pay any heed to the weather, and, after informing a man who stopped him to tell him that he had lost a wife, six children, and a right leg, that it was just five minutes past six, resumed his way with a hazy idea of having been useful to a fellow-creature. He brightened a little as he left the bustle of the town behind, and from sheer force of habit glanced at the trim front-gardens as he passed. The cloud lifted still more as he reached his own garden and mentally compared his flowers with those he had just passed. His daughter was out, and tea for one was laid in the front room. He drew his chair to the table, and taking up the tea-pot, which the maid had just brought in, poured himself out a cup of tea. He looked round the comfortable room with pleasure. After all, nobody could take that from him. He stirred his tea and had just raised the cup to his lips when he set it down untasted and sat staring blankly before him. A low rumble of voices from the kitchen fell unpleasantly on his ear; and his daughter Joan had left instructions too specific to be misunderstood as to his behaviour in the event of Rosa entertaining male company during her absence. He coughed twice, loudly, and was glad to note the disappearance of the rumble. Pleased with his success he coughed a third time, a sonorous cough charged with importance. A whispered rumble, possibly a suggestion of withdrawal, came from the kitchen. "Only his tea gone the wrong way," he heard, reassuringly, from Rosa. The rumble, thus encouraged, deepened again. It became confident and was heard to laugh. Mr. Hartley rose and, standing on the hearthrug with legs apart, resolved to play the man. He leaned over and rang the bell. The voices stopped. Then he heard Rosa say, "Not him! you stay where you are." She came slowly in response to the bell, and thrusting a yellow head in at the door gazed at him inquiringly. "IâI want a little more hot water," said her master, mildly. "More?" repeated Rosa. "Why, I brought you over a pint." "I want some more," said Mr. Hartley. Then a bright thought struck him. "I am expecting Miss Joan home every minute," he added, significantly. Rosa tossed her head. "She ainât coming home till nine," she remarked, "so if itâs only for her you want the hot water, you wonât want it." "IâI thought I heard a manâs voice," he said at last. "Very good," said her master, with an attempt at dignity; "you can go." Rosa went, whistling. Mr. Hartley, feeling that he had done all that could be expected of a man, sat down and resumed his tea. The rumbling from the kitchen, as though in an endeavour to make up for lost time, became continuous. It also became louder and more hilarious. Pale and determined Mr. Hartley rose a second time and, seizing the bell-pull, rang violently. "Does anybody want to see me?" he inquired, as Rosaâs head appeared. "You? No," was the reply. "I thought," said her master, gazing steadily at the window, "I thought somebody was inquiring for me." "Well, there hasnât been," said Rosa. Mr. Hartley, with a magisterial knitting of the brows, which had occasionally been found effective with junior clerks, affected to ponder. "IâI thought I heard a manâs voice," he said at last. "Nobodyâs been inquiring for you," said Rosa calmly. "If they did I should come in and let you know. Nobodyâs been for you that Iâve heard of, and I donât see how they could come without me knowing it." "Just so," said Mr. Hartley. "Just so." He turned to the mantelpiece for his tobacco-jar, and Rosa, after standing for some time at the "ready" with a hostile stare, cleared her throat noisily and withdrew. The voices in the kitchen broke out with renewed vehemence; Mr. Hartley coughed againâa cough lacking in spiritâand, going out at the front door, passed through the side-entrance to the garden and tended his plants with his back to the kitchen window. Hard at work at the healthful pastime of weeding, his troubles slipped from him. The path became littered with little tufts of grass, and he was just considering the possibility of outflanking the birch-broom, which had taken up an advantageous position by the kitchen window, when a young man came down the side-entrance and greeted him with respectful enthusiasm. "I brought you these," he said, opening a brown leather bag and extracting a few dried roots. "I saw an advertisement. I forget the name of them, but they have beautiful trumpet-shaped flowers. They are free growers, and grow yards and yards the first year." "And miles and miles the second," said Mr. Hartley, regarding them with extraordinary ferocity. "Bindweed is the name, and once get it in your garden and youâll never get rid of it." "That wasnât the name in the advertisement," said the other, dubiously. "I donât suppose it was," said Hartley. "Youâve got a lot to learn in gardening yet, Saunders." "Yes, sir," said the other; "Iâve got a good teacher, though." Mr. Hartley almost blushed. "And how is your garden getting on?" he inquired. "Itâsâitâs getting on," said Mr. Saunders, vaguely. "I must come and have a look at it," said Hartley. "Not yet," said the young man, hastily. "Not yet. I shouldnât like you to see it just yet. Is Miss Hartley well?" Mr. Hartley said she was, and, in an abstracted fashion, led the way