CHAPTER IV
STEPHEN'S TALE
Many small matters of my first few hours at the Hole in the Wall wereimpressed on me by later events. In particular I remember the innocentcuriosity with which I asked: "Did you ever kill a man, Gran'fa' Nat?"
There was a twitch and a frown on my grandfather's face, and he sat backas one at a moment's disadvantage. I thought that perhaps he was tryingto remember. But he only said, gruffly, and with a quick sound like asnort: "Very nigh killed myself once or twice, Stevy, in my time," androse hastily from his chair to reach a picture of a ship that wasstanding on a shelf. "There," he said, "that's a new 'un, just done;pretty picter, ain't it? An' that there," pointing to another hanging onthe wall, "that's the _Juno_, what your father's on now."
I had noticed that the walls, both of the bar and of the bar-parlour,were plentifully hung with paintings of ships; ships becalmed, ships infull sail, ships under bare spars; all with painful blue skies overthem, and very even-waved seas beneath; and ships in storms, with tornsails, pursued by rumbustious piles of sooty cloud, and pelted withlengths of scarlet lightning. I fear I should not have recognised myfather's ship without help, but that was probably because I had onlyseen it, months before, lying in dock, battered and dingy, with aconfusion of casks and bales about the deck, and naked yards danglingabove; whereas in the picture (which was a mile too small for the brig)it was booming along under a flatulent mountain of clean white sail, andbulwarks and deck-fittings were gay with lively and diversified colour.
I said something about its being a fine ship, or a fine picture, andthat there were a lot of them.
"Ah," he said, "they do mount up, one arter another. It's one gentlemanas did 'em all--him out in the bar now, with the long hair. Sometimes Ithink I'd rather a-had money; but it's a talent, that's what it is!"
The artist beyond the outer bar had been talking to the potman. Now hecoughed and said: "Ha--um! Cap'en Kemp, sir! Cap'en Kemp! No doubt asyou've 'eard the noos to-day?"
"No," said Grandfather Nat, finishing the rolling of his shirt-sleevesas he stepped down into the bar; "not as I know on. What is it?"
"Not about Viney and Marr?"
"No. What about 'em?"
Mr. Cripps rose on his toes with the importance of his information, andhis eyes widened to a moment's rivalry with his nose. "Gone wrong," hesaid, in a shrill whisper that was as loud as his natural voice. "Gonewrong. Unsolvent. Cracked up. Broke. Busted, in a common way o'speakin'." And he gave a violent nod with each synonym.
"No," said Grandfather Nat; "surely not Viney and Marr?"
"Fact, Cap'en; I can assure you, on 'igh a'thority. It's what I mightcall the universal topic in neighbourin' circles, an' a gen'ral subjicko' local discussion. You'd 'a 'eard it 'fore this if you'd bin at 'ome."
My grandfather whistled, and rested a hand on a beer-pull.
"Not a stiver for nobody, they say," Mr. Cripps pursued, "not till theycan sell the wessels. What there was loose Marr's bolted with; or, asyou might put it, absconded; absconded with the proceeds. An' goneabroad, it's said."
"I see the servant gal bringin' out her box from Viney's just now," saidGrandfather Nat. "An' Crooks the ship-chandler was on the steps, verywhite in the gills, with a paper. Well, well! An' you say Marr'sbolted?"
"Absconded, Cap'en Kemp; absconded with the proceeds; 'opped the twig.Viney says 'e's robbed 'im as well as the creditors, but I 'ear some o'the creditors' observation is 'gammon.' An' they say the wessels ispawned up to their r'yals. Up to their r'yals!"
"Well," commented my grandfather, "I wouldn't ha' thought it. The _Juno_was that badly found, an' they did everything that cheap, I thought theymade money hand over fist."
"Flyin' too 'igh, Cap'en Kemp, flyin' too 'igh. You knowed Viney long'fore 'e elevated hisself into a owner, didn't you? What was he then?Why, 'e was your mate one voy'ge, wasn't he?"
"Ay, an' more."
"So I've 'eard tell. Well, arter that surely 'e was flyin' too 'igh! An'now Marr's absconded with the proceeds!"
The talk in the bar went on, being almost entirely the talk of Mr.Cripps; who valued himself on the unwonted importance his news gave him,and aimed at increasing it by saying the same thing a great many times;by saying it, too, when he could, in terms and phrases that had a strongflavour of the Sunday paper. But as for me, I soon ceased to hear, for Idiscovered something of greater interest on the shelf that skirted thebar-parlour. It was a little model of a ship in a glass case, and it wasa great marvel to me, with all its standing and running riggingcomplete, and a most ingenious and tumultuous sea about it, made ofstiff calico cockled up into lumps and ridges, and painted the propercolour. Much better than either of the two we had at home, for theselatter were only half-models, each nothing but one-half of a little shipsplit from stem to stern, and stuck against a board, on which werepainted sky, clouds, seagulls, and (in one case) a lighthouse; anexasperating make-believe that had been my continual disappointment.
