“P’raps, my man, you takes me for a omnibus conductor,” he said. “Bring round one of them boats, an’ steady ’er w’ile I gits in—will yer?”
The man, seeing that the Captain really meant business, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, got into one of the boats, and slowly pushed it from where it was moored until it bumped against the causeway. The Captain, in his delight at the prospect of being once more afloat, suddenly remembered the little man with the faded whiskers, who had sat all this time, absolutely unmoved, on his post.
“’Ere—mess-mate—let bygorns be bygorns—an’ come an’ ’ave a blow.” He clutched the little man by the arm, in a jocular fashion, and made as if to pull him towards the boat.
It unfortunately happened, however, that the little man was nearly asleep; being pulled from his seat with such violence, and so unexpectedly, he had only a dim idea of what was happening, and of where he was. Realising, however, that he was in the grip of a stronger man, he suddenly flung himself fiercely upon the Captain, driving that gentleman backwards towards the boat. The Captain, for his part, in an endeavour to protect himself, made a rough-and-tumble of it, and twisted the little man clean off his legs. Moreover, he twisted him too far; and, being very unsteady on his legs himself, fairly rolled with him off the causeway into the boat.
The man in charge of the boat—being, probably, very glad to get rid of them; and feeling, perhaps, that they had better be left to settle whatever differences they might have in their own fashion, immediately shoved the boat off; so that, by the time the Captain got his head out of the bottom of the boat, and sat up to look at his passenger, they were well out into the stream.
“This comes of keepin’ bad company,” murmured the Captain, ruefully rubbing the back of his head. “However, I asked you to come fer a blow—and you’ve come accordin’; but you needn’t ’ave bin in sich a ’urry, an’ come with sich a rush.”
With these words, the Captain took the oars, and dexterously pulled into the stream, out of the way of a lumbering barge—exchanging a little light and airy badinage with the man in charge of that craft as it passed him. The little man, who had been so unceremoniously taken for an airing, appeared to take the matter in good part; picked up his dilapidated silk hat from the bottom of the boat—put it on—and sat, grimly silent, watching the Captain.
“It’s a nice arternoon fer a row,” said the Captain pleasantly, as he pulled sturdily. “Ain’t yer glad you come alonger me, mess-mate?”
The little man murmured something uncomplimentary, and then was silent. The Captain, who began to feel the sobering effects of the breeze and the exercise, smiled upon him benignly, and pulled harder. After a long pause, the little man, who had been staring at him intently, nodded his head three or four times, and spoke again.
“I thought I’d seen you before,” he said, in his thin piping voice. “Now I’m sure of it. It was on Tuesday—and you were with that infernal Chater.”