down the garden to where an enormous patch of landâor so it seemed to Mr. Saundersâawaited digging. The latter removed his coat and, hanging it with great care on an apple tree, turned back his cuffs and seized the fork. "Itâs grand exercise," said Mr. Hartley, after watching him for some time. "Grand," said Mr. Saunders, briefly. "As a young man I couldnât dig enough," continued the other, "but nowadays it gives me a crick in the back." "Always?" inquired Mr. Saunders, with a slight huskiness. "Always," said Mr. Hartley. "But I never do it now; Joan wonât let me." Mr. Saunders sighed at the name and resumed his digging. "Miss Hartley out?" he asked presently, in a casual voice. "Yes; she wonât be home till late," said the other. "We can have a fine eveningâs work free of interruptions. Iâll go and get on with my weeding." He moved off and resumed his task; Mr. Saunders, with a suppressed groan, went on with his digging. The ground got harder and harder and his back seemed almost at breaking-point. At intervals he had what gardeners term a "straight-up," and with his face turned toward the house listened intently for any sounds that might indicate the return of its mistress. "Half-past eight," said Hartley at last; "time to knock off. Iâve put a few small plants in your bag for you; better put them in in the morning before you start off." Mr. Saunders thanked him, and reaching down his coat put it on and followed Mr. Hartley to the house. The latter, steering him round by the side-entrance, accompanied him to the front gate. "If you would like to borrow my roller or lawn-mower at any time," he said, cordially, "I should be very pleased to lend them to you. It isnât very far." Mr. Saunders, who would sooner have died than have been seen dragging a roller through the streets, thanked him warmly. With an idea of prolonging his stay, he suggested looking at them. "Theyâre locked up now," said Mr. Hartley. "See them another time. Good-night." "Good-night," said Mr. Saunders. "Iâll look in to-morrow evening, if I may." "No use to-morrow," Mr. Hartley called after him; "there will be nobody at home but Joan." CHAPTER II MR. ROBERT VYNER entered upon his new duties with enthusiasm. The second day he was at the office half an hour before anybody else; on the third day the staff competed among themselves for the honour of arriving first, and greeted him as respectfully as their feelings would permit when he strolled in at a quarter to eleven. The arrival of the senior partner on the day following at a phenomenally early hour, for the sake of setting an example to the junior, filled them with despair. Their spirits did not revive until Mr. John had given up the task as inconvenient and useless. A slight fillip was given to Robertâs waning enthusiasm by the arrival of new furniture for his room. A large mahogany writing-table, full of drawers and pigeon-holes, gave him a pleasant sense of importance, and the revolving chair which went with it afforded a welcome relief to a young and ardent nature. Twice the office-boy had caught the junior partner, with his legs tucked up to avoid collisions, whirling wildly around, and had waited respectfully at the door for the conclusion of the performance. "It goes a bit stiff, Bassett," said the junior partner. "Yessir," said Bassett. "Iâm trying to ease it a bit," explained Mr. Robert. "Yessir," said Bassett again. Mr. Robert regarded him closely. An undersized boy in spectacles, with a large head and an air of gravity and old age on his young features, which the junior thought somewhat ill-placed for such an occasion. "I suppose you never twizzle round on your chair, Bassett?" he said, slowly. Bassett shivered at the idea. "No, sir," he said, solemnly; "Iâve got my work to do." Mr. Robert sought for other explanations. "And, of course, you have a stool," he remarked; "you couldnât swing round on that." "Not even if I wanted to, sir," said the unbending Bassett. Mr. Robert nodded, and taking some papers from his table held them before his face and surveyed the youth over the top. Bassett stood patiently to attention. "Thatâs all right," said the other; "thank you." "Thank you, sir," said Bassett, turning to the door. "By the way," said Mr. Robert, eying him curiously as he turned the handle, "what exercise do you take?" "Exercise, sir?" said Bassett. Mr. Robert nodded. "What do you do of an evening for amusement after the arduous toils of the day are past? Marbles?" "No, sir," said the outraged one. "If I have any time to spare I amuse myself with a little shorthand." "Amuse!" exclaimed the other. He threw himself back in his chair and, sternly checking its inclination to twirl again, sought for a flaw in the armour of this paragon. "And what else do you do in the way of recreation?" "Iâve got a vivarium, sir." Mr. Robert hesitated, but curiosity got the better of his dignity. "Whatâs that?" he inquired. "A thing I keep frogs and toads in, sir," was the reply. Mr. Robert, staring hard at him, did his honest best to check the next question, but it came despite himself. "Are youâare you married, Bassett?" he inquired. Bassett regarded him calmly. "No, sir," he said, with perfect gravity. "I live at home with my mother." The junior partner gave him a nod of