And this, if you please, for no reason but that, when he went on board at
night and laid his head on the pillow, he should feel that he was as near
as he could conveniently get to his Freya slumbering in the bungalow.
Did you ever! And, mind, this brig was the home to be—their home—the
floating paradise which he was gradually fitting out like a yacht to sail
his life blissfully away in with Freya. Imbecile! But the fellow was
always taking chances.
One day, I remember I watched with Freya on the verandah the brig
approaching the point from the northward. I suppose Jasper made the girl
out with his long glass. What does he do? Instead of standing on for
another mile and a half along the shoals and then tacking for the
anchorage in a proper and seamanlike manner, he spies a gap between two
disgusting old jagged reefs, puts the helm down suddenly, and shoots the
brig through, with all her sails shaking and rattling, so that we could
hear the racket on the verandah. I drew my breath through my teeth, I
can tell you, and Freya swore. Yes! She clenched her capable fists and
stamped with her pretty brown boot and said “Damn!” Then, looking at me
with a little heightened colour—not much—she remarked, “I forgot you were
there,” and laughed. To be sure, to be sure. When Jasper was in sight
she was not likely to remember that anybody else in the world was there.
In my concern at this mad trick I couldn’t help appealing to her
sympathetic common sense.
“Isn’t he a fool?” I said with feeling.
“Perfect idiot,” she agreed warmly, looking at me straight with her
wide-open, earnest eyes and the dimple of a smile on her cheek.
“And that,” I pointed out to her, “just to save twenty minutes or so in
meeting you.”
We heard the anchor go down, and then she became very resolute and
threatening.
“Wait a bit. I’ll teach him.”
She went into her own room and shut the door, leaving me alone on the
verandah with my instructions. Long before the brig’s sails were furled,
Jasper came up three steps at a time, forgetting to say how d’ye do, and
looking right and left eagerly.
“Where’s Freya? Wasn’t she here just now?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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