Shifting Winds: A Tough Yarn by R. M. Ballantyne (best free ebook reader txt) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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âNow, take good care of Emmie, Niven, and donât forget to get herââ
The remainder was drowned by âthat irritating whistle.â
âGet her what, maâam?â
âGet her shoes mended before Sunday, and remember that her petticoat was torn when sheâbless me! has that thing burst at last?â
âNo, maâam, not yet,â said Niven.
âNow then, keep back; show your tickets, please,â said the inspector, pushing Niven aside.
âImperence!â muttered the offended housekeeper, again advancing to the window when the man had passed.
As the train was evidently about to start, Miss Peppyâs memory became suddenly very acute, and a rush of forgotten directions almost choked her as she leaned out of the window.
âOh! Niven, I forgotâtheâtheâdear me, what is it? I know it so well when Iâm not in a flurry. Itâs awful to be subjected so constantly toâthe Childâs History of England! thatâs itâon the top of myâmyâwhich trunk can it be? I know, oh yes, the leather one. Emmie is to readâwell now, that is too badââ
As Miss Peppy stopped and fumbled in her pocket inquiringly, Mrs Niven asked, in some concern, if it was her purse.
âNo, itâs my thimble; ah! here it is, thereâs a corner in that pocket where everything seems toâwell,â (shriek from the whistle), âoh! andâandâthe bakerâs bookâit must beâby the bye, thatâs well remembered, you must get money from Mr Stuartââ
âWhat now, maâam,â inquired Mrs Niven, as Miss Peppy again paused and grew pale.
âThe key!â
âOf the press?â inquired Niven.
âYesâno; that is, itâs the key of the press, and not the key of my trunk. Here, take it,â (she thrust the key into the housekeeperâs hand, just as the engine gave a violent snort.) âWhat shall I do? My trunk wonât open without, at least I suppose it wonât, and itâs a new lock! what shallââ
âMake a parcel of the key, Niven,â said Kenneth, coming to the rescue, âand send it by the guard of next train.â
âAnd oh!â shrieked Miss Peppy, as the train began to move, âI forgot theâtheââ
âYes, yes, quick, maâam,â cried Niven eagerly, as she followed.
âOh! canât they stop the train for a moment? Itâs theâitâsâdear meâthe pieâpie!â
âWhat pie, maâam?â
âThereâs three of themâfor my brotherâs dinnerâI forgot to tell cookâitâll put him out soâthereâs three of âem. Itâs not theâtheâtwo but theâtheâother one, the what-dâye-call-it pie.â Miss Peppy fell back on her seat, and gave it up with a groan. Suddenly she sprang up, and thrust out her headââThe deer pie,â she yelled.
âThe dear pie!â echoed the astonished Mrs Niven interrogatively.
Another moment and Miss Peppy vanished from the scene, leaving the housekeeper to return home in despair, from which condition she was relieved by the cook, who at once concluded that the âdear pieâ must mean the venison pasty, and forthwith prepared the dish for dinner.
My son Gildart, with his hands in his pockets and his cap very much on one side of his head, entered my drawing-room one morning with a perplexed air.
âWhat troubles you to-day?â asked Lizzie Gordon, who was seated at the window winding up a ball of worsted, the skein of which was being held by Miss Puff, who was at that time residing with us.
âWhat troubles me?âeverything troubles me,â said the middy with a stern air, as he turned his back to the fire; âthe world troubles me, circumstances trouble me, my heart troubles me, my pocket troubles me, my friends and relations trouble me, and so do my enemies; in fact, it would be difficult to name the sublunary creature or thing that does not trouble me. It blows trouble from every point of the compass, a peculiarity in moral gales that is never observed in physical breezes.â
âHow philosophically you talk this morning,â observed Lizzie with a laugh. âMay it not be just possible that the trouble, instead of flowing from all points to you as a centre, wells up within and flows out in all directions, and that a warped mind inverts the process?â
âPerhaps you are right, sweet cousin! Anyhow we canât be both wrong, which is a comfort.â
âMay I ask what is the heart-trouble you complain of?â said Lizzie.
âLove and hatred,â replied Gildart with a sigh and a frown.
âIndeed! Is the name of the beloved object a secret?â
âOf course,â said the middy with a pointed glance at Miss Puff, who blushed scarlet from the roots of her hair to the edge of her dress, (perhaps to the points of her toesâI am inclined to think so); âof course it is; but the hated objectâs name is no secret. It is Haco Barepoles.â
âThe mad skipper!â exclaimed Lizzie in surprise. âI thought he was the most amiable man in existence. Every one speaks well of him.â
âIt may be so, but I hate him. The hatred is peculiar, though I believe not incurable, but at present it is powerful. That preposterous giant, that fathom and four inches of conceit, that insufferable disgrace to his cloth, that huge mass of human bones in a pig-skinâheâhe bothers me.â
âBut how does he bother you?â
âWell, in the first place, he positively refuses to let his daughter Susan marry Dan Horsey, and I have set my heart on that match, for Susan is a favourite of mine, and Dan is a capital fellow, though he is a groom and a scoundrelâand nothing would delight me more than to bother our cook, who is a perfect vixen, and would naturally die of vexation if these two were spliced; besides, I want a dance at a wedding, or a shindy of some sort, before setting sail for the land of spices and niggers. Haco puts a stop to all that; but, worse still, when I was down at the Sailorsâ Home the other day, I heard him telling some wonderful stories to the men there, in one of which he boasted that he had never been taken by surprise, nor got a start in his life; that a twenty-four pounder had once burst at his side and cut the head clean off a comrade, without causing his nerves to shake or his pulse to increase a bit. I laid him a bet of ten pounds on the spot that I could give him a fright, and he took it at once. Now I canât for the life of me think how to give him a fright, yet I must do it somehow, for it will never do to be beat.â
âCouldnât you shoot off a pistol at his ear?â suggested Lizzie.