dismissal, and for some time sat gazing round the somewhat severely furnished office, wondering with some uneasiness what effect such surroundings might have on a noble but impressionable temperament. He brought round a few sketches the next day to brighten the walls, and replaced the gum-bottle and other useful ornaments by some German beer-mugs. Even with these aids to industry he found the confinement of office somewhat irksome, and, taking a broad view of his duties, gradually relieved Bassett of his errands to the docks. It was necessary, he told himself, to get a thorough grasp of the whole business of ship-owning. In the stokeholds of Vyner and Sonâsâ steamships he talked learnedly on coal with the firemen, and, quite unaided, hit on several schemes for the saving of coalâall admirable except for the fact: that several knots per hour would be lost. "The thing is to take an all-round view," he said to Captain Trimblett, of the SS. Indian Chief, as he strolled back with that elderly mariner from the ship to the office one day. "Thatâs it, sir," said the captain. "Donât waste, and, at the same time, donât pinch," continued Mr. Robert, oracularly. "Thatâs business in a nutshell," commented the captain. "Donât spoil the ship for a haâporth of tar, and, on the other hand, donât get leaving the tar about for other people to sit on." "But you got it off," said Robert, flushing. "You told me you had." "As far as tar ever can be got off," asserted the captain, gloomily. "Yes. Why I put my best trousers on this morning," he continued, in a tone of vague wonder, "Iâm sure I donât know. It was meant to be, I suppose; itâs all for some wise purpose: that we donât know of." "Wise fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Robert, shortlyâ"Your particular brand of fatalism is the most extraordinary nonsense I ever heard of. What it means: is that thousands of years ago, or millions, perhaps, was decided that I should be born on purpose to tar your blessed trousers." "That and other things," said the immovable captain. "Itâs all laid down for us, everything we do, and we canât help doing it. When I put on those trousers this morningâ" "Oh, hang your trousers," said Robert. "You said it didnât matter, and youâve been talking about nothing else ever since." "I wonât say another word about it," said the captain. "I remember the last pair I had done; a pair oâ white ducks. My steward it was; one oâ those silly, fat-headed, staring-eyed, garpingâ" "Go on," said the other, grimly. "Nice, bright young fellows," concluded the captain, hastily; "he got on very well, I believe." "After he left you, I suppose?" said Mr. Vyner, smoothly. "Yes," said the innocent captain. He caught a glance of the otherâs face and ruminated. "After I had broken him of his silly habits," he added. He walked along smiling, and, raising his cap with a flourish, beamed in a fatherly manner on a girl who was just passing. Robert replaced his hat and glanced over his left shoulder. "Who is that?" he inquired. "I saw her the other day; her face seems familiar to me." "Joan Hartley," replied the captain. "Nathaniel Hartleyâs daughter. To my mind, the best and prettiest girl in Salthaven." "Eh?" said the other, staring. "Hartleyâs daughter? Why, I should have thoughtâ" The best and prettiest girl in Salthaven "Yes, sir?" said Captain Trimblett, after a pause. "Nothing," concluded Robert, lamely. "She doesnât look like it; thatâs all." "Sheâs got his nose," maintained the captain, with the obstinate air of a man prepared to go to the stake for his opinions. "Like as two peas their noses are; youâd know them for father and daughter anywhere by that alone." Mr. Vyner assented absently. He was wondering where the daughter of the chief clerk got her high looks from. "Very clever girl," continued the captain. "She got a scholarship and went to college, and then, when her poor mother died, Hartley was so lonely that she gave it all up and came home to keep house for him." "Quite a blue-stocking," suggested Robert. "Thereâs nothing of the blue-stocking about her," said the captain, warmly. "In fact, I shouldnât be surprised if she became engaged soon." Mr. Vyner became interested. "Oh!" he said, with an instinctive glance over his left shoulder. Captain Trimblett nodded sagely. "Young fellow of the name of Saunders," he said slowly. "Oh!" said the other again. "You might have seen him at Wilsonâs, the ship-brokerâs," pursued the captain. "Bert Saunders his name is. Rather a dressy youngster, perhaps. Generally wears a pink shirt and a very high stand-up collarâone oâ those collars that you have to get used to." Mr. Vyner nodded. "Heâs not good enough for her," said the captain, shaking his head. "But then, nobody is. Looked at that way itâs all right." "You seem to take a great interest in it," said Robert. "He came to me with his troubles," said Captain Trimblett, bunching up his gray beard in his hand reflectively. "Leastways, he made a remark or two which I took up. Acting under my advice he is taking up gardening." Mr. Vyner glanced at him in mystification. "Hartley is a great gardener," explained the other with a satisfied smile. "What is the result? He can go there when he likes, so to speak. No awkwardness or anything of