Noughts and Crosses: Stories, Studies and SketchesQuiller-Couch, Arthur
General
Noughts and Crosses: Stories, Studies and Sketches
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Manners and customs -- Fiction; Short stories
The pair gave a start, and there was some whispering before the
answer came up to me.
"Is that you, sir?"
"To be sure," said I. "What are you two about on board _The
Gleaner?_"
Some more whispering followed, and then Tubal Cain spoke again--
"It doesn't matter now, sir. We've lived aboard here for a week, and
to-night's the end of our honeymooning. If 'tis no liberty sir,
Annie's wishful that you should join us."
Somehow, the invitation, coming through this mysterious atmosphere,
seemed at once natural and happy. The fiddle began again as I
stepped away from the fence and went down to get my boat out.
In three minutes I was afloat, and a stroke or two brought me to the
ship's ladder. Annie and Tubal Cain stood at the top to welcome me.
But if I had felt no incongruity in paying this respectful visit to
my ex-cook and her lover, I own that her appearance made me stare.
For, if you please, she was dressed out like a lady, in a gown of
pale blue satin trimmed with swansdown--a low-necked gown, too,
though she had flung a white shawl over her shoulders. Imagine this
and the flood of blue light around us, and you will hardly wonder
that, half-way up the ladder, I paused to take breath. Tubal Cain
was dressed as usual, and tucking his fiddle under his arm, led me up
to shake hands with his bride as if she were a queen. I cannot say
if she blushed. Certainly she received me with dignity: and then,
inverting a bucket that lay on the deck, seated herself; while Tubal
Cain and I sat down on the deck facing her, with our backs against
the bulwarks.
"It's just this, sir," explained the bridegroom, laying his fiddle
across his lap, and speaking as if in answer to a question: "it's
just this:--by trade you know me for a watchmaker, and for a Plymouth
Brother by conviction. All the week I'm bending over a counter, and
every Sabbath-day I speak in prayer-meeting what I hold, that life's
a dull pilgrimage to a better world. If you ask me, sir, to-night, I
ought to say the same. But a man may break out for once; and when so
well as on his honeymoon? For a week I've been a free heathen: for a
week I've been hiding here, living with the woman I love in the open
air; and night after night for a week Annie here has clothed herself
like a woman of fashion. Oh, my God! it has been a beautiful time--a
happy beautiful time that ends to-night!"
He set down the fiddle, crooked up a knee and clasped his hands round
it, looking at Annie.
"Annie, girl, what is it that we believe till to-morrow morning?
You believe--eh?--that 'tis a rare world, full of delights, and with
no ugliness in it?"
Annie nodded.
"And you love every soul--the painted woman in the streets no less
than your own mother?"
Annie nodded again. "I'd nurse 'em both if they were sick," she
said.
"One like the other?"
"And there's nothing shames you?" Here he rose and took her hand.
"You wouldn't blush to kiss me before master here?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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