“Yes, sir,” he said civilly; “with pleasure.”
“That’s right. Put that sack and the can down and come into the other room while I scribble the letter. I daresay I can find you a glass of grog in there and a cut of cold beef if you feel like having a mouthful.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, unburdening himself of his load and following me into the inner room. I had not finished my own breakfast very long, and a small joint was still on the table.
“Pull up and help yourself,” I said, producing knife and fork. “What’ll you have to drink? I’ve got some old rum. How’ll that suit you?”
“Capital, sir,” he replied.
“All right. It’s in the other room, I think. I’ll be back in a moment. You make a start, meanwhile, on the cold beef.”
No sooner was I in the other room with the closed door between us than I whipped out the cork from the paraffin can, and seizing a siphon of soda-water that stood upon the table—it was the only liquid handy—I slipped the spout into the mouth of the can and pressed the tap.
“If this isn’t pouring oil on the troubled waters it’s at least pouring troubled waters on the oil,” I said to myself, when half a tumbler of soda had hissed into the can. “There’ll be some rosy language about when Hughes goes to light his lamp after filling it up with this stuff, for he’ll never get it to light, much less to burn. And if he doesn’t make the discovery too early the man who looks after his requirements will be gone, and Master Hughes will have to sit in the dark and go to bed with his supper uncooked, or come into Canvey and get some more oil. He may, of course, get filling up his cooking stove in the daytime, and find the oil won’t burn, or he may have enough left in it to carry him through. But anyhow, if the thing doesn’t work out as I hope, there will be no harm done, for at the worst they can only suppose that some water has accidentally got into the can.”
The thing did work out as I had hoped, however, for as night was beginning to close in I saw Hughes unlashing the dinghy as if to come ashore, and judging from the sounds which broke the evening stillness I had reason to believe that he was at his old habit of swearing aloud to himself. This is a habit which is more soothing to the swearer than to an enforced listener, especially when the swearer is rowing a heavy boat against the tide, and jerks out a fresh and aggressively emphasised oath with each expulsion of breath. On this occasion the hopes which were expressed about the soul, eyes, limbs, and internal organs of every one who had been connected with the offending oil, beginning with the individual who “struck” it, and finishing off with the shopkeeper who sold it, and the man who brought it to the hulks, were distinctly uncharitable.
Nor did Hughes confine himself to human beings, for the unfortunate can in which the oil had been carried and the various matches which had been struck in his unavailing efforts to light the lamp were with strict impartiality similarly banned.