Mrs. Bunker’s Chaperon Page #3

"Mrs. Bunker’s Chaperon" is a comedic short story by W.W. Jacobs that revolves around the misadventures of Mrs. Bunker, a well-meaning but overly zealous chaperon. Tasked with overseeing the romantic escapades of a young couple, she often finds herself caught in humorous situations that highlight her lack of understanding of youthful romance. The story cleverly combines wit and charm, showcasing Jacobs' knack for character development and social observation while offering a lighthearted exploration of the complications and misunderstandings that arise in matters of the heart.

• Fiction

								

commons lately, because he’s not been well. Keep still, Rover!”

“Keep still, Rover!” said the skipper, with an air of command.

Under this joint control the dog sat down, his tongue lolling out, and
his eyes fixed on the fo’c’sle until the breakfast was spread. The
appearance of the mate with a dish of steaming fish excited him again,
and being chidden by his mistress, he sat down sulkily in the skipper’s
place, until pushed off by its indignant owner.

“Soft roe, Bill?” inquired the skipper courteously, after he had served
his passenger.

“That’s not my plate,” said the mate pointedly, as the skipper helped
him.

“Oh! I wasn’t noticing,” said the other, reddening.

“I was, though,” said the mate rudely. “I thought you’d do that. I was
waiting for it. I’m not going to eat after animals, if you are.”

The skipper coughed, and, after effecting the desired exchange,
proceeded with his breakfast in sombre silence.

The barge was slipping at an easy pace through the water, the sun was
bright, and the air cool, and everything pleasant and comfortable,
until the chaperon, who had been repeatedly pushed away, broke through
the charmed circle which surrounded the food and seized a fish. In the
confusion which ensued he fell foul of the tea-kettle, and, dropping
his prey, bit the skipper frantically, until driven off by his
mistress.

“Naughty boy!” said she, giving him a few slight cuffs. “Has he hurt
you? I must get a bandage for you.”

“A little,” said Codd, looking at his hand, which was bleeding
profusely. “There’s a little linen in the locker down below, if you
wouldn’t mind tearing it up for me.”

Mrs. Bunker, giving the dog a final slap, went below, and the two men
looked at each other and then at the dog, which was standing at the
stern, barking insultingly at a passing steamer.

“It’s about time she came over,” said the mate, throwing a glance at
the sail, then at the skipper, then at the dog.

“So it is,” said the skipper, through his set teeth.

As he spoke he pushed the long tiller hastily from port to starboard,
and the dog finished his bark in the water; the huge sail reeled for a
moment, then swung violently over to the other side, and the barge was
on a fresh tack, with the dog twenty yards astern. He was wise in his
generation, and after one look at the barge, made for the distant
shore.

“Murderers!” screamed a voice; “murderers! you’ve killed my dog.”

“It was an accident; I didn’t see him,” stammered the skipper.

“Don’t tell me,” stormed the lady; “I saw it all through the skylight.”

“We had to shift the helm to get out of the way of a schooner,” said
Codd.

“Where’s the schooner?” demanded Mrs. Bunker; “where is it?”

The captain looked at the mate. “Where’s the schooner?” said he.

“I b’leeve,” said the mate, losing his head entirely at this question,
“I b’leeve we must have run her down. I don’t see her nowhere about.”

Mrs. Bunker stamped her foot, and, with a terrible glance at the men,
descended to the cabin. From this coign of vantage she obstinately
refused to budge, and sat in angry seclusion until the vessel reached
Ipswich late in the evening. Then she appeared on deck, dressed for
walking, and, utterly ignoring the woebegone Codd, stepped ashore, and,
obtaining a cab for her boxes, drove silently away.

An hour afterwards the mate went to his home, leaving the captain
sitting on the lonely deck striving to realise the bitter fact that, so
far as the end he had in view was concerned, he had seen the last of
Mrs. Bunker and the small but happy home in which he had hoped to
install her.
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