that sort. He can turn up there bold as brass to borrow a trowel, and take three or four hours doing it." "Youâre a danger to society," said Robert, shaking his head. "People ought to marry while theyâre young," said the captain. "If they donât, like as not theyâre crazy to marry in their old age. Thereâs my landlord here at Tranquil Vale, fifty-two next birthday, and over his ears in love. He has got it about as bad as a man can have it." "And the lady?" inquired Robert. "Sheâs all right," said the captain. He lowered his voice confidentially. "Itâs Peterâs sister, thatâs the trouble. Heâs afraid to let her know. All we can do is to drop a little hint here and a little hint there, so as to prepare her for the news when itâs broken to her." "Is she married?" inquired Robert, pausing as they reached the office. "No," said Captain Trimblett; "widow." Mr. Vyner gave a low whistle. "When do you sail, capân?" he inquired, in a voice oily with solicitude. "Soon as my engine-room repairs are finished, I suppose," said the other, staring. "And youâyou are giving her hints about courtship and marriage?" inquired Mr. Vyner, in tones of carefully-modulated surprise. "Sheâs a sensible woman," said the captain, reddening, "and sheâs no more likely to marry again than I am." "Just what I was thinking," said Mr. Vyner. He shook his head, and, apparently deep in thought, turned and walked slowly up the stairs. He was pleased to notice as he reached the first landing that the captain was still standing where he had left him, staring up the stairs. CHAPTER III IN a somewhat ruffled state of mind Captain Trimblett pursued his way toward Tranquil Vale, a row of neat cottages situated about a mile and a half from the town, and inhabited principally by retired mariners. The gardens, which ran down to the river, boasted a particularly fine strain of flag-staffs; battered figure-heads in swan-like attitudes lent a pleasing touch of colour, and old boats sawn in halves made convenient arbours in which to sit and watch the passing pageant of the sea. At No. 5 the captain paused to pass a perfectly dry boot over a scraper of huge dimensions which guarded the entrance, and, opening the door, finished off on the mat. Mrs. Susanna Chinnery, who was setting tea, looked up at his entrance, and then looked at the clock. "Kettleâs just on the boil," she remarked. "Your kettle always is," said the captain, taking a chairâ"when itâs time for it to be, I mean," he added, hastily, as Mrs. Chinnery showed signs of correcting him. "Itâs as easy to be punctual as otherwise," said Mrs. Chinnery; "easier, if people did but know it." "So it is," murmured the captain, and sat gazing, with a sudden wooden expression, at a picture opposite of the eruption of Vesuvius. "Peterâs late again," said Mrs. Chinnery, in tones of hopeless resignation. "Business, perhaps," suggested Captain Trimblett, still intent on Vesuvius. "For years and years you could have set the clock by him," continued Mrs. Chinnery, bustling out to the kitchen and bustling back again with the kettle; "now I never know when to expect him. He was late yesterday." Captain Trimblett cleared his throat. "He saw a man nearly run over," he reminded her. "Yes; but how long would that take him?" retorted Mrs. Chinnery. "If the man had been run over I could have understood it." The captain murmured something about shock. "On Friday he was thirty-three minutes late," continued the other. "Friday," said the faithful captain. "Friday he stopped to listen to a man playing the bagpipesâa Scotchman." "That was Thursday," said Mrs. Chinnery. The captain affected to ponder. "So it was," he said, heartily. "What a memory you have got! Of course, Friday he walked back to the office for his pipe." "Well, we wonât wait for him," said Mrs. Chinnery, taking the head of the table and making the tea. "If he canât come in to time he must put up with his tea being cold. Thatâs the way we were brought up." "A very good way, too," said the captain. He put a radish into his mouth and, munching slowly, fell to gazing at Vesuvius again. It was not until he had passed his cup up for the second time that a short, red-faced man came quickly into the room and, taking a chair from its place against the wall, brought it to the table and took a seat opposite the captain. "Late again, Peter," said his sister. "Been listening to a man playing the cornet," said Mr. Truefitt, briefly. Captain Trimblett, taking the largest radish he could find, pushed it into his mouth and sat gazing at him in consternation. He had used up two musical instruments in less than a week. "Youâre getting fond of music in your old age," said Mrs. Chinnery, tartly. "But you always are late nowadays. When it isnât music itâs something else. Whatâs come over you lately I canât think." Mr. Truefitt cleared his throat for speech, and then, thinking better of it, helped himself to some bread and butter and went on with his meal. His eyes met those of Captain Trimblett and then wandered away to the window. The captain sprang into the breach. "He wants a wife to keep him in order," he said, with a boldness that took Mr. Truefittâs breath away. "Wife!" exclaimed Mrs. Chinnery. "Peter!" She put down her cup and laughedâa laugh so free from