Читать книгу Seahawk - Mary Grant Bruce - Страница 6

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‟BREAKFAST’S nearly ready, Derek!”

“Ugh!” groaned Derek. He raised a tousled head from his pillow, and let it drop back with a thud. “Why didn’t somebody wake me?”

“Someone did. Twice, I believe.”

“Then let them wake me again to-morrow. Good night, Jill. Shut the door as you go out.”

“Time you got up,” stated Jill unsympathetically. She made a quick movement, grasped the bedclothes, and removed them. The legs of the pyjama’d figure thus uncovered beat frantically on the sheet, while their owner uttered a despairing howl.

“Pig! Give me my blankets!”

“Not if I know it,” said Jill cheerfully. “The next thing will be a large, cold, wet sponge. Get up, you bleating creature!”

“Well, you have first bath,” said Derek from his pillow.

“I had it half an hour ago,” returned Jill loftily. She took the pillow.

“You’d rob a starving dog of his last bone!” said Derek, becoming suddenly very wide awake and sitting up. “As if a fellow who rode about a thousand miles yesterday wasn’t entitled to a little sleep at the end of the night, instead of being tortured by a great hulking animal who simply wants to swank because she’s dressed first and——” The flow of words ended in an ear-splitting school war-cry; a form hurtled through the air. Jill found herself picked up and cast upon the bed with the pillow over her face. As she struggled up, with Joker barking ecstatically, the door of the sleeping-out room crashed. Through the wire screens she beheld a long figure careering along the verandah in kangaroo-like bounds. It shed its pyjama coat as it went, giving a view of a very brown back. Sounds of song came from the bath-room, mingled with the splashing of the shower.

“Not often you catch me like that, my lad!” laughed Jill; “I might have known something was brewing when you let me get away with the pillow.” She reduced her hair to order, and joined her mother in the corner of the verandah where breakfast was laid.

“Will he be long?” asked Mrs. Sherwood, smiling.

“He will not,” said Derek’s voice. He came through a window, dressed but looking rather damp, and kissed her.

“Ugh!” she said. “Derek, you horror, there’s water trickling down your neck. And did you comb your hair with your towel? It looks like it.”

“I don’t remember noticing a towel much,” returned her son. “Never mind: I’ll have a hat on presently, because we’re all going fishing.”

“Who told you that? Did you dream it?”

“I made that excellent plan while I had my bath,” said Derek with dignity. “In the absence of Father I am head of the house, and it is the place of women to obey. I say, melon! Good business!” He attacked a large slice.

“Fishing sounds good,” remarked Jill. “What do you think, Mother?”

“I think it is good if we take the launch,” answered Mrs. Sherwood. “Not so good in a small boat.”

“She’s tired!” affirmed Derek, ceasing to eat melon. “I say, Mother, did we take you too far yesterday? I was a bit afraid we did.”

“I took myself—you simply came too,” Mrs. Sherwood said loftily. “No one has any responsibility for my old bones, except myself. But—well, I am slightly conscious that I’ve had two days of pretty hard riding. I love it, of course, and we shall have more long days, but I think a launch with a nice cushioned seat sounds better to me than a rowing-boat.”

“We needn’t go out at all if you’d rather have an easy chair,” Derek said. “There’s plenty to do at home.”

“But I want to go. I have not been fishing for ages. Father has been too busy lately to take the Seahawk out.”

“She’s in perfect order: I overhauled her the day before yesterday,” Derek said. “It’s rather a good thing Father was so stern about my learning all her innards last hols, isn’t it? I was a bit sick about it then, because she was a new toy, but I’m jolly glad now.”

“It’s quite easy to be the man at the wheel—until something goes wrong,” his mother smiled. “Father wanted you to be quite independent of him. We agreed when we bought her that you must know everything about the engine before you ran her.”

“Well, I think I’m up to all her tricks now,” Derek remarked. “I ought to be: Father came down on me like a load of bricks if I was a bit sketchy over anything. And Jill knows nearly as much as I do. ’Member the day he kept us making twists and turns among the rocks, and bringing her alongside the jetty, Jill?”

“Do I not!” said Jill. “And each of us quaking in case the other scratched half an inch of her precious paint!”

“He was quite pleased with you that day,” Mrs. Sherwood said.

