Mated Page #3

"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 dark water towards her berth.

“Fine night, cap’n,” said the watchman, as the schooner came gently
alongside the quay.

The skipper grunted assent. He was peering anxiously at the quay.

“It’s too late,” said the mate. “You couldn’t expect her this time
o’night. It’s ten o’clock.”

“I’ll go over in the morning,” said Evans, who, now that things had
been adjusted, was secretly disappointed that Miss Cooper had not
witnessed the meeting. “If you’re not going ashore, we might have a
hand o’ cards as soon’s we’re made fast.”

The mate assenting, they went below, and were soon deep in the
mysteries of three-hand cribbage. Evans, who was a good player,
surpassed himself, and had just won the first game, the others being
nowhere, when a head was thrust down the companion-way, and a voice
like a strained foghorn called the captain by name.

“Ay, ay!” yelled Evans, laying down his hand.

“I’ll come down, cap’n,” said the voice, and the mate just had time to
whisper “Old Jones” to Miss Cooper, when a man of mighty bulk filled up
the doorway of the little cabin, and extended a huge paw to Evans and
the mate. He then looked at the lady, and, breathing hard, waited.

“Young lady o’ the mate’s,” said Evans breathlessly,—“Miss Cooper. Sit
down, cap’n. Get the gin out, Bill.”

“Not for me,” said Captain Jones firmly, but with an obvious effort.

The surprise of Evans and the mate admitted of no concealment; but it
passed unnoticed by their visitor, who, fidgeting in his seat, appeared
to be labouring with some mysterious problem. After a long pause,
during which all watched him anxiously, he reached over the table and
shook hands with Evans again.

“Put it there, cap’n,” said Evans, much affected by this token of
esteem.

The old man rose and stood looking at him, with his hand on his
shoulder; he then shook hands for the third time, and patted him
encouragingly on the back.

“Is anything the matter?” demanded the skipper of the Falcon as he
rose to his feet, alarmed by these manifestations of feeling. “Is
Mary—is she ill?”

“Worse than that,” said the other—“worse’n that, my poor boy; she’s
married a lobster!”

The effect of this communication upon Evans was tremendous; but it may
be doubted whether he was more surprised than Miss Cooper, who, utterly
unversed in military terms, strove in vain to realize the possibility
of such a mésalliance, as she gazed wildly at the speaker and
squeaked with astonishment.

“When was it?” asked Evans at last, in a dull voice.

“Thursday fortnight, at ha’ past eleven,” said the old man. “He’s a
sergeant in the line. I would have written to you, but I thought it was
best to come and break it to you gently. Cheer up, my boy; there’s more
than one Mary Jones in the world.”

With this undeniable fact, Captain Jones waved a farewell to the party
and went off, leaving them to digest his news. For some time they sat
still, the mate and Miss Cooper exchanging whispers, until at length,
the stillness becoming oppressive, they withdrew to their respective
berths, leaving the skipper sitting at the table, gazing hard at a knot
in the opposite locker.

For long after their departure he sat thus, amid a deep silence, broken
only by an occasional giggle from the stateroom, or an idiotic
sniggering from the direction of the mate’s bunk, until, recalled to
mundane affairs by the lamp burning itself out, he went, in befitting
gloom, to bed.
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