Superlative virtues of construction and design, never before suspected, were boldly claimed for the “Jane Gladys” in the auctioneer’s announcement which advertised her imminent sale. So respect-compelling was the list of good qualities now stated to be embodied in the unlovely hulk of that ancient vessel that even the two members of her crew who lingered on in residence as caretakers felt that their social standing was enhanced by association with such a superior craft. In order to demonstrate their new-found dignity, they left unperformed as much menial work as possible, preferring to sun themselves on deck in more fitting and gentlemanly leisure.
Thus it was that Mr. Joseph Tridge was idly leaning against the side one morning, surveying the horizon with a certain bored restfulness, and Mr. Peter Lock was reclining on deck in triple enjoyment of pipe and newspaper and slippered ease, when a voice hailed the “Jane Gladys” from a small boat further out in the river.
In the boat was the venerable Mr. Samuel Clark, formerly the doyen of the “Jane Gladys’” crew, and now, by the grace of Fate and the artifice of man, the motive-power of the little ferry which plied across Shorehaven Harbour at its mouth.
“Why, ’ullo, Sam!” greeted Mr. Tridge, waking to extreme cordiality. “Just the chap I was ’oping to see! Tie up and come aboard!”
“Not me!” replied Mr. Clark, very definitely.
“Not just for a chat?” wheedled Mr. Tridge. “It’s a bit dull for us ’ere, you know, Sam.”
“I ain’t going to risk it,” replied Mr. Clark. “I only give you a friendly shout as I was passing, like. You ain’t going to cut my ’air again to-day, Joe, so you might just as well understand that at once. You cut it yesterday, and you cut it last Thursday, and you cut it last Toosday. I don’t mean to be unfriendly or un’elpful, Joe, but you’ve got to give it a rest to-day!”
“Well, I must practice on something!” protested Mr. Tridge.
“Practice on Peter Lock, then,” recommended Mr. Clark.
Mr. Lock rose and looked over the side. Mr. Lock’s hair, oiled and combed to a miracle of sleekness, glistened in the sun; Mr. Lock’s chin and cheeks, bizarrely ornamented with strips of sticking-plaster, presented an object-lesson in first aid to the injured.