disquietude that Mr. Truefitt groaned in spirit. "Heâll go off one of these days." said the captain with affected joviality. "You see if he donât." Mrs. Chinnery laughed again. "Heâs a born bachelor," she declared. "Why, heâd sooner walk a mile out of his way any day than meet a woman. Heâs been like it ever since he was a boy. When I was a girl and brought friends of mine home to tea, Peter would sit like a stuffed dummy and never say a word." "Iâve known older bachelors than him to get married," said the captain. "Iâve known âem down with it as sudden as heart disease. In a way, it is heart disease, I suppose." "Peterâs heartâs all right," said Mrs. Chinnery. "He might drop down any moment," declared the captain. Mr. Truefitt, painfully conscious of their regards, passed his cup up for some more tea and made a noble effort to appear amused, as the captain cited instance after instance of confirmed bachelors being led to the altar. "I broke the ice for you to-day," he said, as they sat after tea in the little summer-house at the bottom of the garden, smoking. Mr. Truefittâs gaze wandered across the river. "Yes," he said, slowly, "yes." "I was surprised at myself," said the captain. "I was surprised at you," said Mr. Truefitt, with some energy. "So far as I can see, you made it worse." The captain started. "I did it for the best, my lad," he said, reproachfully. "She has got to know some day. You canât be made late by cornets and bagpipes every day." Mr. Truefitt rumpled his short gray hair. "You see, I promised her," he said, suddenly. "I know," said the captain, nodding. "And now youâve promised Miss Willett." "When they brought him home dead," said Mr. Truefitt, blowing out a cloud of smoke, "she was just twenty-five. Pretty she was then, capân, as pretty a maid as youâd wish to see. As long as I live, Susanna, and have a home, you shall share itâ; thatâs what I said to her." The captain nodded again. "And sheâs kept house for me for twenty-five years," continued Mr. Truefitt; "and the surprising thing to me is the way the years have gone. I didnât realize it until I found an old photograph of hers the other day taken when she was twenty. Men donât change much." The captain looked at himâat the close-clipped gray whiskers, the bluish lips, and the wrinkles round the eyes. "No," he said, stoutly. "But she could live with you just the same." The other shook his head. "Susanna would never stand another woman in the house," he said, slowly. "She would go out and earn her own living; thatâs her pride. And she wouldnât take anything from me. Itâs turning her out of house and home." "Sheâd be turning herself out," said the captain. "Of course, there is the chance she might marry again," said the other, slowly. "Sheâs had several chances, but she refused âem all." "From what she said one day," said the captain, "I got the idea that she has kept from marrying all these years for your sake." Mr. Truefitt put his pipe down on the table and stared blankly before him. "Thatâs the worst of it," he said, forlornly; "but something will have to be done. Iâve been engaged three weeks now, and every time I spend a few minutes with CeciliaâMiss WillettâI have to tell a lie about it." "You do it very well," said his friend. "Very well indeed." "And Susanna regards me as the most truthful man that ever breathed," continued Mr. Truefitt. "Youâve got a truthful look about you," said the captain. "If I didnât know you so well I should have thought the same." Unconscious of Mr. Truefittâs regards he rose and, leaning his arm on the fence at the bottom of the garden, watched the river. "Miss Willett thinks she might marry again," said Mr. Truefitt, picking up his pipe and joining him. "Sheâd make an excellent wife for anybodyâanybody." The captain assented with a nod. "Nobody could have a better wife," said Mr. Truefitt. The captain, who was watching an outward-bound barque, nodded again, absently. "Sheâs affectionate," pursued Mr. Truefitt, "a wonderful housekeeper, a good conversationalist, a good cook, always punctual, always at home, alwaysâ" The captain, surprised at a fluency so unusual, turned and eyed him in surprise. Mr. Truefitt broke off abruptly, and, somewhat red in the face, expressed his fear that the barque would take the mud if she were not careful. Captain Trimblett agreed and, to his friendâs relief, turned his back on him to watch her more closely. It was a comfortable position, with his arms on the fence, and he retained it until Mr. Truefitt had returned to the summer-house. CHAPTER IV MR. ROBERT VYNER had been busy all the afternoon, and the clock still indicated fifteen minutes short of the time at which he had intended to leave. He leaned back in his chair, and, yielding to the slight rotatory movement of that active piece of furniture, indulged in the first twirl for three days. Bassett or no Bassett, it was exhilarating, and, having gone to the limit in one direction, he obtained impetus by a clutch at the table and whirled back again. A smothered exclamation from the door arrested his attention, and putting on the break with some suddenness he found himself looking into the pretty, astonished eyes of Joan Hartley. "I beg your pardon," she said, in confusion. "I thought it was my