Rule of Three Page #2

"Rule of Three" by W. W. Jacobs is a classic short story that explores the themes of superstition and humor through the tale of a sailor who encounters a series of comical misadventures following a peculiar set of rules he learns about luck and fate. The narrative combines wit and charm, showcasing Jacobs' distinctive storytelling style as it delves into the lives of its characters and the absurdity of their beliefs. The story ultimately reflects on the interplay between chance and human folly, leaving readers both entertained and contemplative.

• Fiction

								

sharply as Miss Evans came on deck with a pot of white paint in one
hand and a pot of tar in the other.

“Now, girls,” said Miss Evans.

“Put those things down,” said the skipper in a peremptory voice.

“Sha’n’t,” said Miss Evans bluntly. “You haven’t got enough on yours,”
she said, turning to Miss Davies. “Don’t spoil the skipper for a
ha’porth of tar.”

At this new version of an old saw they laughed joyously, and with mops
dripping tar and paint on the deck, marched in military style up to the
skipper, and halted in front of him, smiling wickedly.

Then the heart of the skipper waxed sore faint within him, and, with a
wild yell, he summoned the trusty crew to his side.

The crew came on deck slowly, and casting furtive glances at the scene,
pushed Ephraim Biddle to the front.

“Take those mops away from ’em,” said the skipper haughtily.

“Don’t you interfere,” said Miss Evans, looking at them over her
shoulder.

“Else we’ll give you some,” said Miss Williams bloodthirstily.

“Take those mops away from ’em!” bawled the skipper, instinctively
drawing back as Miss Evans made a pass at him.

“I don’t see as ’ow we can interfere, sir,” said Biddle with deep
respect.

“What!” said the astonished skipper.

“It would be agin the lor for us to interfere with people,” said
Biddle, turning to his mates, “dead agin the lor.”

“Don’t you talk rubbish,” said the skipper anxiously. “Take ’em away
from ’em. It’s my tar and my paint, and——”

“You shall have it,” said Miss Evans reassuringly.

“If we touched ’em,” said Biddle impressively, “it’d be an assault at
lor. ’Sides which, they’d probably muss us up with ’em All we can do,
sir, is to stand by and see fair play.”

“Fair play!” cried the skipper dancing with rage, and turning hastily
to the mate, who had just come on the scene. “Take those things away
from ’em, Jack.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you,” said the mate, “I’d rather not be
drawn into it.”

“But I’d rather you were,” said the skipper sharply. “Take ’em away.”

“How?” inquired the mate pertinently.

“I order you to take ’em away,” said the skipper. “How, is your
affair.”

“I’m not goin’ to raise my hand against a woman for anybody,” said the
mate with decision. “It’s no part o’ my work to get messed up with tar
and paint from lady passengers.”

“It’s part of your work to obey me, though,” said the skipper, raising
his voice; “all of you. There’s five of you, with the mate, and only
three gells. What are you afraid of?”

“Are you going to take us back?” demanded Jenny Evans.

“Run away,” said the skipper with dignity. “Run away.”

“I shall ask you three times,” said Miss Evans sternly. “One—are you
going back? Two—are you going back? Three———”

In the midst of a breathless silence she drew within striking distance,
while her allies taking up a position on either flank of the enemy,
listened attentively to the instructions of their leader.

“Be careful he doesn’t catch hold of the mops,” said Miss Evans, “but
if he does the others are to hit him over the head with the handles.
Never mind about hurting him.”

“Take this wheel a minnit, Jack,” said the skipper, pale but
determined.

The mate came forward and took it unwillingly, and the skipper, trying
hard to conceal his trepidation, walked towards Miss Evans and tried to
quell her with his eye. The power of the human eye is notorious, and
Miss Evans showed her sense of the danger she ran by making an
energetic attempt to close the skipper’s with her mop, causing him to
duck with amazing nimbleness. At the same moment another mop loaded
with white paint was pushed into the back of his neck. He turned with a
cry of rage, and then realising the odds against him flung his dignity
to the winds and dodged with the agility of a schoolboy. Through the
galley and round the masts with the avenging mops in mad pursuit, until
breathless and exhausted he suddenly sprang on to the side and climbed
frantically into the rigging.

“Coward!” said Miss Evans, shaking her weapon at him.

“Come down,” cried Miss Williams. “Come down like a man.”

“It’s no good wasting time over him,” said Miss Evans, after another
vain appeal to the skipper’s manhood. “He’s escaped. Get some more
stuff on your mops.”

The mate, who had been laughing boisterously, checked himself suddenly,
and assumed a gravity of demeanour more in accordance with his
position. The mops were dipped in solemn silence, and Miss Evans
approaching regarded him significantly.

“Now, my dears,” said the mate, waving his hand with a deprecating
gesture, “don’t be silly.”

“Don’t be what?” inquired the sensitive Miss Evans raising her mop.

“You know what I mean,” said the mate hastily. “I can’t help myself.”

“Well, we’re going to help you,” said Miss Evans. “Turn the ship
round.”

“You obey orders, Jack,” cried the skipper from aloft.

“It’s all very well for you sitting up there in peace and comfort,”
said the mate indignantly. “I’m not going to be tarred to please you.
Come down and take charge of your ship.”

“Do your duty, Jack,” said the skipper, who was polishing his face with
a handkerchief. “They won’t touch you. They daren’t. They’re afraid
to.”

“You’re egging ’em on,” cried the mate wrath-fully. “I won’t steer;
come and take it yourself.”

He darted behind the wheel as Miss Evans, who was getting impatient,
made a thrust at him, and then, springing out, gained the side and
rushed up the rigging after his captain. Biddle, who was standing close
by, gazed earnestly at them and took the wheel.

“You won’t hurt old Biddle, I know,” he said, trying to speak
confidently.

“Of course not,” said Miss Evans emphatically.

“Tar don’t hurt,” explained Miss Williams.

“It’s good for you,” said the third lady positively. “One—two———”

“It’s no good,” said the mate as Ephraim came suddenly into the
rigging; “you’ll have to give in.

“I’m—— if I will,” said the infuriated skipper.

Then an idea occurred to him, and puckering his face shrewdly he began
to descend.

“All right,” he said shortly, as Miss Evans advanced to receive him.
“I’ll go back.”

He took the wheel; the schooner came round before the wind, and the
willing crew, letting the sheets go, hauled them in again on the port
side.

“And now, my lads,” said the skipper with a benevolent smile, “just
clear that mess up off the decks, and you may as well pitch them mops
overboard. They’ll never be any good again.”

He spoke carelessly, albeit his voice trembled a little, but his heart
sank within him as Miss Evans, with a horrible contortion of her pretty
face, intended for a wink, waved them back.

“You stay where you are,” she said imperiously, “we’ll throw them
overboard—when we’ve done with them. What did you say, Captain?”

The skipper was about to repeat it with great readiness when Miss Evans
raised her trusty mop. The words died away on his lips, and after a
hopeless glance from his mate to the crew and from the crew to the
rigging, he accepted his defeat, and in grim silence took them home
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