*XXI.*
*A ONE-GUN SALUTE.*
"Every person subject to this Act who shall strike ... or lift up anyweapon against his superior officer in the execution of his office,shall be punished with Death or such other punishment as is hereinaftermentioned."--Sec. 16, _Naval Discipline Act_.
In Official eyes--even in eyes anxious to condone--illicit rum and theunreasoning passion of a Celtic temperament were the sole causes of thetrouble. Yet a man may fight Destiny in the shape of these evils andstill make a very fair show of it. It was the addition of the thirdfactor that in this case overtipped the scales.
Her red, untidy hair was usually screwed into wisps of last night's'Football Herald.' She had green, provocative eyes that slanted upwardsever so slightly at the corners, and coarse, chapped hands--usefulhands, as many an overbold Ordinary Seaman had discovered to his fuddledamazement, but in no wise ornamental. Her speech was partly Lower-deck,partly Barrack-room, softened withal by the broad West Country burr; herhome was an alehouse in an obscure back street near Devonport Dockyard.
She was in no sense of the word a "nice" girl; but she was tall,deep-bosomed, and broad of hip, and appealed inordinately to IvorJenkins, Stoker 1st Class of His Majesty's Navy, who was dark andundersized, and had lately developed a troublesome cough.
The recreations of a man who, on a daily rate of pay of 2s. 1d.,contrives to support a bed-ridden mother and a consumptive sister,cannot perforce partake of the elaborate. Ivor, denied a wider choice,was therefore content to spend as much of his watch ashore as ajealously eked-out pint would allow, at the "Crossed Killicks." Formany weeks past, alternate nights had found the little man perched on athree-legged stool in a corner of the bar, raging inwardly at anunnumbered host of rivals, dumbly grateful for such crumbs ofrecognition as Arabella, from behind the beer handles, was pleased tofling him.
The sailor-man a-wooing usually conducts his financial affairs with anopen-handed generosity calculated to make a ministering angel pensive.In consequence, Ivor, who could not afford to back his protestations byinvitations to the Hippodrome, whelk-suppers, and the like, dropped bydegrees more and more out of the running. At first the girl gave himencouragement--not the vague, nebulous coquetry Mayfair recognises assuch, but an intimate familiarity extended to slaps on the nose (boko),and once a dash of swipes down the back of his neck as Ivor stooped torecover a broken pipe. But nothing came of it--not even a penn'orth offish-and-chips. Accustomed to tribute tendered with a lavish hand,Arabella decided that this must be a "proper stinge,"--one, moreover,niggardly in his consumption of beer, and (since there was the good ofthe house to be considered) to be dealt a lesson in due season.
"Bella! ... Give us a kiss!"
Save for Ivor and the girl, the squalid bar was deserted. She paused inthe act of replacing a bottle on the shelf behind her, and looked overher shoulder, half-surprised, half-contemptuous. A beam of afternoonsunlight slanted through the dusty panes and caught the greenish felineeyes and ruddy hair, innocent for once of curl-papers.
"Wot? ... Me--kiss--yu!" She spoke slowly, and flung each word like awhip-lash at the soul of Ivor Jenkins.
"Ah, yus, Bella--jest one. There ain't----"
"Mai dear laife! Yu ain't 'arf got no neck!" She turned with her handson her hips and regarded him with a smile on her thin lips, measuringhis undersized stature with her eyes. "I only kisses men--yu don' evendrink laike no man, yu don'. 'Sides, wot've 'ee done for us tu kiss'ee? Us laikes men wot does things, yu know."
Ivor winced, but never took his smouldering eyes from the girl. "I'd doanything for you," he said tensely, "so I would," and coughed abruptly.
She laughed and fell to wiping the sloppy counter. "Them as wants maikisses earns un. Same's Pete Worley: broke out of uns ship, un did, tutake I tu theatre. An' w'en th' escort commed tu fetch un back, Pete unlaid un out laike nine-pins! Proper man, un was!" She surveyed Ivor,perched smoking on his stool, and a sudden gleam came into her eyes.
"Yeer!--us knows of a kiss goin' beggin' tu-morrow afternoon." Sheleaned across the counter with a dangerous tenderness in her ratherhoarse voice, "If so be as a man (she laid a slight intonation on theword) as't leave tu go tu Dockyard Bank for'n hour, an' slipped out,laike...."
It was his watch on board, as she knew; but she had also noted the redGood Conduct Badge on his arm, and chose it instead of the accustomedtribute he had denied her. Then her eyes hardened like agates. "Simlyyu ain't got no money tu bank, though?"
"Aye," said Ivor slowly; "aye, indeed I have. Three poun'." It was hissheet-anchor, saved (how Heaven and he alone knew) that his mother mighteventually be buried with that circumstance which is dearer to thehearts of the Welsh than life itself.
The girl nodded, and laid her hand caressingly on his sleeve. "Tha'sright, mai dear. Yu get leave tu go tu bank, an' slip along 'ere.Tu-morrow afternoon 'bout five--will 'ee now?" She looked at him frombeneath tawny lashes.
Ivor finished his beer and wiped his mouth musingly on the back of hishand. The girl thought he was considering the Good Conduct Badge: as amatter of fact Ivor was wondering how the Police at the Dockyard Gatemight be circumvented.
"'Course," she said indifferently, turning away, "ef yu'm 'feered----"
The man flushed darkly and stood up. "You'll see," he replied, and wentout through the swing-doors in a gust of coughing. It had been worryinghim a good deal lately, that cough.