Produced by David Widger
ODD CRAFT
By W.W. Jacobs
BLUNDELL'S IMPROVEMENT
Venia Turnbull in a quiet, unobtrusive fashion was enjoying herself. Thecool living-room at Turnbull's farm was a delightful contrast to the hotsunshine without, and the drowsy humming of bees floating in at the openwindow was charged with hints of slumber to the middle-aged. From herseat by the window she watched with amused interest the efforts of herfather--kept from his Sunday afternoon nap by the assiduous attentions ofher two admirers--to maintain his politeness.
"Father was so pleased to see you both come in," she said, softly; "it'svery dull for him here of an afternoon with only me."
"Father was so pleased to see you both come in," she said,softly."]
"I can't imagine anybody being dull with only you," said Sergeant DickDaly, turning a bold brown eye upon her.
Mr. John Blundell scowled; this was the third time the sergeant had saidthe thing that he would have liked to say if he had thought of it.
"I don't mind being dull," remarked Mr. Turnbull, casually.
Neither gentleman made any comment.
"I like it," pursued Mr. Turnbull, longingly; "always did, from a child."
The two young men looked at each other; then they looked at Venia; thesergeant assumed an expression of careless ease, while John Blundell sathis chair like a human limpet. Mr. Turnbull almost groaned as heremembered his tenacity.
"The garden's looking very nice," he said, with a pathetic glance round.
"Beautiful," assented the sergeant. "I saw it yesterday."
"Some o' the roses on that big bush have opened a bit more since then,"said the farmer.
Sergeant Daly expressed his gratification, and said that he was notsurprised. It was only ten days since he had arrived in the village on avisit to a relative, but in that short space of time he had, to the greatdiscomfort of Mr. Blundell, made himself wonderfully at home at Mr.Turnbull's. To Venia he related strange adventures by sea and land, andon subjects of which he was sure the farmer knew nothing he was a perfectmine of information. He began to talk in low tones to Venia, and theheart of Mr. Blundell sank within him as he noted her interest. Theirvoices fell to a gentle murmur, and the sergeant's sleek, well-brushedhead bent closer to that of his listener. Relieved from his attentions,Mr. Turnbull fell asleep without more ado.
Blundell sat neglected, the unwilling witness of a flirtation he waspowerless to prevent. Considering her limited opportunities, MissTurnbull displayed a proficiency which astonished him. Even the sergeantwas amazed, and suspected her of long practice.
"I wonder whether it is very hot outside?" she said, at last, rising andlooking out of the window.
"Only pleasantly warm," said the sergeant. "It would be nice down by thewater."
"I'm afraid of disturbing father by our talk," said the consideratedaughter. "You might tell him we've gone for a little stroll when hewakes," she added, turning to Blundell.
Mr. Blundell, who had risen with the idea of acting the humble but, inhis opinion, highly necessary part of chaperon, sat down again andwatched blankly from the window until they were out of sight. He washalf inclined to think that the exigencies of the case warranted him inarousing the farmer at once.
It was an hour later when the farmer awoke, to find himself alone withMr. Blundell, a state of affairs for which he strove with somepertinacity to make that aggrieved gentleman responsible.
"Why didn't you go with them?" he demanded. "Because I wasn't asked,"replied the other.
Mr. Turnbull sat up in his chair and eyed him disdainfully. "For agreat, big chap like you are, John Blundell," he exclaimed, "it'ssurprising what a little pluck you've got."
"I don't want to go where I'm not wanted," retorted Mr. Blundell.
"That's where you make a mistake," said the other, regarding himseverely; "girls like a masterful man, and, instead of getting your ownway, you sit down quietly and do as you're told, like a tame--tame--"
"Tame what?" inquired Mr. Blundell, resentfully.
"I don't know," said the other, frankly; "the tamest thing you can thinkof. There's Daly laughing in his sleeve at you, and talking to Veniaabout Waterloo and the Crimea as though he'd been there. I thought itwas pretty near settled between you."
"So did I," said Mr. Blundell.
"You're a big man, John," said the other, "but you're slow. You're allmuscle and no head."
"I think of things afterward," said Blundell, humbly; "generally after Iget to bed."
Mr. Turnbull sniffed, and took a turn up and down the room; then heclosed the door and came toward his friend again.
"I dare say you're surprised at me being so anxious to get rid of Venia,"he said, slowly, "but the fact is I'm thinking of marrying again myself."
"You!" said the startled Mr. Blundell.
"Yes, me," said the other, somewhat sharply. "But she won't marry solong as Venia is at home. It's a secret, because if Venia got to hear ofit she'd keep single to prevent it. She's just that sort of girl."
Mr. Blundell coughed, but did not deny it. "Who is it?" he inquired.
"Miss Sippet," was the reply. "She couldn't hold her own for half anhour against Venia."
Mr. Blundell, a great stickler for accuracy, reduced the time to fiveminutes.
"And now," said the aggrieved Mr. Turnbull, "now, so far as I can see,she's struck with Daly. If she has him it'll be years and years beforethey can marry. She seems crazy about heroes. She was talking to me theother night about them. Not to put too fine a point on it, she wastalking about you."
Mr. Blundell blushed with pleased surprise.
"Said you were not a hero," explained Mr. Turnbull. "Of course, I stuckup for you. I said you'd got too much sense to go putting your life intodanger. I said you were a very careful man, and I told her howparticular you was about damp sheets. Your housekeeper told me."
"It's all nonsense," said Blundell, with a fiery face. "I'll send thatold fool packing if she can't keep her tongue quiet."
"It's very sensible of you, John," said Mr. Turnbull, "and a sensiblegirl would appreciate it. Instead of that, she only sniffed when I toldher how careful you always were to wear flannel next to your skin. Shesaid she liked dare-devils."
"I suppose she thinks Daly is a dare-devil," said the offended Mr.Blundell. "And I wish people wouldn't talk about me and my skin. Whycan't they mind their own business?"
Mr. Turnbull eyed him indignantly, and then, sitting in a very uprightposition, slowly filled his pipe, and declining a proffered match roseand took one from the mantel-piece.
"I was doing the best I could for you," he said, staring hard at theingrate. "I was trying to make Venia see what a careful husband youwould make. Miss Sippet herself is most particular about such things--and Venia seemed to think something of it, because she asked me whetheryou used a warming-pan."
"She asked me whether you used a warming-pan."]
Mr. Blundell got up from his chair and, without going through theformality of bidding his host good-by, quitted the room and closed thedoor violently behind him. He was red with rage, and he brooded darklyas he made his way home on the folly of carrying on the traditions of adevoted mother without thinking for himself.
For the next two or three days, to Venia's secret concern, he failed toput in an appearance at the farm--a fact which made flirtation with thesergeant a somewhat uninteresting business. Her sole recompense was thedismay of her father, and for his benefit she dwelt upon the advantagesof the Army in a manner that would have made the fortune of a recruiting-sergeant.
"She's just crazy after the soldiers," he said to Mr. Blundell, whom hewas trying to spur on to a despera
te effort. "I've been watching herclose, and I can see what it is now; she's romantic. You're too slow andordinary for her. She wants somebody more dazzling. She told Daly onlyyesterday afternoon that she loved heroes. Told it to him to his face.I sat there and heard her. It's a pity you ain't a hero, John."
"Yes," said Mr. Blundell; "then, if I was, I expect she'd like somethingelse."
The other shook his head. "If you could only do something daring," hemurmured;