Odd Craft | Page 7

Mrs. Gimpson, whose nerves were still quivering owing to the
suddenness with which she had been awakened, came into the shop; Mr.
Boxer freed an arm, and placing it round her waist kissed her with
some affection on the chin.
"He's come back!" cried Mrs. Boxer, hysterically.
"Thank goodness," said Mrs. Gimpson, after a moment's deliberation.
"He's alive!" cried Mrs. Boxer. "He's alive !"
She half-dragged and half-led him into the small parlour, and thrusting
him into the easy-chair lately vacated by Mrs. Gimpson seated herself
upon his knee, regardless in her excitement that the rightful owner was
with elaborate care selecting the most uncomfortable chair in the room.
"Fancy his coming back!" said Mrs. Boxer, wiping her eyes. "How did
you escape, John? Where have you been? Tell us all about it."
Mr. Boxer sighed. "It 'ud be a long story if I had the gift of telling of
it," he said, slowly, "but I'll cut it short for the present. When the North
Star went down in the South Pacific most o' the hands got away in the
boats, but I was too late. I got this crack on the head with something
falling on it from aloft. Look here."
He bent his head, and Mrs. Boxer, separating the stubble with her
fingers, uttered an exclamation of pity and alarm at the extent of the
scar; Mrs. Gimpson, craning forward, uttered a sound which might
mean anything--even pity.
"When I come to my senses," continued Mr. Boxer, "the ship was
sinking, and I just got to my feet when she went down and took me

with her. How I escaped I don't know. I seemed to be choking and
fighting for my breath for years, and then I found myself floating on the
sea and clinging to a grating. I clung to it all night, and next day I was
picked up by a native who was paddling about in a canoe, and taken
ashore to an island, where I lived for over two years. It was right out o'
the way o' craft, but at last I was picked up by a trading schooner
named the _Pearl,_ belonging to Sydney, and taken there. At Sydney I
shipped aboard the _Marston Towers,_ a steamer, and landed at the
Albert Docks this morning."
"Poor John," said his wife, holding on to his arm. "How you must have
suffered!"
"I did," said Mr. Boxer. "Mother got a cold?" he inquired, eying that
lady.
"No, I ain't," said Mrs. Gimpson, answering for herself. "Why didn't
you write when you got to Sydney?"
"Didn't know where to write to," replied Mr. Boxer, staring. "I didn't
know where Mary had gone to."
"You might ha' wrote here," said Mrs. Gimpson.
"Didn't think of it at the time," said Mr. Boxer. "One thing is, I was
very busy at Sydney, looking for a ship. However, I'm 'ere now."
"I always felt you'd turn up some day," said Mrs. Gimpson. "I felt
certain of it in my own mind. Mary made sure you was dead, but I said
'no, I knew better.'"
There was something in Mrs. Gimpson's manner of saying this that
impressed her listeners unfavourably. The impression was deepened
when, after a short, dry laugh a propos of nothing, she sniffed
again--three times.
"Well, you turned out to be right," said Mr. Boxer, shortly.

"I gin'rally am," was the reply; "there's very few people can take me
in."
She sniffed again.
"Were the natives kind to you?" inquired Mrs. Boxer, hastily, as she
turned to her husband.
"Very kind," said the latter. "Ah! you ought to have seen that island.
Beautiful yellow sands and palm-trees; cocoa-nuts to be 'ad for the
picking, and nothing to do all day but lay about in the sun and swim in
the sea."
"Any public-'ouses there?" inquired Mrs. Gimpson.
"Cert'nly not," said her son-in-law. "This was an island--one o' the little
islands in the South Pacific Ocean."
"What did you say the name o' the schooner was?" inquired Mrs.
Gimpson.
"_Pearl,_" replied Mr. Boxer, with the air of a resentful witness under
cross-examination.
"And what was the name o' the captin?" said Mrs. Gimpson.
"Thomas--Henery--Walter--Smith," said Mr. Boxer, with somewhat
unpleasant emphasis.
"An' the mate's name?"
"John Brown," was the reply.
"Common names," commented Mrs. Gimpson, "very common. But I
knew you'd come back all right--I never 'ad no alarm. 'He's safe and
happy, my dear,' I says. 'He'll come back all in his own good time.'"
"What d'you mean by that?" demanded the sensitive Mr. Boxer. "I
come back as soon as I could."

"You know you were anxious, mother," interposed her daughter. "Why,
you insisted upon our going to see old Mr. Silver about it."
"Ah! but I wasn't uneasy or anxious afterwards," said Mrs. Gimpson,
compressing her