A Love Passage Page #2

"A Love Passage" by W. W. Jacobs is a charming and witty novella that explores the themes of love, friendship, and the complexities of human relationships. Set against the backdrop of early 20th-century England, the story follows the misadventures of its characters as they navigate romantic entanglements and societal expectations. Jacobs’ signature humor and keen observations of human nature shine through as the characters grapple with misunderstandings and the often unpredictable nature of love, ultimately leading to a heartwarming resolution. The novella captures the essence of romance with a delightful blend of levity and insight.

• Fiction

								


“’Tisn’t discipline,” said the mate very firmly; “it wouldn’t do at
all. He’s before the mast.”

“Oh, I see,” remarked Miss Alsen, smiling scornfully.

“I only mean pretend, of course,” said the mate, colouring. “Just to
oblige you.”

“Of course,” said the girl calmly. “Well, how are we to be in love?”

The mate flushed darkly. “I don’t know much about such things,” he said
at length; “but we’ll have to look at each other, and all that sort of
thing, you know.”

“I don’t mind that,” said the girl.

“Then we’ll get on by degrees,” said the other. “I expect we shall both
find it come easier after a time.”

“Anything to get home again,” said the girl, rising and walking slowly
away.

The mate began his part of the love-making at once, and, fixing a gaze
of concentrated love on the object of his regard, nearly ran down a
smack. As he had prognosticated, it came easy to him, and other
well-marked symptoms, such as loss of appetite and a partiality for
bright colours, developed during the day. Between breakfast and tea he
washed five times, and raised the ire of the skipper to a dangerous
pitch by using the ship’s butter to remove tar from his fingers.

By ten o’clock that night he was far advanced in a profound melancholy.
All the looking had been on his side, and, as he stood at the wheel
keeping the schooner to her course, he felt a fellow-feeling for the
hapless Towson, His meditations were interrupted by a slight figure
which emerged from the companion, and, after a moment’s hesitation,
came and took its old seat on the skylight.

“Calm and peaceful up here, isn’t it?” said he, after waiting some time
for her to speak. “Stars are very bright to-night.”

“Don’t talk to me,” said Miss Alsen snappishly.

“Why doesn’t this nasty little ship keep still? I believe it’s you
making her jump about like this.”

“Me?” said the mate in amazement.

“Yes, with that wheel.”

“I can assure you “—began the mate.

“Yes, I knew you’d say so,” said the girl.

“Come and steer yourself,” said the mate; “then you’ll see.”

Much to his surprise she came, and, leaning limply against the wheel,
put her little hands on the spokes, while the mate explained the
mysteries of the compass. As he warmed with his subject he ventured to
put his hands on the same spokes, and, gradually becoming more
venturesome, boldly supported her with his arm every time the schooner
gave a lurch.

“Thank you,” said Miss Alsen, coldly extricating herself, as the male
fancied another lurch was coming. “Good-night.”

She retired to the cabin as a dark figure, which was manfully knuckling
the last remnant of sleep from its eyelids, stood before the mate,
chuckling softly.

“Clear night,” said the seaman, as he took the wheel in his great paws.

“Beastly,” said the mate absently, and, stifling a sigh, went below and
turned in.

He lay awake for a few minutes, and then, well satisfied with the day’s
proceedings, turned over and fell asleep. He was pleased to discover,
when he awoke, that the slight roll of the night before had
disappeared, and that there was hardly any motion on the schooner. The
passenger herself was already at the breakfast-table.

“Cap’n’s on deck, I s’pose?” said the mate, preparing to resume
negotiations where they were broken off the night before. “I hope you
feel better than you did last night.”

“Yes, thank you,” said she.

“You’ll make a good sailor in time,” said the mate.

“I hope not,” said Miss Alsen, who thought it time to quell a gleam of
peculiar tenderness plainly apparent in the mate’s eyes. “I shouldn’t
like to be a sailor even if I were a man.”

“Why not?” inquired the other.

“I don’t know,” said the girl meditatively; “but sailors are generally
such scrubby little men, aren’t they?”

“Scrubby?” repeated the mate, in a dazed voice.

“I’d sooner be a soldier,” she continued; “I like soldiers—they’re so
manly. I wish there was one here now.”

“What for?” inquired the mate, in the manner of a sulky schoolboy.

“If there was a man like that here now,” said Miss Alsen thoughtfully,
“I’d dare him to mustard old Towson’s nose.”

“Do what?” inquired the astonished mate.

“Mustard old Towson’s nose,” said Miss Alsen, glancing lightly from the
cruet-stand to the portrait.

The infatuated man hesitated a moment, and then, reaching over to the
cruet, took out the spoon, and with a pale, determined face,
indignantly daubed the classic features of the provision dealer. His
indignation was not lessened by the behaviour of the temptress, who,
instead of fawning upon him for his bravery, crammed her handkerchief
to her mouth and giggled foolishly.

“Where’s father,” she said suddenly, as a step sounded above. “Oh, you
will get it!”

She rose from her seat, and, standing aside to let her father pass,
went on deck. The skipper sank on to a locker, and, raising the
tea-pot, poured himself out a cup of tea, which he afterwards decanted
into a saucer. He had just raised it to his lips, when he saw something
over the rim of it which made him put it down again untasted, and stare
blankly at the mantel-piece.

“Who the—what the—who the devil’s done this?” he inquired in a
strangulated voice, as he rose and regarded the portrait.

“I did,” said the mate.

“You did?” roared the other. “You? What for?”

“I don’t know,” said the mate awkwardly. “Something seemed to come over
me all of a sudden, and I felt as though I must do it.”

“But what for? Where’s the sense of it?” said the skipper.

The mate shook his head sheepishly.

“But what did you want to do such a monkey-trick for?” roared the
skipper.

“I don’t know,” said the mate doggedly; “but it’s done, ain’t it? and
it’s no good talking about it.”

The skipper looked at him in wrathful perplexity. “You’d better have
advice when we get to port, Jack,” he said at length; “the last few
weeks I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit strange in your manner. You go an’
show that ’ed of yours to a doctor.”

The mate grunted, and went on deck for sympathy, but, finding Miss
Alsen in a mood far removed from sentiment, and not at all grateful,
drew off whistling. Matters were in this state when the skipper
appeared, wiping his mouth.

“I’ve put another portrait on the mantel-piece, Jack,” he said
menacingly; “it’s the only other one I’ve got, an’ I wish you to
understand that if that only smells mustard, there’ll be such a row
in this ’ere ship that you won’t be able to ’ear yourself speak for the
noise.”

He moved off with dignity as his daughter, who had overheard the
remark, came sidling up to the mate and smiled on him agreeably.

“He’s put another portrait there,” she said softly.

“You’ll find the mustard-pot in the cruet,” said the mate coldly.

Miss Alsen turned and watched her father as he went forward, and then,
to the mate’s surprise, went below without another word. A prey to
curiosity, but too proud to make any overture, he compromised matters
by going and standing near the companion.

“Mate!” said a stealthy whisper at the foot of the ladder.

The mate gazed calmly out to sea.
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