A Rash Experiment Page #3

"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

								

order it, cap’n.”

“I won’t do that, George,” said the skipper firmly. “I’d never treat a
lady like that aboard my ship. I ’ope I know ’ow to behave myself if I
do eat with my knife.”

“Stow that,” said the mate, reddening. “We’ll wait an’ see what turns
up,” he added hopefully.

For the next three days nothing fresh transpired, and the bickering
between the couples, assumed on the part of the men and virulent on the
part of their wives, went from bad to worse.

It was evident that the ladies preferred it to any other amusement life
on ship-board could offer, and, after a combined burst of hysterics on
their part, in which the whole ship’s company took a strong interest,
the husbands met to discuss heroic remedies.

“It’s getting worse and worse,” said the skipper ruefully. “We’ll be
the laughing stock o’ the crew even afore they’re done with us. There’s
another day afore we reach Summercove, there’s five or six days there,
an’ at least five back again.”

“There’ll be murder afore then,” said the mate, shaking his head.

“If we could only pack ’em both ’ome by train,” continued the
skipper.

“That’s an expense,” said the mate.

“It ’ud be worth it,” said the other.

“An’ they wouldn’t do it,” said the mate, “neither of ’em.”

“I’ve seen women having rows afore,” said the skipper, “but then they
could get away from each other. It’s being boxed up in this little
craft as does the mischief.”

“S’pose we pretend the ship’s not seaworthy,” said the mate.

“Then they’d stand by us,” said the skipper, “closer than ever.”

“I b’leeve they would,” said the mate. “They’d go fast enough if we’d
got a case o’ small-pox or anything like that aboard, though.”

The skipper grunted assent.

“It ’ud be worth trying,” said the mate. “We’ve pretended to have a
quarrel. Now just as we’re going into port let one of the hands, the
boy if you like, pretend he’s sickening for small-pox.”

“How’s he going to do it?” inquired the skipper derisively.

“You leave it to me,” replied the other. “I’ve got an idea how it’s to
be done.”

Against his better judgment the skipper, after some demur, consented,
and the following day, when the passengers were on deck gazing at the
small port of Summercove as they slowly approached it, the cook came up
excitedly and made a communication to the skipper.

“What?” cried the latter. “Nonsense.”

“What’s the matter?” demanded Mrs. Bunnett, turning round.

“Cook, here, has got it into his head that the boy’s got the smallpox,”
said the skipper.

Both women gave a faint scream.

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Bunnett, with a pale face.

“Rubbish,” said Mrs. Fillson, clasping her hands nervously.

“Very good, mum,” said the cook calmly. “You know best, o’ course, but
I was on a barque once what got it aboard bad, and I think I ought to
know it when I see it.”

“Yes; and now you think everything’s the small-pox,” said Mrs. Bunnett
uneasily.

“Very well, mum,” said the cook, spreading out his hands. “Will you
come down an’ ’ave a look at’im?”

“No,” snapped Mrs. Bunnett, retreating a pace or two.

“Will you come down an’ ’ave a look at ’im, sir,” inquired the cook.

“You stay where you are, George,” said Mrs. Bunnett shrilly, as her
husband moved forward. “Go farther off, cook.”

“And keep your tongue still when we get to port,” said the mate. “Don’t
go blabbing it all over the place, mind, or we sha’n’t get nobody to
work us out.”

“Ay, ay,” said the cook, moving off. “I ain’t afraid of it—I’ve given
it to people, but I’ve never took it myself yet.”

“I’m sure I wish I was off this dreadful ship,” said Mrs. Fillson
nervously. “Nothing but unpleasantness. How long before we get to
Summercove, Cap’n Bunnett?”

“’Bout a ’our an’ a ’arf ought to do it,” said the skipper.

Both ladies sighed anxiously, and, going as far aft as possible, gazed
eagerly at the harbour as it opened out slowly before them.

“I shall go back by train,” said Mrs. Bunnett “It’s a shame, having my
holiday spoilt like this.”

“It’s one o’ them things what can’t be helped,” said her husband
piously.

“You’d had better give me a little money,” continued his wife, “I shall
get lodgings in the town for a day or two, till I see how things are
going.”

“It ’ud be better for you to get straight back home,” said the skipper.

“Nonsense,” said his wife, sharply. “Suppose you take it yourself, I
should have to be here to see you were looked after. I’m sure Mrs.
Fillson isn’t going home.”

Mrs. Fillson, holding out her hand to Mr. Fillson, said she was sure
she wasn’t.

“It’d be a load of our minds if you did go,” said the mate speaking for
both.

“Well, we’re not going for a day or two at any rate,” said Mrs.
Bunnett, glancing almost amiably at Mrs. Fillson.

In face of this declaration, and in view of the the persistent demands
of the ladies, both men, with a very ill grace furnished them with some
money.

“Don’t say a word about it ashore mind,” said the mate, avoiding his
chief’s indignant gaze.

“But you must have a doctor,” said Mrs. Bunnett.

“I know of a doctor here,” said the mate; “that’s all arranged for.”

He moved away for a little private talk with the skipper, but that
gentleman was not in a conversational mood, and a sombre silence fell
upon all until they were snugly berthed at Summercove, and the ladies,
preceded by their luggage on a trolly, went off to look for lodgings.
They sent down an hour later to say that they had found them, and that
they were very clean and comfortable, but a little more than they had
intended to give. They implored their husbands not to run any
unnecessary risks, and sent some disinfectant soap for them to wash
with.

For three days they kept their lodgings and became fast friends, going,
despite their anxiety, for various trips in the neighbourhood. Twice a
day at least they sent down beef-tea and other delicacies for the
invalid, which never got farther than the cabin, communication being
kept up by a small boy who had strict injunctions not to go aboard. On
the fourth day in the early morning they came down as close to the ship
as they dared to bid farewell.

“Write if there’s any change for the worse,” cried Mrs. Bunnett.

“Or if you get it, George,” cried Mrs. Fillson anxiously.

“It’s all right, he’s going on beautiful,” said the mate.

The two wives appeared to be satisfied, and with a final adieu went off
to the railway station, turning at every few yards to wave farewells
until they were out of sight.

“If ever I have another woman aboard my ship, George,” said the
skipper, “I’ll run into something. Who’s the old gentleman?”

He nodded in the direction of an elderly man with white side whiskers
who, with a black bag in his hand, was making straight for the
schooner.

“Captain Bunnett?” he inquired sharply.

“That’s me, sir,” said the skipper.

“Your wife sent me,” said the tall man briskly, “My name’s Thompson—Dr.
Thompson. She says you’ve got a case of small-pox on board which she
wants me to see.”

“We’ve got a doctor,” said the skipper and mate together.
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