“Was he?” said Derek, astonished. “Pleasure was the last thing we’d have thought he felt, wasn’t it, Jill? His eye was like our Sergeant-Major’s on an inspection day. He did tell us at the finish that we could take her anywhere we liked, but we thought that was because he felt too worn to teach us any more. And then it rained and rained, and we never got out again.”

He jumped up and perched on the verandah rail, with Joker making ineffectual attempts to lick his shoe. Jill strolled over to them. Mrs. Sherwood looked at her twins with a little smile. They wore the same kit—grey shirts, grey flannel trousers, and gym.-shoes; even a mother might have been excused for thinking that both were boys.

“I didn’t think you were so very much alike as people say when you came home in respectable clothing,” she remarked. “But really, when you wear those things, Jill, I have to look twice to make sure that I’m speaking to my son. If you could be persuaded to wear different ties it would be less strain on the household!”

“Bother the household!” Jill said lightly. “Who’d wear ties with open-necked shirts? I’d love to dress you up this way, Mother—you’d never put on anything else if you only knew how comfy it is. Why shouldn’t you?—You’re just about as young as we are. Wouldn’t it suit her, Derek?”

Derek pondered.

“No, I don’t think so,” he said at length. “She’d look nice, of course, but it wouldn’t be like her. And can’t you see Father’s face! It would be worth trying, just for that.”

“It took all my tact and eloquence to make Father allow it for Jill,” laughed Mrs. Sherwood. “I wouldn’t advise trying him any further. Someone must maintain respectability about the house, and as far as I can see I’m the only one who is likely to do it. Derek, is it really good for Joker to eat so much gym.-shoe?”

“I don’t think it hurts him as much as it hurts the shoe,” said Derek placidly. “He can digest anything. Down, Joker, you greedy brute!” He tipped the little dog over with his foot, and Joker made ecstatic efforts to reach the verandah rail. Jill picked him up and gave him to his owner, and he cuddled down into the grey shirt.

“This is very peaceful, but we must get busy, Jill,” remarked Mrs. Sherwood. “Will you see to the picnic-basket while I go to the kitchen for a heart-to-heart talk with Susan? And Derek, you will have to be responsible for all the fishing-gear. I won’t insult you by asking if you’re sure we have plenty of petrol.”

“Better not,” threatened Derek. “When do we start?”

“Oh—when we’re ready. I should like to wait until Joe brings the mail, but he will be back very soon now. Will you take Joker?”

“Not fishing,” said Derek. “He gets too excited when anyone gets a fish—I don’t want a tangle of line. Joker, and a big schnapper, all mixed up in the bottom of the boat. All right, Mother, I’ll go and see to things.” He vaulted over the rail and strode off, the terrier at his heels.

Jill came out to the verandah half an hour later, bearing a laden basket. She put it in a corner shaded by a dense tangle of tecoma that climbed over the roof, and went back for a second load.

“That’s all,” she said. Turning, she saw her mother in a deck-chair, a pile of letters on her knee. “Mail come? Is there anything from Father?”

“Yes—he’s well,” said Mrs. Sherwood absently, continuing to read.

“Sure?” Jill asked, looking at her keenly. “Is anything wrong, Mother?”

“Not with Father,” said Mrs. Sherwood, putting down her letter. Her pretty face was troubled. “But there is worrying news about Grannie. She has had a fall—a mat slipped with her on a polished floor. Her ankle is badly wrenched—they are afraid it is broken.”

“I say!” uttered Jill. “Poor old Grannie!”

There was real concern in her voice. Mrs. Sherwood’s widowed mother was, the twins were wont to say, the sort of grandmother who grew younger as she grew older. She understood them—chuckled delightfully at all their jokes. They suspected that their school escapades interested her far more than their places in form. That Grannie should be hurt was a thing to hurt all the family who loved her.

“She is in great pain, the nurse says—the doctor put in a nurse at once. Of course the fall in itself was a shock.”

Jill set her lips.

“You’ll go to her, Mother, won’t you?”

“Oh, bless you, Jill!” said her mother. “I was wondering how to say it.”

“But of course you must. Why, if it were you—do you think I could get to you quickly enough! You can’t leave her without anyone belonging to her.”

