George nodded. “And if my first only gets hold of that paper, and sees my phiz and reads my name, I’m done for. There’s my reward for saving a fellow-critter’s life. Seven years.”
“I’m surprised at you, George,” said the skipper sternly. “Such a good wife as you’ve got too.”
“I ain’t saying nothing agin number two,” grumbled George. “It’s number one that didn’t suit, I left her eight years ago. She was a bad ’un I took a v’y’ge to Australia furst, just to put her out o’ my mind a bit, an’ I never seed her since. Where am I if she sees all about me in the paper!”
“Is she what you’d call a vindictive woman?” inquired the other. “Nasty-tempered, I mean.”
“Nasty-tempered,” echoed the husband of two. “If that woman could only have me put in jail she’d stand on ’er ’ead for joy.”
“Well, I’ll do what I can for you if the worst comes to the worst,” said the skipper. “You’d better not say anything about this to anybody else.”
“Not me,” said George fervently, as he rose, “an’ o’ course you———”
“You can rely on me,” said the skipper in his most stately fashion.
He thought of the seaman’s confidence several times during the evening, and, being somewhat uncertain of the law as to bigamy, sought information from the master of the Endeavour as they sat in the latter’s cabin at a quiet game of cribbage. By virtue of several appearances in the law courts with regard to collisions and spoilt cargoes this gentleman had obtained a knowledge of law which made him a recognized authority from London Bridge to the Nore.
It was a delicate matter for the master of the John Henry to broach, and, with the laudable desire of keeping the hero’s secret, he approached it by a most circuitous route. He began with a burglary, followed with an attempted murder, and finally got on the subject of bigamy, via the “Deceased Wife’s Sister Bill.”