father." "Itâit got stuck," said Mr. Vyner, springing up and regarding the chair with great disfavour. "I was trying to loosen it. I shall have to send it back, Iâm afraid; itâs badly made. Thereâs no cabinet-making nowadays." Miss Hartley retreated to the doorway. "I am sorry; I expected to find my father here," she said. "It used to be his room." "Yes, it was his room," said the young man. "If you will come in and sit down I will send for him." "It doesnât matter, thank you," said Joan, still standing by the door. "If you will tell me where his room is now, I will go to him." "Heâhe is in the general office," said Robert Vyner, slowly. Miss Hartley bit her lip and her eyes grew sombre. "Donât go," said Mr. Vyner, eagerly. "Iâll go and fetch him. He is expecting you." "Expecting me?" said the girl. "Why, he didnât know I was coming." "Perhaps I misunderstood him," murmured Mr. Vyner. "Pressure of business," he said, vaguely, indicating a pile of papers on his table. "Hardly know what people do say to me." He pushed a comfortable easy-chair to the window, and the girl, after a momentâs hesitation, seated herself and became interested in the life outside. Robert Vyner, resuming his seat, leaned back and gazed at her in frank admiration. "Nice view down the harbour, isnât it?" he said, after a long pause. Miss Hartley agreedâand sat admiring it. "Salthaven is a pretty place altogether, I think," continued Robert. "I was quite glad to come back to it. I like the town and I like the people. Except for holidays I havenât been in the place since I was ten." Miss Hartley, feeling that some comment was expected, said, "Indeed!" "You have lived here all your life, I suppose?" said the persevering Robert. "Practically," said Miss Hartley. Mr. Vyner stole a look at her as she sat sideways by the window. Conscience and his visitorâs manner told him that he ought to go for her father; personal inclination told him that there was no hurry. For the first time in his experience the office became most desirable place in the world. He wanted to sit still and look at her, and for some time, despite her restlessness, obeyed his inclinations. She turned at last to ask for her father, and in the fraction of a second he was immersed in a bundle of papers. Knitted brows and pursed lips testified to his absorption. He seized a pen and made an endorsement; looked at it with his head on one side and struck it out again. "My father?" said Miss Hartley, in a small but determined voice. Mr. Vyner gazed at her in a preoccupied fashion. Suddenly his face changed. "Good gracious! yes," he said, springing up and going to the door. "How stupid of me!" He stepped into the corridor and stood reflecting. In some circumstances he could be business-like enough. After reflecting for three minutes he came back into the room. "He will be in soon," he said, resuming his seat. Inwardly he resolved to go and fetch him later onâwhen the conversation flagged, for instance. Meantime he took up his papers and shook his head over them. "I wish I had got your fatherâs head for business," he said, ruefully. Miss Hartley turned on him a face from which all primness had vanished. The corners of her mouth broke and her eyes grew soft. She smiled at Mr. Vyner, and Mr. Vyner, pluming himself upon his address, smiled back. "If I knew half as much as he does," he continued, "IâdâIâdââ" Miss Hartley waited, her eyes bright with expectation. "Iâd," repeated Mr. Vyner, who had rashly embarked on a sentence before he had seen the end of it, "have a jolly easy time of it," he concluded, breathlessly. Miss Hartley surveyed him in pained surprise. "I thought my father worked very hard," she said, with a little reproach in her voice. "So he does," said the young man, hastily, "but he wouldnât if he only had my work to do; thatâs what I meant. As far as he is concerned he works far too hard. He sets an example that is a trouble to all of us except the office-boy. Do you know Bassett?" Miss Hartley smiled. "My father tells me he is a very good boy," she said. "A treasure!" said Robert. "âGoodâ doesnât describe Bassett. He is the sort of boy who would get off a âbus after paying his fare to kick a piece of orange peel off the pavement. He has been nourished on copy-book headings and âSanford and Merton.â Ever read âSanford and Mertonâ?" "IâI tried to once," said Joan. "There was no âtryingâ with Bassett," said Mr. Vyner, rather severely. "He took to it as a duck takes to water. By modelling his life on its teaching he won a silver medal for never missing an attendance at school." "Father has seen it," said Joan, with a smile. "Even the measles failed to stop him," continued Robert. "Day by day, a little more flushed than usual, perhaps, he sat in his accustomed place until the whole school was down with it and had to be closed in consequence. Then, and not till then, did Bassett feel that he had saved the situation." "I donât suppose he knew it, poor boy," said Joan. "Anyway, he got the medal," said Robert, "and he has a row of prizes for good conduct. I never had one; not even a little one. I suppose you had a lot?" Miss Hartley maintained a discreet silence. "Nobody ever seemed to notice my good conduct," continued Mr. Vyner, still bent on making