Mated Page #2

"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

								

said the mate. “Here, wait a bit.”

He dived into his cabin, and, after a hasty search, brought out some
garments which he placed on the table before his commander.

“I wouldn’t wear ’em, no, not to drown myself in,” declared Evans after
a brief glance; “they ain’t even decent.”

“So much the better,” said the mate; “it’ll be more of a contrast with
me.”

After a slight contest the skipper gave way, and the mate, after an
elaborate toilette, went on deck and began to make himself agreeable,
while his chief skulked below trying to muster up courage to put in an
appearance.

“Where’s the captain?” inquired Miss Cooper, after his absence had been
so prolonged as to become noticeable.

“He’s below, dressin’, I b’leeve,” replied the mate simply.

Miss Cooper, glancing at his attire, smiled softly to herself, and
prepared for something startling, and she got it; for a more forlorn,
sulky-looking object than the skipper, when he did appear, had never
been seen on the deck of the Falcon, and his London betrothed glanced
at him hot with shame and indignation.

“Whatever have you got those things on for?” she whispered.

“Work, my dear—work,” replied the skipper.

“Well, mind you don’t lose any of the pieces,” said the dear suavely;
“you mightn’t be able to match that cloth.”

“I’ll look after that,” said the skipper, reddening. “You must excuse
me talkin’ to you now. I’m busy.”

Miss Cooper looked at him indignantly, and, biting her lip, turned
away, and started a desperate flirtation with the mate, to punish him.
Evans watched them with mingled feelings as he busied himself with
various small jobs on the deck, his wrath being raised to boiling point
by the behaviour of the cook, who, being a poor hand at disguising his
feelings, came out of the galley several times to look at him.

From this incident a coolness sprang up between the skipper and the
girl, which increased hourly. At times the skipper weakened, but the
watchful mate was always on hand to prevent mischief. Owing to his
fostering care Evans was generally busy, and always gruff; and Miss
Cooper, who was used to the most assiduous attentions from him, knew
not whether to be most bewildered or most indignant. Four times in one
day did he remark in her hearing that a sailor’s ship was his
sweetheart, while his treatment of his small prospective brother
in-law, when he expostulated with him on the state of his wardrobe,
filled that hitherto pampered youth with amazement. At last, on the
fourth night out, as the little schooner was passing the coast of
Cornwall, the mate came up to him as he was steering, and patted him
heavily on the back.

“It’s all right, cap’n,” said he. “You’ve lost the prettiest little
girl in England.”

“What?” said the skipper, in incredulous tones.

“Fact,” replied the other. “Here’s your ring back. I wouldn’t let her
wear it any longer.”

“However did you do it?” inquired Evans, taking the ring in a dazed
fashion.

“Oh, easy as possible,” said the mate. “She liked me best, that’s all.”

“But what did you say to her?” persisted Evans.

The other reflected.

“I can’t call to mind exactly,” he said at length. “But, you may rely
upon it, I said everything I could against you. But she never did care
much for you. She told me so herself.”

“I wish you joy of your bargain,” said Evans solemnly, after a long
pause.

“What do you mean?” demanded the mate sharply.

“A girl like that,” said the skipper, with a lump in his throat, “who
can carry on with two men at once ain’t worth having. She’s not my
money, that’s all.”

The mate looked at him in honest bewilderment.

“Mark my words,” continued the skipper loftily, “you’ll live to regret
it. A girl like that’s got no ballast. She’ll always be running after
fresh neckties.”

“You put it down to the necktie, do you?” sneered the mate wrathfully.

“That and the clothes, cert’nly,” replied the skipper.

“Well, you’re wrong,” said the mate. “A lot you know about girls. It
wasn’t your old clothes, and it wasn’t all your bad behaviour to her
since she’s been aboard. You may as well know first as last. She
wouldn’t have nothing to do with me at first, so I told her all about
Mary Jones.”

“You told her that?” cried the skipper fiercely.

“I did,” replied the other. “She was pretty wild at first; but then the
comic side of it struck her—you wearing them old clothes, and going
about as you did. She used to watch you until she couldn’t stand it any
longer, and then go down in the cabin and laugh. Wonderful spirits that
girl’s got. Hush! Here she is!”

As he spoke the girl came on deck, and, seeing the two men talking
together, remained at a short distance from them.

“It’s all right, Jane,” said the mate; “I’ve told him.”

“Oh!” said Miss Cooper, with a little gasp.

“I can’t bear deceit,” said the mate; “and now it’s off his mind, he’s
so happy he can’t bear himself.”

The latter part of this assertion seemed to be more warranted by facts
than the former, but Evans made a choking noise, which he intended as a
sign of unbearable joy, and, relinquishing the wheel to the mate,
walked forward. The clear sky was thick with stars, and a mind at ease
might have found enjoyment in the quiet beauty of the night, but the
skipper was too interested in the behaviour of the young couple at the
wheel to give it a thought. Immersed in each other, they forgot him
entirely, and exchanged little playful slaps and pushes, which incensed
him beyond description. Several times he was on the point of exercising
his position as commander and ordering the mate below, but in the
circumstances interference was impossible, and, with a low-voiced
good-night, he went below. Here his gaze fell on William Henry, who was
slumbering peacefully, and, with a hazy idea of the eternal fitness of
things, he raised the youth in his arms, and, despite his sleepy
protests, deposited him in the mate’s bunk. Then, with head and heart
both aching, he retired for the night.

There was a little embarrassment next day, but it soon passed off, and
the three adult inmates of the cabin got on quite easy terms with each
other. The most worried person aft was the boy, who had not been taken
into their confidence, and whose face, when his sister sat with the
mate’s arm around her waist, presented to the skipper a perfect study
in emotions.

“I feel quite curious to see this Miss Jones,” said Miss Cooper
amiably, as they sat at dinner.

“She’ll be on the quay, waving her handkerchief to him,” said the mate.
“We’ll be in to-morrow afternoon, and then you’ll see her.”

As it happened, the mate was a few hours out in his reckoning, for by
the time the Falcon’s bows were laid for the small harbour it was
quite dark, and the little schooner glided in, guided by the two lights
which marked the entrance. The quay, seen in the light of a few
scattered lamps, looked dreary enough, and, except for two or three
indistinct figures, appeared to be deserted. Beyond, the broken lights
of the town stood out more clearly as the schooner crept slowly over
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