But this was altogether so charming and delightful and real, and thelittle hatches and cuddy-houses so thrilled my fancy, that I resolved tobeg of my grandfather to let me call the model my own, and sometimeshave the glass case off. So I was absorbed while the conversation in thebar ranged from the ships and their owners to my father, and from him tome; as was plain when my grandfather called me.
"Here he is," said my grandfather, with a deal of pride in his voice,putting his foot on a stool and lifting me on his knee. "Here he is, an'a plucked 'un; ain't ye, Stevy?" He rubbed his hand over my head, as hewas fond of doing. "Plucked? Ah! Why, he was agoin' to keep house all byhisself, with all the pluck in life, till his father come home! Warn'tye, Stevy boy? But he's come along o' me instead, an' him an' me's goin'to keep the Hole in the Wall together, ain't we? Pardners: eh, Stevy?"
I think I never afterwards saw my grandfather talking so familiarly withhis customers. I perceived now that there was another in the bar inaddition to Mr. Cripps; a pale, quiet, and rather ragged man who sat inan obscure corner with an untouched glass of liquor by him.
"Come," said my grandfather, "have one with me, Mr. Cripps, an' drinkthe new pardner's health. What is it? An' you--you drink up too, an'have another." This last order Grandfather Nat flung at the man in thecorner, just in the tones in which I had heard a skipper on a ship tella man to "get forrard lively" with a rope fender, opposite our quay atBlackwall.
"I'm sure 'ere's wishin' the young master every 'ealth an' 'appiness,"said Mr. Cripps, beaming on me with a grin that rather frightened thanpleased me, it twisted the nose so. "Every 'ealth and 'appiness, I'msure!"
The pale man in the corner only looked up quickly, as if fearful ofobtruding himself, gulped the drink that had been standing by him, andreceiving another, put it down untasted where the first had stood.
"That ain't drinkin' a health," said my grandfather, angrily."There--that's it!" and he pointed to the new drink with the hand thatheld his own.
The pale man lifted it hurriedly, stood up, looked at me and saidsomething indistinct, gulped the liquor and returned the glass to thecounter; whereupon the potman, without orders, instantly refilled it,and the man carried it back to his corner and put it down beside him, asbefore.
I began to wonder if the pale man suffered from some complaint that madeit dangerous to leave him without a drink close at hand, ready to beswallowed at a moment's notice. But Mr. Cripps blinked, first at his ownglass and then at the pale man's; and I fancy he thought himselfunfairly treated.
Howbeit his affability was unconquerable. He grinned and snapped hisfingers playfully at me, provoking my secret indignation; since that waswhat people did to please babies.
"An' a pretty young gent 'e is too," said Mr. Cripps, "of considerablepersonal attractions. Goin' to bring 'im up to the trade, I s'pose,Cap'en Kemp?"
"Why, no," said Grandfather Nat, with some dignity. "No. Somethingbetter than that, I'm hopin'. Pardners is all very well for a bit, butStevy's goin' to be a cut above his poor old gran'father,
if I can doit. Eh, boy?" He rubbed my head again, and I was too shy, sitting therein the bar, to answer. "Eh, boy? Boardin' school an' a gentleman's jobfor this one, if the old man has his way."
Mr. Cripps shook his head sagaciously, and could plainly see that I wascut out for a statesman. He also lifted his empty glass, looked at itabstractedly, and put it down again. Nothing coming of this, hecomplimented my personal appearance once more, and thought that myportrait should certainly be painted, as a memorial in my future days ofgreatness.
This notion seemed to strike my grandfather rather favourably, and heforthwith consulted a slate which dangled by a string; during hiscontemplation of which, with its long rows of strokes, Mr. Crippsbetrayed a certain anxious discomfort. "Well," said Grandfather Nat atlength, "you are pretty deep in, you know, an' it might as well be thatas anything else. But what about that sign? Ain't I ever goin' to getthat?"
Mr. Cripps knitted his brows and his nose, turned up his eyes and shookhis head. "It ain't come to me yet, Cap'en Kemp," he said; "not yet. I'mstill waiting for what you might call an inspiration. But when it comes,Cap'en Kemp--when it comes! Ah! you'll 'ave a sign then! Sich a sign!You'll 'ave sich a sign as'll attract the 'ole artistic feelin' ofWapping an' surroundin' districks of the metropolis, I assure you. An'the signs on the other 'ouses--phoo!" Mr. Cripps made a sweep of thehand, which I took to indicate generally that all other publicans,overwhelmed with humiliation, would have no choice but straightway totear down their own signs and bury them.
"Umph! but meanwhile I haven't got one at all," objected GrandfatherNat; "an' they have."
"Ah, yes, sir--some sort o' signs. But done by mere jobbers, and poorenough too. My hart, Cap'en Kemp--I respect my hart, an' I don't rush ata job like that. It wants conception, sir, a job like that--conception.The common sort o' sign's easy enough. You go at it, an' you do it orhexicute it, an' when it's done or hexicuted--why there it is. A ship,maybe, or a crown, or a Turk's 'ed or three cats an' a fryin' pan.Simple enough--no plannin', no composition, no invention. But a 'ole ina wall, Cap'en Kemp--it takes a hartist to make a picter o' that; an' ittakes study, an' meditation, an' invention!"