Miss Puff sniggered, and Gildart said he might as well try to startle him with a sneeze.
âGet up a ghost, then,â said Lizzie; âI have known a ghost act with great effect on a dark night in an out-of-the-way place.â
âNo use,â returned Gildart, shaking his head. âHaco has seen ghosts enough to frighten a squadron of horse-marines.â
Miss Puff sniggered again, and continued to do so until her puffy face and neck became extremely pink and dangerously inflated, insomuch that Gildart asked her somewhat abruptly what in the world she was laughing at. Miss Puff said she wouldnât tell, and Gildart insisted that she would; but she positively declined, until Gildart dragged her forcibly from her chair into a window-recess, where she was prevailed on to whisper the ideas that made her laugh.
âCapital!â exclaimed the middy, chuckling as he issued from the recess; âIâll try it. Youâre a charming creature, Puff, with an imagination worthy the owner of a better name. There, donât pout. You know my sentiments. Adieu, fair cousin! Puff, good-bye.â
So saying, the volatile youth left the room.
That afternoon Gildart sauntered down to the Sailorsâ Home and entered the public hall, in which a dozen or two of sailors were engaged in playing draughts or chatting together. He glanced round, but, not finding the object of his search, was about to leave, when Dan Horsey came up, and, touching his hat, asked if he were looking for Haco Barepoles.
âI am,â said Gildart.
âSo is meself,â said Dan; âbut the mad skipper anât aisy to git howld of, anâ not aisy to kape howld of when yeâve got him. Heâs goinâ to Cove this afternoon, I believe, anâll be here before startinâ, so Iâm towld, so Iâm waitinâ for him.â
As he spoke Haco entered, and Dan delivered a letter to him.
âWho from?â inquired the skipper sternly.
âMr Stuart, alias the guvânor,â replied Dan with extreme affability; âanâ as no answer is required, Iâll take my leave with your highnessâs permission.â
Haco deigned no reply, but turned to Gildart and held out his hand.
âYouâve not gone to stay at Cove yet, I see,â said Gildart.
âNot yet, lad, but I go to-night at nine oâclock. You see Mrs Gaff is a-goinâ to visit a relation for a week, anâ wants me to take care oâ the house, the boodwar, as she calls it, though why she calls it by that name is more than I can tell. However Iâll be here for a week yet, as the âCoffinâ wants a few repairs, (I wonder if it ever didnât want repairs), anâ I may as well be there as in the Home, though Iâm bound to say the Home is as good a lodginâ as ever I was in at home or abroad, and cheap too, anâ they looks arter you so well. The only thing I anât sure of is whether the repairs is to be done here or in Athenbury.â
âThe letter from Mr Stuart may bear on that point,â suggested Gildart.
âTrue,â replied the skipper, opening the letter.
âHa! sure enough the repairs is to be done there, so Iâll have to cut my visit to Cove short by four days.â
âBut youâll sleep there to-night, I suppose?â asked Gildart, with more anxiety than the subject seemed to warrant.
âAy, no doubt oâ that, for Mrs G and Tottie left this morninâ, trustinâ to my cominâ down in the eveninâ; but I canât get before nine oâclock.â
âWell, good-day to you,â said Gildart; âI hope youâll enjoy yourself at Cove.â
The middy hastened away from the Sailorsâ Home with the air of a man who had business on hand. Turning the corner of a street he came upon a brass band, the tones of which were rendering all the bilious people within hearing almost unable to support existence. There was one irascible old gentleman, (a lawyer), under whose window it was braying, who sat at his desk with a finger in each ear trying to make sense out of a legal document. This was a difficult task at any time, for the legal document was compounded chiefly of nonsense, with the smallest possible modicum of sense scattered through it. In the circumstances the thing was impossible, so the lawyer rose and stamped about the floor, and wished he were the Emperor of Russia with a cannon charged with grape-shot loaded to the muzzle and pointed at the centre of that brass band, in which case he wouldâ. Well, the old gentleman never thought out the sentence, but he stamped on and raved a little as the band brayed below his window.
There was a sick man in a room not far from the old lawyerâs office. He had spent two days and two nights in the delirium of fever. At last the doctor succeeded in getting him to fall into a slumber. It was not a very sound one; but such as it was it was of inestimable value to the sick man. The brass band, however, brayed the slumber away to the strains of âRule Britannia,â and effectually restored the delirium with âGod Save the Queen.â
There were many other interesting little scenes enacted in that street in consequence of the harmonious music of that brass band, but I shall refrain from entering into farther particulars. Suffice it to say that Gildart stood listening to it for some time with evident delight.
âSplendid,â he muttered, as an absolutely appalling burst of discord rent the surrounding air and left it in tatters. âMagnificent! I think that will do.â
âYou seem fond
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