It may have been what I said; it may have been a familiar footfall in the hall: at any rate, my sister fled in great confusion. And, pursuing heartily, I caught her in her room before she closed the door, but retreated in haste, for she was already crying on the bed. Whereupon, I gave up the puzzle of love, once and for all; and, as I sought the windy day, I was established in the determination by a glimpse of the doctor, sitting vacant as an imbecile in the room where my sister and I had been: whom I left to his own tragedy, myself being wearied out of patience by it.
“The maid that turns me mad,” was my benighted reflection, as I climbed the Watchman to take a look at the weather, “will be a wonderful clever hand.”
Unhappily, there had been no indictable offense in Jagger’s connection with the horrid crimes of the Sink or Swim (as the doctor said with a wry face): for Docks would be but a poor witness in a court of law at St. Johns’ knowing nothing of his own knowledge, but only by hearsay; and the bones of Skipper Jim already lay stripped and white in the waters of the Harbourless Shore. But, meantime, the doctor kept watch for opportunity to send frank warning to the man of Wayfarer’s Tickle; and, soon, chance offered by way of the schooner Bound Down, Skipper Immerly Swat, whom the doctor charged, with a grim little grin, to inform the evil fellow that he was to be put in jail, out of hand, when first he failed to walk warily: a message to which Jagger returned (by the skipper of the Never Say Die) an answer of the sauciest—so saucy, indeed, that the doctor did not repeat it, but flushed and kept silent. And now the coast knew of the open war; and great tales came to us of Jagger’s laughter and loose-mouthed boasting—of his hate and ridicule and defiant cursing: so that the doctor wisely conceived him to be upon the verge of some cowardly panic. But the doctor went about his usual work, healing the sick, quietly keeping the helm of our business, as though nothing had occurred: and grimly waited for the inevitable hour.
Jonas Jutt, of Topmast Tickle, with whom we had passed a Christmas Eve—the father of Martha and Jimmie and Sammy Jutt—came by stealth to our harbour to speak a word with the doctor. “Doctor Luke,” said he, between his teeth, “I’m this year in service t’ Jagger o’ Wayfarer’s Tickle; an’ I’ve heared tell o’ the quarrel atween you; an’....”
“Yes?” the doctor inquired.
“I’ve took sides.”
“I rather think,” the doctor observed, “that you can tell me something I very much want to know.”
“I’ve no wish, God knows!” Jonas continued, with deep feeling, “t’ betray my master. But you—you, zur—cured my child, an’ I’m wantin’ t’ do you a service.”
“I think you can.”