A Rash Experiment Page #2

"A Rash Experiment" by W. W. Jacobs is a short story that explores themes of curiosity, human folly, and the unpredictability of experimentation. The narrative follows a character who embarks on an ill-considered scientific endeavor, leading to humorous and unexpected consequences. Jacobs' trademark wit and keen observation of human nature are evident as the story unfolds, showcasing the complexities of ambition and the lessons learned from taking reckless risks. Through clever dialogue and engaging storytelling, Jacobs captivates readers with his blend of comedy and cautionary tale.

• Fiction

								

the honours of the table. He came up from it pale and scared, and,
catching the skipper’s eye, hunched his shoulders significantly.

“No words?” inquired the latter anxiously, in a half-whisper.

“Not exactly words,” replied the mate. “What you might call snacks.”

“I know,” said the other with a groan.

“If you don’t now,” said the mate, “you will at tea time. I’m not going
to sit down there with them again alone. You needn’t think it. If you
was to ask me what I’ve been eating I couldn’t tell you.”

He moved off a bit as his table companions came up on deck, and the
master of the Foam deciding to take the bull by the horns, called
both of them to him, and pointed out the beauties of the various
passing craft. In the midst of his dis-course his wife moved off,
leaving the unhappy man conversing alone with Mrs. Fillson, her face
containing an expression such as is seen in the prints of the very best
of martyrs as she watched them.

At tea time the men sat in misery, Mrs. Bunnett passed Mrs. Fillson her
tea without looking at her, an example which Mrs. Fillson followed in
handing her the cut bread and butter. When she took the plate back it
was empty, and Mrs. Bunnett, convulsed with rage, was picking the
slices out of her lap.

“Oh, I am sorry,” said Mrs. Fillson.

“You’re not, ma’am,” said Mrs. Bunnett fiercely. “You did it a
purpose.”

“There, there!” said both men feebly.

“Of course my husband’ll sit quite calm and see me insulted,” said Mrs.
Bunnett, rising angrily from her seat.

“And my husband’ll sit still drinking tea while I’m given the lie,”
said Mrs. Fillson, bending an indignant look upon the mate.

“If you think I’m going to share the state-room with that woman,
George, you’re mistaken,” said Mrs. Bunnett in a terrible voice. “I’d
sooner sleep on a doorstep.”

“And I’d sooner sleep on the scraper,” said Mrs. Fillson, regarding her
foe’s scanty proportions.

“Very well, me an’ the mate’ll sleep there,” said the skipper wearily.
“You can have the mate’s bunk and Mrs. Fillson can have the locker. You
don’t mind, George?”

“Oh, George don’t mind,” said Mrs. Bunnett mimickingly; “anything’ll do
for George. If you’d got the spirit of a man, you wouldn’t let me be
insulted like this.”

“And if you’d got the spirit of a man,” said Mrs. Fillson, turning on
her husband, “you wouldn’t let them talk to me like this. You never
stick up for me.”

She flounced up on deck where Mrs. Bunnett, after a vain attempt to
finish her tea, shortly followed her. The two men continued their meal
for some time in silence.

“We’ll have to ’ave a quarrel just to oblige them, George,” said the
skipper at length, as he put down his cup. “Nothing else’ll satisfy
’em.”

“It couldn’t be done,” said the mate, reaching over and clapping him on
the back.

“Just pretend, I mean,” said the other.

“It couldn’t be done proper,” said the mate; “they’d see through it.
We’ve sailed together five years now, an’ never ’ad what I could call a
really nasty word.”

“Well, if you can think o’ anything,” said the skipper, “say so. This
sort o’ thing is worrying.”

“See how we get on at breakfast,” said the mate, as he lit his pipe.
“If that’s as bad as this, we’ll have a bit of a row to please ’em.”

Breakfast next morning was, if anything, worse, each lady directly
inciting her lord to acts of open hostility. In this they were
unsuccessful, but in the course of the morning the husbands arranged
matters to their own satisfaction, and at the next meal the storm broke
with violence.

“I don’t wish to complain or hurt anybody’s feelings,” said the
skipper, after a side-wink at the mate, “but if you could eat your
wittles with a little less noise, George, I’d take it as a favour.”

“Would you?” said the mate, as his wife stiffened suddenly in her seat.
“Oh!”

Both belligerents, eyeing each other ferociously, tried hard to think
of further insults.

“Like a pig,” continued the skipper grumblingly.

The mate hesitated so long for a crushing rejoinder that his wife lost
all patience and rose to her feet crimson with wrath.

“How dare you talk to my husband like that?” she demanded fiercely.
“George, come up on deck this instant!”

“I don’t mind what he says,” said the mate, who had only just begun his
dinner.

“You come away at once,” said his wife, pushing his plate from him.

The mate got up with a sigh, and, meeting the look of horror-stricken
commiseration in his captain’s eye, returned it with one of impotent
rage.

“Use a larger knife, cap’n,” he said savagely, “You’ll swallow that
little ’un one of these days.”

The skipper, with the weapon in question gripped in his fist, turned
round and stared at him in petrified amazement.

“If I wasn’t the cap’n o’ this ship, George,” he said huskily, “an’
bound to set a good example to the men, I’d whop you for them words.”

“It’s all for your good, Captain Bunnett,” said Mrs. Fillson mincingly.
“There was a poor old workhouse man I used to give a penny to some
times, who would eat with his knife, and he choked himself with it.”

“Ay, he did that, and he hadn’t got a mouth half the size o’ yours,”
said the mate warningly.

“Cap’n or no cap’n, crew or no crew,” said the skipper in a suffocating
voice, “I can’t stand this. Come up on deck, George, and repeat them
words.”

“Before the mate could accept the invitation, he was dragged back by
his wife, while at the same time Mrs. Bunnett, with a frantic scream,
threw her arms round her husband’s neck, and dared him to move.

“You wait till I get you ashore, my lad,” said the skipper
threateningly.

“I’ll have to bring the ship home after I’ve done with you,” retorted
the mate as he passed up on deck with his wife.

During the afternoon the couples exchanged not a word, though the two
husbands exchanged glances of fiery import, and later on, their spouses
being below, gradually drew near to each other. The mate, however, had
been thinking, and as they came together met his foe with a pleasant
smile.

“Bravo, old man,” he said heartily.

“What d’yer mean?” demanded the skipper in gruff astonishment.

“I mean the way you pretended to row me,” said the mate. “Splendid you
did it. I tried to back you up, but lor! I wasn’t in it with you.”

“What, d’yer mean to say you didn’t mean what you said?” inquired the
other.

“Why, o’ course,” said the mate with an appearance of great surprise.
“You didn’t, did you?”

“No,” said the skipper, swallowing something in his throat. “No, o’
course not. But you did it well too, George. Uncommon well, you did.”

“Not half so well as you did,” said the mate. “Well, I s’pose we’ve got
to keep it up now.”

“I s’pose so,” said the skipper; “but we mustn’t keep it up on the same
things, George. Swallerin’ knives an’ that sort o’ thing, I mean.”

“No, no,” said the mate hastily.

“An’ if you could get your missus to go home by train from Summercove,
George, we might have a little peace and quietness,” added the other.

“She’d never forgive me if I asked her,” said the mate: “you’ll have to
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