"Simplest thing o' the lot," said Captain Nat. "A wall, an' a hole init. Simplest thing o' the lot!"
"As you observe, Cap'en Kemp, it may seem simple enough; that's becauseyou're thinkin' o' subjick, instead o' treatment. A common jobber, ifyou'll excuse my sayin' it, 'ud look at it just in that light--a wallwith a 'ole in it, an' 'e'd give it you, an' p'rhaps you'd be satisfiedwith it. But I soar 'igher, sir, 'igher. What I shall give you'll be a'ole in the wall to charm the heye and delight the intelleck, sir. Adramatic 'ole in the wall, sir, a hepic 'ole in the wall; a 'ole in thewall as will elevate the mind and stimilate the noblest instinks of thebe'older. Cap'en Kemp, I don't 'esitate to say that my 'ole in the wall,when you get it, will be--ah! it'll be the moral palladium of Wapping!"
"_When_ I get it," my grandfather replied with a chuckle, "anythingmight happen without surprisin' me. I think p'rhaps I might be sostartled as to forget the bit you've had on account, an' pay full cash."
Mr. Cripps's eyes brightened at the hint. "You're always very 'andsomein matters o' business, Cap'en Kemp," he said, "an' I always say so.Which reminds me, speakin' of 'andsome things. This morning goin' to seemy friend as keeps the mortuary, I see as 'andsome a bit o' panel for topaint a sign as ever I come across. A lovely bit o' stuff to besure--enough to stimulate anybody's artistic invention to look at it,that it was. Not dear neither--particular moderate in fact. I'm afraidit may be gone now; but if I'd 'a 'ad the money----"
A noise of trampling and singing without neared the door, and with abang and a stagger a party of fresh customers burst in and swept Mr.Cripps out of his exposition. Two were sun-browned sailors, shouting andjovial, but the rest, men and women, sober and villainous in their mockjollity, were land-sharks plain to see. The foremost sailor droveagainst Mr. Cripps, and having almost knocked him down, took him by theshoulders and involved him in his flounderings; apologising, meanwhile,at the top of his voice, and demanding to know what Mr. Cripps woulddrink. Whereupon Grandfather Nat sent me back to the bar-parlour and thelittle ship, and addressed himself to business and the order of the bar.
And so he was occupied for the most of the evening. Sometimes he satwith me and taught me the spars and rigging of the model, sometimes Ipeeped through the glass at the business of the house. The bar remainedpretty full throughout the evening, in its main part, and my grandfatherruled its frequenters with a strong voice and an iron hand.
But there was one little space partitioned off, as it might be for thebetter company: which space was nearly always empty. Into this quietercompartment I saw a man come, rather late in the evening, furtive and alittle flustered. He was an ugly ruffian with a broken nose; and he wasnoticeable as being the one man I had seen in my grandfather's house whohad no marks of seafaring or riverside life about him, but seemed merelyan ordinary London blackguard from some unmaritime neighbourhood. Hebeckoned silently to Grandfather Nat, who walked across and conferredwith him. Presently my grandfather left the counter and came into thebar-parlour. He had something in his closed hand, which he carried tothe lamp to examine, so that I could see it was a silver watch; whilethe furtive man waited expectantly in the little compartment. The watchinterested me, for the inward part swung clean out from the case, andhung by a single hinge, in a way I had never seen before. I noticed,also, that a large capital letter M was engraved on the back.
Grandfather Nat shut the watch and strode into the bar.
"Here you are," he said aloud, handing it to the broken-nosed man. "Hereyou are. It seems all right--good enough watch, I should say."
The man was plainly disconcerted--frightened, indeed--by this publicobservation; and answered with an eager whisper.
"What?" my grandfather replied, louder than ever; "want me to buy it?Not me. This ain't a pawnshop. I don't want a watch; an' if I did, howdo I know where you got it?"
Much discomposed by this rebuff, the fellow hurried off. Whereupon I wassurprised to see the pale man rise from the corner of the bar, put hisdrink, still untasted, in a safe place on the counter, beyond the edgeof the partition, and hurry out also. Cogitating this matter in mygrandfather's arm-chair, presently I fell asleep.
What woke me at length was the loud voice of Grandfather Nat, and Ifound that it was late, and he was clearing the bar before shutting up.I rubbed my eyes and looked out, and was interested to see that the paleman had come back, and was now swallowing his drink at last before goingout after the rest. Whereat I turned again, drowsily enough, to themodel ship.
But a little later, when Grandfather Nat and I were at supper in thebar-parlour, and I was dropping to sleep again, I was amazed to see mygrandfather pull the broken-nosed man's watch out of his pocket and putit in a tin cash-box. At that I rubbed my eyes, and opened them so wideon the cash-box, that Grandfather Nat said, "Hullo, Stevy! Woke up witha jump? Time you was in bed."