CHAPTER XIX
The "Push" came to a halt before the Board of Trade building. The less juvenile, and the elders, looked broodingly at it. The younger fry sparred, and danced, and fought for possession of the mouth organ. Now and then a man who leant against a wall of the neighbourhood would catch the eye of one of the youths in the crowd and nod amiably, and the man nodded at would either look away quickly, or would tauten his legs and chuck his chest a little, look up the wall behind the man who had pretended to be an acquaintance, slow, casual, and so extricate himself. Now and then somebody who really knew one of the group would approach, and all would look at him shrewdly to see what his intentions might be.
A voice came: "You're there, are you?" It was Rafferty. Cheerily he was asked when the pay-off would be. "Oh, not for some time yet," he said. One man announced a wish that they could get something to eat; and that set them all a-going with their wishes. A few had a coin or two left. It was for something to eat that the Inquisitive One raised his plaintive voice.
"I have half-a-crown or so," said Scholar. "Come and let us have breakfast. Come and have some breakfast, Mike," he added, turning. Two others ran close, approaching him in a kind of cake-walk, inviting themselves. "I don't think I've enough money," said Scholar.
"We'll stop here," said Mike, wheeling round again.
"Come on," answered Scholar.
"No!"
"I am hungry," said the Inquisitive One.
Scholar and he headed for a cheap restaurant, but Mike refused to accompany them and jeered at those who showed signs of intending to follow, so that they subsided. The man behind the counter nodded pleasantly to them and wished them good morning, and the early waitress rustled after them to a marble-topped table. The Inquisitive One felt nervous, but Scholar's suggestion of ham and eggs made his eyes bulge. Large cups of coffee were brought, rolls of butter, and the ham and eggs.
"I can do with this," murmured Charles.
The girl waited. Scholar wondered why; then, even as it struck him that perhaps he was expected to pay before eating, she turned away.
"Ain't yer goin' to give her the money?" asked Charlie in a worried voice.
"Oh!" said Scholar. "Oh, of course, that's what she was waiting for."
Charlie looked at him a trifle suspiciously. Was it possible that this man was one of those swell crooks in embarrassed circumstances? Was he beginning his daring fancy tricks and games of bluff the moment he got ashore? Here was out of such company for him! The girl was walking over to the man behind the counter, he looking up expectant, for she had evidently something to say.
"I'd better pay you," called Scholar, and she came back smiling.
"It's the rule," she said. "I was just going to ask the boss, seeing you—thank you," for he put the coin in her hand.
They took up knife and fork, and as they did so the girl returned to say, quite sweetly: "Didn't notice. The manager says this is an American coin."
"The manager says this is an American coin."
Charlie sat back and went limp; he looked from one to the other, mouth open.
"So it is," said Scholar easily. "I wasn't thinking. I haven't got anything else, either—I have only American money. Still, that's the same as two shillings; that will be all right, won't it?"
Charlie pushed his plate forward on the table, pushed his coffee cup forward. The girl departed, and the manager called: "I'm not supposed to take foreign money, but that's all right. Have your breakfasts. The money-changing places aren't open yet."
"By gee, you'll get run in!" whispered the Inquisitive One. "Get run in!" He pushed the dishes still farther from him.
"Thank you very much," answered Scholar, looking to the manager. "Perhaps you could send somebody out to get the money changed." He smiled cheerfully. "You don't know us, and we might run off."
"Oh, that's all right—there's a place just across the street," said the man behind the counter. (The girl put down the fifty-cent piece beside him.) "Just arrived?" he asked affably.
Charlie kept gibbering: "Can't eat! Can't eat! My appetite's gone! I feel stalled before I start. Couldn't touch it. Might have got run in. Might have got me run in!" and he flared up angry for a moment. "That's what you might have done to me."
The girl looked at him, pensive, having caught part of this. She moved nearer to the manager, and they whispered; Charlie eyed them.
"I'm going to slide," he murmured, and half rose off his chair.
The girl and the manager drew apart, and the latter took up the thread again.
"Just come off a ship?" he enquired.
"Yes, a cattle boat," replied Scholar.
"Don't tell him which one," whispered the Inquisitive One. And then, next moment: "No, tell him, tell him, because he'll find out, and it'll make it worse."
Scholar, applying himself to his breakfast, said: "We've just come off the Glory."
"The Glory? Oh, that's one of the Saint Lawrence Transport, isn't it?"
Charlie rose from his chair, and then sat down again. The manager suddenly dived from behind his counter and ran outside. The Inquisitive One eyed the door. He wondered if it might not be better to rush now; but the manager's voice could be heard outside, and then he dived in again.
"Where's that—oh, yes, here!" and he lifted the fifty-cent piece from the counter and handed it to a red-faced man who followed him.
"Perhaps it's bad!" moaned Charlie, and again he looked suspiciously at Scholar.
Relief showed in Charlie's eyes as the red-faced man put the coin in his pocket, handing the manager some other money in its place.
"Now you can eat your breakfast," said Scholar to Charlie.
"Me? No, can't touch it. Can't eat to-day." The relief was no better for him than the ordeal, so far as raising an appetite went.
"Your com-ish?" said the manager, smiling to the red-faced man.
"That's all right. You can give me another lump in my tea when I send over. Good morning."
"Good morning."