conversation. "They always seemed to notice the other kind fast enough; but the âgoodâ seemed to escape them." He sighed faintly, and glancing at the girl, who was looking out of the window again, took up his pen and signed his blotting-paper. "I suppose you know the view from that window pretty well?" he said, putting the paper aside with great care. "Ever since I was a small girl," said Joan, looking round. "I used to come here sometimes and wait for father. Not so much lately; and now, of courseâ" Mr. Vyner looked uncomfortable. "I hope you will come to this room whenever you want to see him," he said, earnestly. "Heâhe seemed to prefer being in the general office." Miss Hartley busied herself with the window again. "Seemed to prefer," she said, impatiently, under her breath. "Yes." There was a long silence, which Mr. Vyner, gazing in mute consternation at the vision of indignant prettiness by the window, felt quite unable to break. He felt that the time had at last arrived at which he might safely fetch Mr. Hartley without any self-upbraidings later on, and was just about to rise when the faint tap at the door by which Bassett always justified his entrance stopped him, and Bassett entered the room with some cheques for signature. Despite his habits, the youth started slightly as he saw the visitor, and then, placing the cheques before Mr. Vyner, stood patiently by the table while he signed them. "That will do," said the latter, as he finished. "Thank you." "Thank you, sir," said Bassett. He gave a slow glance at the window, and, arranging the cheques neatly, turned toward the door. "Will Mr. Hartley be long?" inquired Joan, turning round. "Mr. Hartley, miss?" said Bassett, pausing, with his hand on the knob. "Mr. Hartley left half an hour ago." Mr. Vyner, who felt the eyes of Miss Hartley fixed upon him, resisted by a supreme effort the impulse to look at her in return. "Bassett!" he said, sharply. "Sir?" said the other.. "Didnât you," said Mr. Vyner, with a fine and growing note of indignation in his voiceâ"didnât you tell Mr. Hartley that Miss Hartley was here waiting for him?" "No, sir," said Bassett, gazing at certain mysterious workings of the junior partnerâs face with undisguised amazement. "Iâ" "Do you mean to tell me," demanded Mr. Vyner, looking at him with great significance, "that you forgot?" "No, sir," said Bassett; "I didnâtâ" "That will do," broke in Mr. Vyner, imperiously. "That will do. You can go." "But," said the amazed youth, "how could I tellâ" "Thatâwillâdo," said Mr. Vyner, very distinctly. "I donât want any excuses. You can go at once. And the next time you are told to deliver a message, please donât forget. Now go." With a fine show of indignation he thrust the gasping Bassett from the room. He rose from his chair and, with a fine show of indignation, thrust the gasping Bassett from the room, and then turned to face the girl. "I am so sorry," he began. "That stupid boyâyou see how stupid he isâ" "It doesnât matter, thank you," said Joan. "Itâit wasnât very important." "He doesnât usually forget things," murmured Mr. Vyner. "I wish now," he added, truthfully, "that I had told Mr. Hartley myself." He held the door open for her, and, still expressing his regret, accompanied her down-stairs to the door. Miss Hartley, somewhat embarrassed, and a prey to suspicions which maidenly modesty forbade her to voice, listened in silence. "Next time you come," said Mr. Vyner, pausing just outside the door, "I hopeâ" Something dropped between them, and fell with a little tinkling crash on to the pavement. Mr. Vyner stooped, and, picking up a pair of clumsily fashioned spectacles, looked swiftly up at the office window. "Bassett," he said, involuntarily. He stood looking at the girl, and trying in vain to think of something to say. Miss Hartley, with somewhat more colour than usual, gave him a little bow and hurried off. CHAPTER V SMILING despite herself as she thought over the events of the afternoon, Joan Hartley walked thoughtfully homeward. Indignation at Mr. Vynerâs presumption was mingled with regret that a young man of undeniably good looks and somewhat engaging manners should stoop to deceit. The fact that people are considered innocent until proved guilty did not concern her. With scarcely any hesitation she summed up against him, the only thing that troubled her being what sentence to inflict, and how to inflict it. She wondered what excuse he could make for such behaviour, and then blushed hotly as she thought of the one he would probably advance. Confused at her own thoughts, she quickened her pace, in happy ignorance of the fact that fifty yards behind her Captain Trimblett and her father, who had witnessed with great surprise her leave-taking of Mr. Vyner, were regulating their pace by hers. "Sheâs a fine girl," said the captain, after a silence that had endured long enough to be almost embarrassing. "A fine girl, butâ" He broke off, and completed his sentence by a shake of the head. "She must have come for me," said Hartley, "and he happened to be standing there and told her I had gone." "No doubt," said the captain, dryly. "Thatâs why she went scurrying off as though she had got a train to catch, and he stood there all that time looking after her. And, besides, every