“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 gaol 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 tetter’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 recognised 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, viâ the “Deceased Wife’s Sister Bill.”
“What sort o’ bigamy?” inquired the master of the brig.
“Oh, two wives,” said Captain Thomsett.
“Yes, yes,” said the other, “but are there any mitigating circumstances in the case, so that you could throw yourself on the mercy o’ the court, I mean?”