“No, I can’t. But—to leave you and Derek—and Father away!”

“Derek and I will be all right. We’ll have heaps to do.”

“What have I got to do in heaps?” asked Derek’s voice, as he came round the corner. The situation was explained to him, and the cheerfulness died out of his face.

“There’s only one thing to do,” he said. “And you haven’t got anyone to think of but Grannie, Mother. Jill and I can look after ourselves.”

“I shall think of my twins every minute,” said little Mrs. Sherwood dolefully. “And we were having such a beautiful time!”

“You won’t be away so very long. Trust Grannie for that—once her foot is fixed up and the pain eases, she’ll send you flying back to us. I’ll bet she wouldn’t let you come, if you asked her—so the only thing is to go without asking. And don’t you hurry back, Mother—not until you feel happy about coming.”

Mrs. Sherwood looked from one young face to the other, her brow puckered. Jill put her arm round her shoulders and laughed at her.

“Now, you needn’t look at us as if we were trying to be little heroes! You know perfectly well that we simply hate letting you go, and we’ll be ready to jump out of our skins when we hear you’re coming back. But we’re not going to make a song about it. Will Susan run the show in the kitchen, or am I housekeeper?”

“Oh, you can leave things to Susan and Mary. They are steady girls. And you’ll just carry on as if I were here—I know you will be careful in the boats. Perhaps it will be only for a few days; Grannie won’t want me to stay, once she feels better.”

“You be firm with Grannie,” said Derek. “She’s the one who will try the little-hero stunt: but you stick like a clam if she needs you, Mother. Perhaps you’ll be able to pack her up and bring her back with you. That would be rather a lark.”

“It might be possible.” Mrs. Sherwood brightened. “You’re very heartening, twinses. Now I must go to pack a suitcase. Come with me, Jill, and help.”

“You’ll catch the train after lunch, I suppose?” asked Derek. “The two-thirty?”

“Yes—tell Joe I’ll want the car. And will you write to Father, Derek?—tell him I’ll write from Grannie’s. I must talk to Susan and arrange everything. We must start early; I shall have to go to the Bank for money.”

“I’ve got lots,” said the twins together.

“Have you? What bank have you been robbing?”

“Well, Grannie sent us each some,” Jill explained. “She said it might come in handy in the hols.”

“And it might,” agreed their mother, smiling. “I believe the cinema at Brandan’s Point is rather good just now. I won’t borrow from you—there will be plenty of time to go to the Bank. By the way, you might as well stay for the cinema after my train goes.”

“That’s an idea,” said Derek. “We’ll take Joe. He told me yesterday he had never been to one. Well, I’ll go and see him about the car.”

The next few hours passed in an atmosphere of determined cheerfulness that deceived nobody. It was almost a relief when the ten miles to Brandan’s Point were behind them, and Mrs. Sherwood safely installed in the train, with an enormous bunch of such flowers as the twins considered would be soothing to a damaged grandmother. They hugged the traveller heartily, and maintained large artificial smiles until the train was out of sight.

“Rather feels as if the bottom had fallen out of everything, doesn’t it?” remarked Derek, relapsing into gloom. “Oh, well—we’ll have to think up something. Let’s see what Joe’s emotions are at the flicks.”

Joe, an elderly retainer who had been in the Sherwood service for twenty years, sat at the wheel of the car with an expression of deep melancholy.

“Well, now, don’t this smash up your ’olidays!” he mourned.

“No, it doesn’t!” snapped Derek. “You stop looking like a funeral, Joe; we’re just beginning to enjoy ourselves. It’s high time you saw a movie, and that’s the next thing on the programme. Step on it—the cinema in Beach Road.”

“I never seen one of them things,” said Joe, “stepping on it” as ordered, but without enthusiasm. “Mary an’ Susan’s always talkin’ about ’em, but I don’t ’old with them. You an’ Miss Jill go in, Master Derek; I’ll smoke me old pipe outside.”

“You’re coming in,” said Derek masterfully. “We won’t go if you don’t.”

“Oh, well, if you put it that way—but I’d rather have me old pipe. I’m too old to go in for new-fangled things. Them girls’ll have the laugh at me for goin’.”

“You needn’t tell them,” said Jill. “We’ll promise not to give you away, Joe. But you’ll probably want to take them every Saturday night after this.”

