Having locked up the place securely, as we always did during our temporary absences, we took Seal round to the Plough, where we sat together in the little back parlour and, amid boisterous laughter, lunched off cold roast beef and mashed potatoes, our usual fare, for the menu of that rural hostelry was not very extensive.
The skipper, whose normal state was one of hunger, ate with an enormous appetite, smacking his lips and declaring that after food afloat a bit of real English beef was very toothsome. And so it was. I recollected well the culinary arrangements of the Thrush, and the greasy, gritty, unappetizing dishes that sometimes came from the galley for our approval.
The home-brewed ale was a change, too, after his eternal “noggins,” and a thirst being upon him he swallowed several glasses with great gusto.
Then, when we smoked and his big bronzed face beamed through the suffocating cloud, he told us that we were certainly giving him a good time.
We had been laughing at some quaint remark of the skipper’s, and as the peal of merriment had subsided the innkeeper’s sister who waited upon us entered to clear off the plates. As she did so the sound of a man’s gruff voice, in conversation, reached us from the bar outside.
Seal’s jaw dropped in an instant. The merriment died out of his face. He listened for a moment as though to make certain, then springing from his chair he passed through the doorway, in order, I suppose, to get sight of the stranger.
I had watched the skipper’s countenance and had noticed the puzzled expression on it.
Next instant he was back with us, returning on tiptoe. The young woman had gone out, and he closed the door quietly behind her. Then, turning to us, he said, in a low, hoarse voice of alarm, his countenance entirely changed: —
“Look here, lads! This is a blessed sight more than I bargained for when I offered to come down and give yer a hand. Why, Black Bennett’s here! Black Bennett!” he added, looking at our puzzled faces. “Black Bennett! Don’t you understand?”