Mated

"Mated" by W. W. Jacobs is a captivating story that delves into themes of love, companionship, and the complexities of human relationships. Set against the backdrop of the early 20th century, the narrative follows the intertwining lives of its characters as they navigate societal expectations and personal desires. Jacobs, known for his skillful storytelling and humor, explores the nuances of romance and the often unforeseen challenges that come with it. With rich character development and sharp wit, "Mated" offers readers both an entertaining and thought-provoking exploration of partnership and fidelity.

• Fiction

								
The schooner Falcon was ready for sea. The last bale of general cargo
had just been shipped, and a few hairy, unkempt seamen were busy
putting on the hatches under the able profanity of the mate.

“All clear?” inquired the master, a short, ruddy-faced man of about
thirty-five. “Cast off there!”

“Ain’t you going to wait for the passengers, then?” inquired the mate.

“No, no,” replied the skipper, whose features were working with
excitement. “They won’t come now, I’m sure they won’t. We’ll lose the
tide if we don’t look sharp.”

He turned aside to give an order just as a buxom young woman,
accompanied by a loutish boy, a band-box, and several other bundles,
came hurrying on to the jetty.

“Well, here we are, Cap’n Evans,” said the girl, springing lightly on
to the deck. “I thought we should never get here; the cabman didn’t
seem to know the way; but I knew you wouldn’t go without us.”

“Here you are,” said the skipper, with attempted cheerfulness, as he
gave the girl his right hand, while his left strayed vaguely in the
direction of the boy’s ear, which was coldly withheld from him. “Go
down below, and the mate’ll show you your cabin. Bill, this is Miss
Cooper, a lady friend o’ mine, and her brother.”

The mate, acknowledging the introduction, led the way to the cabin,
where they remained so long that by the time they came on deck again
the schooner was off Limehouse, slipping along well under a light wind.

“How do you like the state-room?” inquired the skipper, who was at the
wheel.

“Pretty fair,” replied Miss Cooper. “It’s a big name for it though,
ain’t it? Oh, what a large ship!”

She ran to the side to gaze at a big liner, and as far as Gravesend
besieged the skipper and mate with questions concerning the various
craft. At the mate’s suggestion they had tea on deck, at which meal
William Henry Cooper became a source of much discomfort to his host by
his remarkable discoveries anent the fauna of lettuce. Despite his
efforts, however, and the cloud under which Evans seemed to be
labouring, the meal was voted a big success; and after it was over they
sat laughing and chatting until the air got chilly, and the banks of
the river were lost in the gathering darkness. At ten o’clock they
retired for the night, leaving Evans and the mate on deck.

“Nice gal, that,” said the mate, looking at the skipper, who was
leaning moodily on the wheel.

“Ay, ay,” replied he. “Bill,” he continued, turning suddenly towards
the mate. “I’m in a deuce of a mess. You’ve got a good square head on
your shoulders. Now, what on earth am I to do? Of course you can see
how the land lays?”

“Of course,” said the mate, who was not going to lose his reputation by
any display of ignorance. “Anyone could see it,” he added.

“The question is what’s to be done?” said the skipper.

“That’s the question,” said the mate guardedly.

“I feel that worried,” said Evans, “that I’ve actually thought of
getting into collision, or running the ship ashore. Fancy them two
women meeting at Llandalock.”

Such a sudden light broke in upon the square head of the mate, that he
nearly whistled with the brightness of it.

“But you ain’t engaged to this one?” he cried.

“We’re to be married in August,” said the skipper desperately. “That’s
my ring on her finger.”

“But you’re going to marry Mary Jones in September,” expostulated the
mate. “You can’t marry both of ’em.”

“That’s what I say,” replied Evans; “that’s what I keep telling myself,
but it don’t seem to bring much comfort. I’m too soft-’earted where
wimmen is concerned, Bill, an’ that’s the truth of it. D’reckly I get
alongside of a nice gal my arm goes creeping round her before I know
what it’s doing.”

“What on earth made you bring the girl on the ship?” inquired the mate.
“The other one’s sure to be on the quay to meet you as usual.”

“I couldn’t help it,” groaned the skipper; “she would come; she can be
very determined when she likes. She’s awful gone on me, Bill.”

“So’s the other one apparently,” said the mate.

“I can’t think what it is the gals see in me,” said the other
mournfully. “Can you?”

“No, I’m blamed if I can,” replied the mate frankly.

“I don’t take no credit for it, Bill,” said the skipper, “not a bit. My
father was like it before me. The worry’s killing me.”

“Well, which are you going to have?” inquired the mate. “Which do you
like the best?”

“I don’t know, an’ that’s a fact,” said the skipper. “They’ve both got
money coming to ’em; when I’m in Wales I like Mary Jones best, and when
I’m in London it’s Janey Cooper. It’s dreadful to be like that, Bill.”

“It is,” said the mate drily. “I wouldn’t be in your shoes when those
two gals meet for a fortune. Then you’ll have old Jones and her
brothers to tackle, too. Seems to me things’ll be a bit lively.”

“I hev thought of being took sick, and staying in my bunk, Bill,”
suggested Evans anxiously.

“An’ having the two of ’em to nurse you,” retorted Bill. “Nice quiet
time for an invalid.”

Evans made a gesture of despair.

“How would it be,” said the mate, after a long pause, and speaking very
slowly; “how would it be if I took this one off your hands.”

“You couldn’t do it, Bill,” said the skipper decidedly. “Not while she
knew I was above ground.”

“Well, I can try,” returned the mate shortly. “I’ve took rather a fancy
to the girl. Is it a bargain?”

“It is,” said the skipper, shaking hands upon it. “If you git me out of
this hole, Bill, I’ll remember it the longest day I live.”

With these words he went below, and, after cautiously undoing W. H.
Cooper, who had slept himself into a knot that a professional
contortionist would have envied, tumbled in beside him and went to
sleep.

His heart almost failed him when he encountered the radiant Jane at
breakfast in the morning, but he concealed his feelings by a strong
effort; and after the meal was finished, and the passengers had gone on
deck, he laid hold of the mate, who was following, and drew him into
the cabin.

“You haven’t washed yourself this morning,” he said, eyeing him
closely. “How do you s’pose you are going to make an impression if you
don’t look smart?”

“Well, I look tidier than you do,” growled the mate.

“Of course you do,” said the wily Evans. “I’m going to give you all the
chances I can. Now you go and shave yourself, and here—take it.”

He passed the surprised mate a brilliant red silk tie, embellished with
green spots.

“No, no,” said the mate deprecatingly.

“Take it,” repeated Evans; “if anything’ll fetch her it’ll be that tie;
and here’s a couple of collars for you; they’re a new shape, quite the
rage down Poplar way just now.”

“It’s robbing you,” said the mate, “and it’s no good either. I ain’t
got a decent suit of clothes to my back.”

Evans looked up, and their eyes met; then, with a catch in his breath,
he turned away, and after some hesitation went to his locker, and
bringing out a new suit, bought for the edification of Miss Jones,
handed it silently to the mate.

“I can’t take all these things without giving you something for ’em,”

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