They were seated at their one o'clock dinner before the recluse2 made any sign. Then he gave note of his continued existence by bumping and thumping3 sounds within his state-room, as if some one were dressing4 there in a heavy sea.
“Mr. Hicks seems to be taking his rough weather retrospectively,” said Staniford, with rather tremulous humor.
The door was flung open, and Hicks reeled out, staying himself by the door-knob. Even before he appeared, a reek5 of strong waters had preceded him. He must have been drinking all night. His face was flushed, and his eyes were bloodshot. He had no collar on; but he wore a cravat6 and otherwise he was accurately7 and even fastidiously dressed. He balanced himself by the door-knob, and measured the distance he had to make before reaching his place at the table, smiling, and waving a delicate handkerchief, which he held in his hand: “Spilt c'logne, tryin' to scent8 my hic—handkerchief. Makes deuced bad smell—too much c'logne; smells—alcoholic. Thom's, bear a hand, 's good f'low. No? All right, go on with your waitin'. B-ic—business b'fore pleasure, 's feller says. Play it alone, I guess.”
The boy had shrunk back in dismay, and Hicks contrived9 to reach his place by one of those precipitate10 dashes with which drunken men attain11 a point, when the luck is with them. He looked smilingly round the circle of faces. Staniford and the captain exchanged threatening looks of intelligence, while Mr. Watterson and Dunham subordinately waited their motion. But the advantage, as in such cases, was on the side of Hicks. He knew it, with a drunkard's subtlety12, and was at his ease.
“No app'tite, friends; but thought I'd come out, keep you from feeling lonesome.” He laughed and hiccuped13, and smiled upon them all. “Well, cap'n,” he continued, “'covered from 'tigues day, sterday? You look blooming's usual. Thom's, pass the—pass the—victuals lively, my son, and fetch along coffee soon. Some the friends up late, and want their coffee. Nothing like coffee, carry off'fee's.” He winked14 to the men, all round; and then added, to Lydia: “Sorry see you in this state—I mean, sorry see me—Can't make it that way either; up stump15 on both routes. What I mean is, sorry hadn't coffee first. But you're all right—all right! Like see anybody offer you disrespec', 'n I'm around. Tha's all.”
Till he addressed her, Lydia had remained motionless, first with bewilderment, and then with open abhorrence16. She could hardly have seen in South Bradfield a man who had been drinking. Even in haying, or other sharpest stress of farmwork, our farmer and his men stay themselves with nothing stronger than molasses-water, or, in extreme cases, cider with a little corn soaked in it; and the Mill Village, where she had taught school, was under the iron rule of a local vote for prohibition17. She stared in stupefaction at Hicks's heated, foolish face; she started at his wild movements, and listened with dawning intelligence to his hiccup-broken speech, with its thickened sibilants and its wandering emphasis. When he turned to her, and accompanied his words with a reassuring18 gesture, she recoiled19, and as if breaking an ugly fascination20 she gave a low, shuddering21 cry, and looked at Staniford.
“Thomas,” he said, “Miss Blood was going to take her dessert on deck to-day. Dunham?”
Dunham sprang to his feet, and led her out of the cabin.
The movement met Hicks's approval. “Tha's right; 'sert on deck, 'joy landscape and pudding together,—Rhine steamer style. All right. Be up there m'self soon's I get my coffee.” He winked again with drunken sharpness. “I know wha's what. Be up there m'self, 'n a minute.”
“If you offer to go up,” said Staniford, in a low voice, as soon as Lydia was out of the way, “I'll knock you down!”
“Captain,” said Mr. Watterson, venturing, perhaps for the first time in his whole maritime22 history, upon a suggestion to his superior officer, “shall I clap him in irons?”
“Clap him in irons!” roared Captain Jenness. “Clap him in bed! Look here, you!” He turned to Hicks, but the latter, who had been bristling23 at Staniford's threat, now relaxed in a crowing laugh:—
“Tha's right, captain. Irons no go, 'cept in case mutiny; bed perfectly24 legal 't all times. Bed is good. But trouble is t' enforce it.”
“Where's your bottle?” demanded the captain, rising from the seat in which a paralysis25 of fury had kept him hitherto. “I want your bottle.”
“Oh, bottle's all right! Bottle's under pillow. Empty,—empty's Jonah's gourd26; 'nother sea-faring party,—Jonah. S'cure the shadow ere the substance fade. Drunk all the brandy, old boy. Bottle's a canteen; 'vantage of military port to houseless stranger. Brought the brandy on board under my coat; nobody noticed,—so glad get me back. Prodigal27 son's return,—fatted calf28 under his coat.”
The reprobate29 ended his boastful confession30 with another burst of hiccuping31, and Staniford helplessly laughed.
“Do me proud,” said Hicks. “Proud, I 'sure you. Gentleman, every time, Stanny. Know good thing when you see it—hear it, I mean.”
“Look here, Hicks,” said Staniford, choosing to make friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, if any good end might be gained by it. “You know you're drunk, and you're not fit to be about. Go back to bed, that's a good fellow; and come out again, when you're all right. You don't want to do anything you'll be sorry for.”
“No, no! No, you don't, Stanny. Coffee'll make me all right. Coffee always does. Coffee—Heaven's lash32 besh gift to man. 'Scovered subse-subs'quently to grape. See? Comes after claret in course of nature. Captain doesn't understand the 'lusion. All right, captain. Little learning dangerous thing.” He turned sharply on Mr. Watterson, who had remained inertly33 in his place. “Put me in irons, heh! You put me in irons, you old Triton. Put me in irons, will you?” His amiable34 mood was passing; before one could say so, it was past. He was meditating35 means of active offense36. He gathered up the carving-knife and fork, and held them close under Mr. Watterson's nose. “Smell that!” he said, and frowned as darkly as a man of so little eyebrow37 could.
At this senseless defiance38 Staniford, in spite of himself, broke into another laugh, and even Captain Jenness grinned. Mr. Watterson sat with his head drawn39 as far back as possible, and with his nose wrinkled at the affront40 offered it. “Captain,” he screamed, appealing even in this extremity41 to his superior, “shall I fetch him one?”
“No, no!” cried Staniford, springing from his chair; “don't hit him! He isn't responsible. Let's get him into his room.”
“Fetch me one, heh?” said Hicks, rising, with dignity, and beginning to turn up his
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