The manager came over to give the change himself, to chat about the weather, and the Atlantic, to ask if there had been any cattle lost coming over, how many head they had, so on, making pleasant conversation.
"You don't have an appetite," he said to the Inquisitive One.
"No," Charlie gurgled. And for all the friendly "good morning" of the manager when they did rise to go, and the friendly nod of the waitress, great was his relief to be out in the street again. He gave Scholar to understand that they could congratulate themselves on getting off like that, that it couldn't happen twice, and as Scholar continued to talk soothingly, the Inquisitive One became declamatory, and anon vituperative.
Those of the "Push" that still hung around the Board of Trade doors saw, on the return of these two, that there had been some friction. But again the crowd there began to gather and increase, and everybody had something to say. They hung about for hours; now and then somebody passed by and cried "Ahoy!" to some member and carried him off for a drink. At last one of them caught sight of Captain Williamson, with cheery red face and rolling gait, entering the Board of Trade offices. Another group of men formed—such another as this from the Glory—"cattle-stiffs." Some sailors hove in sight, in stiff hats and stiff, and strangely creased, new-brushed shore-going clothes, and smoked their little short pipes, coming to an anchor near by, and standing in a circle to talk quietly. But at last Candlass appeared, hand up and beckoning, and the "Push," subduing its voices, came up to the swinging glass doors, passed through, some manfully, others with a look left and right as though on guard lest the place might prove to be a trap. The big floor space seemed to worry them; it made their foot steps sound so loud and echoing. The long counter, broad and shiny, seemed rather magnificent; the windows suggested a church, the wire netting a cage.
"There's the skipper," said one to another, and they looked through to where Captain Williamson sat. They were pleased with him for having won the race with the Iberian, Siberian, or whatever it might be called—the rival. They spoke in low voices. Candlass shepherded them, one at a time, to get their money and sign off. When the Man with the Hat, who had waited about alone who knows where, appeared there were glances of hard interest. Safely off the ship somebody had let out that he had hazed the cook, though everybody thought that the part of the rumour relating to a revolver was by way of superfluous frilling to the story. They looked at him with interest, somewhat as they would look at a boxer if the news passed down the street that he was coming along, or as they would stand outside the prison where a murderer awaited execution till the flag went up. One by one they stepped forward, and Candlass gave them "the wink." They felt themselves in his hands, as schoolboys with an under-master, when there has to be an interview with the Head. Soon, however, they got into the swing and Candlass stood aside. Michael, retiring from the counter with his hand full of shillings, stepped up to him.
"Will you do something for me, Mr. Candlass?" he said. "Will you keep half of this for me until we get back to Montreal?" He divided off the half, but it seemed too much. Present needs were surely greater than future. "Well, I don't know—perhaps ye might take for me——" he went on slowly.
"Better let me keep the half, Michael," said Candlass. "You'll only drink it."
"Indeed you're right," replied Michael. "I'll only drink it."
Cockney stepped up.
"It's a good idear," he said. "Will yer do the sime fer me, please?"
"I will," replied Candlass. "And look here—I want you two to promise me something." They looked at him. "I want you to promise me that there'll be no more fighting ashore between you. Let bygones be bygones."
Cockney made a motion of spitting on his hand and held it out to Michael, who took it, and looking at Candlass said: "That's a promise, Mr. Candlass."
"How's the eye?" asked Candlass, and looked, putting a hand on little Michael's head and raising the blind with a thumb. "It might have been worse," he said. "It might have been very bad."
"Perhaps we both 'ad a drop," said Cockney.
"Quite so, quite so," agreed Candlass sadly, yet severely.
The youth who had asked for his shaving water for three mornings in succession got the length of the door, which an official held open; then he turned round.
"Rafferty!" he called.
Rafferty came back from looking into nothingness with his queer red eyes, standing apart; and the youth, putting his lips together, made a sound of contempt with them, and then dived from the place. Rafferty looked away again; one or two of the men grinned sympathetically; one or two gave a "Huh!" as who should say: "He had to do something like that!"
Mike, scratching the side of his head and pushing up his cap, had a troubled look in his eyes, glanced at the door, said something about impudence, and then turned to Scholar, who had now taken his money and received his discharge.
"You're going home then, Scholar?" he said, heavily. "Do you go far?"
"Newcastle."
"Well, well, you'd better not stop here to-night. You'll be coming back?"
"I'm not sure."
Troubled, Mike looked at him.
"If ye do, Mike can teach ye the ropes. Don't forget. Will ye have a drink before——"
Scholar looked at the floor, then up at Mike's face.
"It wouldn't just be one, Mike," he said.
The baffled look showed again.
"You're right—another on the top of it, and so on. Men that's friends will start quarrelling in liquor." Mike looked as if he had much to say as they drifted towards the door. The tall shepherd from the boarding house was outside waiting for them. Somebody said: "We're going to see Frenchy off in the train." Another announced: "Scholar's taking a train, too." Mike blew a deep breath. He turned round and looked at them as though they worried him, shaking his head upwards, and they fell back.
"I'll not be after coming with you," he said. "Them fellers will be cheerin' and screamin.' We may meet again, or we may not. It's all bloody strange," and he held out his hand. They did not pump-handle; they grasped hands warmly. Each felt that the other had much in common with him, but they had need of an interpreter.
"Well, so long, Scholar. Luck with ye, and God bless ye."
"So long, Mike."
THE END
WOODS & SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, LONDON, N.