“Not on your life, Miss Jill!” uttered Joe. “Once’ll do me, an’ a bit over.”

He maintained an attitude of deep gloom for the first half of the programme. This was not to be wondered at, since the opening picture was a tale of tangled love which Derek bitterly described as “utter slush.” This having dragged itself to an end, Joe eagerly looked for his hat. Being forcibly restrained by Derek, he subsided, grumbling, just as “Mickey Mouse” capered across the screen.

The effect upon Joe was electrical. For a moment he gaped in bewilderment: then a sudden “Haw-haw-haw!” shook the air around him. No child of six was ever more completely conquered by “Mickey Mouse” than was old Joe. He roared with joy at each victory over misfortune: he slapped his knee with a force that re-echoed through the building. “Go it, little ’un!” he shouted at a tense moment. “Go it!”

Derek and Jill, at first embarrassed, strove to check this outburst; then, finding they might as well have tried to check Niagara, resigned themselves, and became weak with laughter. They were still speechless when Mickey disappeared, and Joe came back to earth.

“By gum, that was great, Miss Jill!” he declared at the top of his voice. “Will he come back?”

“No—but here’s something else,” Jill managed to utter; and Joe, now quite docile, hastily glued his eyes to the screen.

The picture held him instantly. It was a Wild West story, and horses and cattle were nearly all that old Joe’s life had known. He palpitated throughout it—panting audibly at exciting moments, half rising to his feet, to the loudly-expressed disgust of those who were unfortunate enough to sit behind him. He saw no reason why he should not shout encouragement or warning to the actors, and accordingly he shouted both, quite unconscious that the bitter hisses of “Sh-h-h!” were levelled at himself. Indeed, when one such utterance, wrathfully prolonged, forced itself upon his attention, he twisted in his seat to cry, “Wot yer ’issin’ ’im for?—ain’t ’e doin’ ’is best?”—and turned back with a warm conviction of having boldly championed a good cause. A gale of laughter swept the audience.

Thenceforward the picture, as an entertainment, suffered by comparison with Joe. As the story developed, his comments became more and more excited. When the heroine allowed herself to be tricked into going off with the villain, his loud remark was probably what many would have wished to utter—“Actin’ like a fool, she is—anyone can see the chap ain’t straight!”—and he promptly lost all sympathy with the deluded damsel. But in the final scene, where the hero, on his trusty mustang, plunged down the mountain-side to her rescue, his enthusiasm soared.

“ ’E can’t do it—’e can’t do it—I tell yer, Miss Jill, no man could take an ’orse down an ’ill like that at a gallop! ’E’s down!—no ’e ain’t—’old ’im up, lad! By gum, ’e ’as done it! ’E’s got ’er! My word, I never seen a chap ride like that!” He subsided, panting heavily. The picture ended on a scene of reunited love, and Jill and Derek dragged their unwilling companion away, thankful to escape before the lights went up.

The effect of his experiences lingered with Joe on the road home. At times, the twins, chuckling together in the back of the car, heard deep rumbles of laughter that were clearly connected with Mickey Mouse. Then there were intervals when Joe absent-mindedly weighed upon the accelerator until he reached a speed he had never known before, taking corners on two wheels and passing other cars by a hair’s breath, his mind plunging over the Western prairie with the hero and his mustang. Broken ejaculations came to them:

“Cowboys! I thought them yarns about their ridin’ was all bosh! ... By gum, I’m glad ’e got that feller with a bullet—good enough for ’im, too! ... A fool, that’s wot she was! ... ’Ow they ride in them pants beats me!”

“Well, you liked the last part, Joe?” Jill asked, as they reached home.

“Fair knocked me, that bit did, Miss Jill,” he admitted. “Can’t say I think much of their cattle, but those chaps can ride! They talk funny, but you’d get used to that. I reckon I’ll go again—there’s worse ways of spendin’ a bob or two.” He looked sheepish. “Guess I’ll have to own up to Mary an’ Susan!”

“What will you say if they ask you to take them on Saturday night, Joe?” asked Derek.

A slow grin spread over the old face.

“I reckon I’ll have to say—‘It’s O.K. by me, honey!’ Master Derek!”