At Sunwich Port [complete]Jacobs, W. W. (William Wymark)
General
At Sunwich Port [complete]
Jacobs, W. W. (William Wymark)
Betrothal -- Fiction; Family -- England -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction; Ship captains -- Fiction
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Silk. “It’s no trouble to me at all. I like
nursing; always did.”
Mr. Wilks lay back again and, closing his eyes, determined to ask
the doctor to provide a duly qualified nurse on the morrow. To his
disappointment, however, the doctor failed to come, and although he
felt much better Mrs. Silk sternly negatived a desire on his part to
get up.
“Not till the doctor’s been,” she said, firmly. “I couldn’t think of
it.”
“I don’t believe there’s anything the matter with me now,” he declared.
“’Ow odd—’ow very odd that you should say that!” said Mrs. Silk,
clasping her hands.
“Odd!” repeated the steward, somewhat crustily. “How do you mean—odd?”
“They was the very last words my Uncle Benjamin ever uttered in this
life,” said Mrs. Silk, with dramatic impressiveness.
The steward was silent, then, with the ominous precedent of Uncle
Benjamin before him, he began to talk until scores of words stood
between himself and a similar ending.
“Teddy asked to be remembered to you as ’e went off this morning,” said
Mrs. Silk, pausing in her labours at the grate.
“I’m much obliged,” muttered the invalid.
“He didn’t ’ave time to come in,” pursued the widow. “You can ’ardly
believe what a lot ’e thinks of you, Mr. Wilks. The last words he said
to me was, ‘Let me know at once if there’s any change.’”
Mr. Wilks distinctly felt a cold, clammy sensation down his spine
and little quivering thrills ran up and down his legs. He glared
indignantly at the back of the industrious Mrs. Silk.
“Teddy’s very fond of you,” continued the unconscious woman. “I s’pose
it’s not ’aving a father, but he seems to me to think more of you than
anybody else in the wide, wide world. I get quite jealous sometimes.
Only the other day I said to ’im, joking like, ‘Well, you’d better go
and live with ’im if you’re so fond of ’im,’ I said.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Wilks, uneasily.
“You’ll never guess what ’e said then,” said Mrs. Silk dropping her
dustpan and brush and gazing at the hearth.
“Said ’e couldn’t leave you, I s’pose,” guessed the steward, gruffly.
“Well, now,” exclaimed Mrs. Silk, clapping her hands, “if you ’aven’t
nearly guessed it. Well, there! I never did! I wouldn’t ’ave told you
for anything if you ’adn’t said that. The _exact_ words what ’e did say
was, ‘Not without you, mother.’”
Mr. Wilks closed his eyes with a snap and his heart turned to water.
He held his breath and ransacked his brain in vain for a reply which
should ignore the inner meaning of the fatal words. Something careless
and jocular he wanted, combined with a voice which should be perfectly
under control. Failing these things, he kept his eyes closed, and, very
wide-awake indeed, feigned sleep. He slept straight away from eleven
o’clock in the morning until Edward Silk came in at seven o’clock in
the evening.
“I feel like a new man,” he said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
“I don’t see no change in your appearance,” said the comforting youth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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