time he sees me, in some odd fashion your name crops up." "My name?" said the other, in surprise. "Your name," repeated the captain, firmly, "Same as Joanâs, ainât it? The after-part of it, anyway. Thatâs the attraction. Talk all round youâand I talk all round you, too. Nobodyâd dream youâd got a daughter to hear the two of us talkâsometimes. Other times, if I bring her name in, theyâd think youâd got nothing else." Mr. Hartley glanced at him uneasily. "Perhapsâ" he began. "Thereâs no âperhapsâ about it," said the masterful captain. "If youâre not very careful thereâll be trouble. You know what Mr. John isâheâs got big ideas, and the youngster is as obstinate as a mule." "Itâs all very well," said Hartley, "but how can I be careful? What can I do? Besides, I dare say you are making mountains of mole-heaps; she probably hurried off thinking to catch me up." Captain Trimblett gave a little dry cough. "Ask her," he said, impressively. "Iâm not going to put any such ideas into her head," said his friend. "Sound her, then," said the captain. "This is the way I look at it. We all think he is a very nice fellow, donât we?" "He is," said Hartley, decidedly. "And we all think sheâs a splendid girl, donât we?" continued the other. "Something of the sort," said Hartley, smiling. "There you are, then," said the captain, triumphantly. "What is more likely than that they should think the same of each other? Besides, I know what he thinks; I can read him like a book." "You canât read Joan, though," said the other. "Why, she often puzzles me." "I can try," said the captain. "I havenât known her all these years for nothing. Now, donât tell her we saw her. You leave her to meâand listen." "Better leave her alone," said Hartley. The captain, who was deep in thought, waved the suggestion aside. He walked the remainder of the way in silence, and even after they were in the house was so absorbed in his self-appointed task, and so vague in his replies, that Joan, after offering him the proverbial penny for his thoughts, suggested to her father in a loud whisper that he had got something in mind. "Thinking of the ships he has lost," she said, in a still louder whisper. The captain smiled and shook his head at her. "Couldnât lose a ship if I tried," he said, nudging Hartley to call his attention to what was to follow. "I was saying so to Mr. Robert only yesterday!" His voice was so deliberate, and his manner so significant, that Miss Hartley looked up in surprise. Then she coloured furiously as she saw both gentlemen eying her with the air of physicians on the lookout for unfavourable symptoms. Anger only deepened her colour, and an unladylike and unfilial yearning to bang their two foolish heads together possessed her. Explanations were impossible, and despite her annoyance she almost smiled as she saw the concern in the eye the captain turned on her father. "Saying so only yesterday," repeated the former, "to Mr. Robert." "I saw him this afternoon," said Joan, with forced composure. "I went up to fatherâs room and found him there. Why didnât you tell me you had given up your room, father?" Mr. Hartley pleaded in excuse that he thought he had told her, and was surprised at the vehemence of her denial. With a slightly offended air he pointed out that it was a very small matter after all. "There is nothing to be annoyed about," he said. "You went there to see me, and, not finding me there, came down again." "Ye-es," said Joan, thoughtfully. "Just put her head in at the door and fled," explained the captain, still watching her closely. Miss Hartley appeared not to have heard him. "Came down three stairs at a time," he continued, with a poor attempt at a chuckle. "I was there about half an hour waiting for father," said Joan, eying him very steadily. "I thought that he was in the other office. Is there anything else I can tell you?" The captain collapsed suddenly, and, turning a red face upon Hartley, appealed to him mutely for succour. "Me?" he spluttered, feebly. "IâI donât want to know anything. Your father thoughtâ" "I didnât think anything," said Hartley, with some haste. The captain eyed him reproachfully. "I thought your father thoughtâ" he began, and, drawing out a large handkerchief, blew his nose violently. "Yes?" said Joan, still very erect. "That is all," said the captain, with an air of dignity. He brushed some imaginary atoms from his beard, and, finding the girlâs gaze still somewhat embarrassing, sought to relieve the tension. "Iâve known you since you were five," he said, with inconsequent pathos. "I know," said Joan, smiling, and putting her hand on his broad shoulder. "Youâre a dear old stupid; that is all." "Always was," said the relieved captain, "from a child." He began, with a cheerful countenance, to narrate anecdotes of his stupidity until, being interrupted by Hartley with one or two choice examples that he had forgotten, he rose and muttered something about seeing the garden. His progress was stayed by a knock at the front door and an intimation from Rosa that he was wanted. "My boâsun," he said, reentering the room with a letter. "Excuse me." He broke the seal, and turned to Hartley
{'title': 'Salthaven by W. W. Jacobs', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}