Page 33 - 401_
P. 33

32


                                  "Then, good day, " and to the boatman's profound and audible
                            disgust we set off at once in the other direction.
                                  Our next stoppage was at the Jolly Manner's  Arms. Did they
                            keep beds? Yes, they kept beds. We then proceeded to the chemist's.
                            Did  he  keep  a galvanic battery? Once  again  the answer was  in the
                            affirmative, and with a satisfied smile Tom Crabbe headed for home
                            once more, leaving some very angry people behind him.
                                  That evening,  over  a bowl  of punch,  he revealed  his plan —
                            and the council of three revised it, modified it, and ended by adopting
                            it, with the immediate result that I at once changed my quarters to the
                            Brisport Hotel.
                                  I was wakened next day by the sun streaming in at my bedroom
                            window.  It  was  a  glorious  morning.  I  sprang  out  of  the  bed  and
                            looked at my watch. It was nearly  nine o'clock.  "Only an hour,  "  I
                            muttered, "and nearly a mile to walk, " and proceeded to dress with
                            all the haste I could. "Well, " I soliloquized as I sharpened my razor,
                            "if old Tom Crabbe doesn't get his name in the papers today, it isn't
                            my  fault.  I  wonder  if  any  friend  would  do  as  much  for  me!  "  I
                            finished my toilet, swallowed a cup of coffee and sallied out.
                                  Brisport seemed unusually lively this morning. The streets were
                            crowded  with  people.  I  wormed  my  way  down  Waterloo  Street,
                            through the old Square and past Crabbe's house. The cathedral bells
                            were chiming ten o'clock as I reached the above-mentioned little dock
                            with  the  iron  swinging  bridge.  A  man  was  standing  on  the  bridge
                            leaning  over  the  balustrades.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  heart-
                            broken hat rim and the spectacles of Thomas Waterhouse Crabbe, M.
                            B.
                                  I passed him without sign of recognition, dawdled a little on the
                            quay,  and  then  sauntered  down  to  the  boat-house.  Our  friend  of
                            yesterday was standing at the door with a short pipe in his mouth.
                                  "Could I have a boat for an hour? " I asked.
                                  He beamed all over. "One minute, sir, " he said, "and I'll get the
                            sculls. Would you want me to row you, sir? "
                                  "Yes, you'd better, " I replied.
                                  He  bustled  about,  and  in  a  short  time  managed  to  launch  a
                            leaky-looking old tub, into which he stepped, while I squatted down
                            in the sheets.
                                  "Take me round the docks, " I said. "I want to have a look at
                            the shipping. "
   28   29   30   31   32   33   34   35   36   37   38