|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 64
"What time will it be high water, Mr. Robson?" asked the young Consul,
as he and Uncle Richard were making an inspection of the ship-yard in
the afternoon.
"At half-past ten, sir," answered the foreman.
"Very well, then, let me see that you have everything ready to-morrow at
half-past ten, on the stroke, you understand--at half-past ten on the
stroke."
"All right, sir!" said Mr. Robson, touching his cap.
But Tom Robson was not going to leave anything till the morning. That
evening he had every intention of making a night of it, and Martin had
already got the money to make some extensive purchases. There would be
time enough to sleep it off before half-past ten. He was careful to have
everything ready that evening. The ways were carefully smeared with
tallow and soft soap, and put in their places; the props were all ready
to be removed; and everything that might get in the way in the harbour,
was hauled out of the way and secured to its moorings.
The ship lay with her stern towards the water, and her stem slightly
raised above it. Under her bows lay all the material for use the next
day. The spare pieces of timber that were to be put under her, and the
wedges which were to be driven in to raise her forward, were ready to
hand, as were the jacks and levers. Everything, in fact, down to the
long-handled mauls was in its place.
Gabriel followed at Tom's heels all day. He wanted to take in everything
clearly, and succeeded fully in so doing. Only one thing, the ship's
name, that he was so anxious to know, still remained a secret, which Tom
would not betray. And Tom himself it was who, in accordance with the
Consul's orders, had spiked on the name-board when it was nearly dark.
The company at Anders Begmand's had been busy that evening, especially
Tom Robson, and by the time it was about ten o'clock he was pretty well
tipsy. Woodlouse was no better; but Torpander kept as sober as usual,
looking towards the door every time he heard a noise. With the darkness
a fresh breeze began to blow up from the south-west, which swept over
the open ground above Sandsgaard and down on to the fjord. It made the
old cottage shake again when the wind came back in eddies from the hill
behind it, and Torpander got up every moment, thinking that the door was
opening, to the endless amusement of Mr. Robson.
Martin drank in silence, and looked even more gloomy than usual. The
whole winter he had been out of work. Tom Robson had lent him money, and
that made him even more morose, for he was proud after his own fashion,
and gratitude was not in his nature.
At last Marianne came. Torpander greeted her in his usual respectful
manner, to which she answered with a faint smile. She looked almost
ready to fall from weariness, as she passed hurriedly through the room.
"Hulloa!" cried Tom, who only saw her when she had reached the kitchen
door, "here comes my sweetheart! Marianne, my darling! the ship is ready
now, and Tom Robson has got some money. Let's have the wedding;
to-night, if you like! Come along!" cried he, struggling to get over the
bench.
Martin thrust him back. "Will you let my sister alone?"
"I suppose she is not good enough for an honest seaman, because of that
infernal young Gar----"
He did not get any farther, for Martin aimed a blow at him and struck
him behind the ear. Marianne hastily left the room. Torpander now threw
himself courageously on his ancient enemy from the other side, and a
frightful scuffle ensued.
Tom Robson put himself in position like an English boxer, drunk as he
was, and squared his arms and elbows for the fray.
At first he made a few feints at Martin, which were not meant to be
serious. But when he had received a few blows which were really painful,
he sprang away from the table so as to get more room. Torpander had not
the least idea of using his fists, but hammered away like a blacksmith
with his long skinny arms, either at Tom or else in the air, just as it
might happen. Mr. Robson gave him a tap every now and then which made
his bones rattle again, but on the whole he allowed the Swede to hammer
away at his back as much as he liked.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|