The COURAGEOUS EXPLOITS OF DOCTOR SYN - Thorndike Russell - Страница 2

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mother, by carrying buckets of fresh water from the village well to the various cottages. With their men-fold

working on the land or sea, for most of them were either at the fis hing or farming trades, housewives were only too

happy to save themselves the walk to the well and the labour of drawing and carrying by paying Percy his moderate

charges for two buckets full of well water delivered three times a day. The humblest cottage employed him, for it

was an accepted fact that he had the monopoly of the well.

From one of his clients Percy refused payment for his services, and that was Mipps, who had long promised him

a yoke to enable him to carry the pails of water the easier.

Mipps had measured it to fit the lad’s hunched shoulders, and it was on this particular morning that he was

putting the finishing touches to the work, planing it smooth while the Vicar talked to him in whispers.

The little knot of gossipers sitting outside upon the bridge wall would have been astonished could they have

heard the drift of this consultation, which had to do with the Scarecrow’s business.

“I tell you, my good Mipps,” the Vicar was saying, “that we shall have to adopt even more carefully laid plans in

the immediate future. We are used to the methods of the Dragoons which we have dealt with before when the

Government has seen fit to billet them upon us. But the Navy is a different proposition. This Captain Blain, who

has been detailed from the Guard Ship at Dover to break up our Nightriders, is a man whose record I am well

acquainted with, and believe me he has a strategic brain. He is an opponent worthy of our steel.”

“And he comes today, does he?” asked Mipps.

“And has been invited to the Court House as Sir Antony’s guest,” nodded the Vicar.

“I don’t envy the Squire,” said Mipps. “He’s already cluttered up with the Dragoons officers. Let’s hope they

pay well for the hospitality they receive.

“The Squire feels that the Cobtrees can hardly receive compensation for hospitality,” returned the Vicar, with a

smile, “so I gather that the Government allowance of rum for the troopers.”

“Well, so long as the Squire keeps the officers away from the Vicarage,” said Mipps, “all the easier for us, eh,

Vicar?”

Doctor Syn shook his head. “That’s not my view at all,” he said.

Mipps looked at his master, and checked the query that was on the tip of his tongue. His master was thinking.

Mipps knew Doctor Sy n better than any. Had he not served under him as ship’s carpenter when his master had

walked the deck of the Imogene as Captain Clegg, flying the black flag? Watching the long thin face now he

realized that the Vicar was working out a problem, and would speak in his own good time.

Doctor Syn was an arresting figure as he leant against the coffin. He was tall, slim, elegant and alert. A smile

suddenly broke over the pale intellectual face, and Mipps was fascinated, wondering what was coming.

“I have made up my mind that Captain Blain shall not be billeted with Sir Antony Cobtree at the Court House,”

he said. “He shall be looked after at the Vicarage. We will keep a close eye on him ourselves. It might even be

necessary to see that his door is fastened on the outside. Yes, we’ll put him in the little panelled room because the

door opens outwards. A wedge, eh, Mipps?”

Mipps nodded. “Maybe as well to have him clapped under our own hatches,” he said, and then added miserably,

“but I’ll wa ger that when the time comes you’ll be letting him out so that you’ll have an opponent worthy of you

steel, as you calls him, working against us when the Nightriders are out.”

Doctor Syn chuckled. “The Nightriders may scare some folk from the Marsh when a ‘run’ is on, but I fancy it

will take more to frighten Captain Blain. Their illuminated faces, the phosphorus on the horses, their wild trappings,

as they circle in and out of the mists, will not impress Blain. No, Mipps, we must think out new methods to deal

with this Captain.”

From the village street came the monotonous wail of the lad, Percy, crying out, “Water, water.” The gossipers

saw in him a means for interrupting the conversation going on between the Vicar and the Sexton.

“Hurry up, my lad,” one of them sang out. “Old Mipps is cursing in there for want of a pail of water for his

work.”

“Percy’s on time,” rejoined the half-wit. “In a fine hurry he is, so don’t be hindering him with you talk now. The

Sexton has promised the yoke this morning, and Percy’s lost a good pint of slopping walking fast. All over my

breeches. The yoke will keep the buckets from bumping my legs.”

“You get inside,” said one of the fishermen, “or old Mipps will be out of temper, and you’ll get no yoke at all.”

“If you stop, talking, and don’t go hindering,” drawled Percy, “I’ll go.”

Percy, continuing his trade wail of “Water,” pushed his way through the Coffin Shop door, and was reprimanded

by Mipps for daring to enter when he had seen the Vicar’s white pony tethered to the gate-post.

Doctor Syn came to the rescue by saying kindly that he was glad to be there when Percy received his present of

the yoke, which Mipps had so kindly made for him.

“Let’s see you put it on,” he said.

Percy stood the buckets down and took the yoke in both hands. It was finer than he had imagined. He stroked

the smoothly shaped wood with his finger-tips, and felt the neat splicing of the ship’s rope that gripped the strong

iron hooks. He gave a gurgling moan of appreciation as he finally lifted the yoke over his head and gently lowered

it till it fitted his hunched shoulders.

“Fits shipshape and Bristol fashion,” said Mipps, eyeing his work with admiration. “Pick up the buckets, and

let’s see if all’s easy.

The Vicar bent down and raised the bucket ropes, while Mipps adjusted the hooks. The stooping Percy watched

them with anxiety.

“Now then, take the strain,” ordered Mipps.

Very gingerly the lad began to raise himself. The bucket ropes were taut and then the buckets left the floor.

When Percy saw them swinging he gave vent to another gurgle of joy.

Then he took a slow step forward.

“Steady ‘em with your hands,” ordered Mipps, “or you’ll have ‘em swinging all over the place and slopping

water worse than ever.”

“That’s it,” said the Vicar. “Now let’s see you walk down the shed.”

With wonder and ecstasy written all over his face, and his mouth wide open, Percy started on his walk down the

shop. When he reached the end he turned slowly, and grinned at his own cleverness. On the way back to his

benefactor he walked quicker, and began to call out his long-drawn wail, “Water.”

“Still slops a bit,” said Mipps critically. “But it don’t splash his breeches like it used to.”

“Just a minute, Mipps,” replied the vicar. “Something has come back to me from the old days. Do you

remember a native water-carrier, who used to fill up our ship’s barrels from the quay of San Diego? I have just

recollected a clever dodge he employed.”

“A thin-looking, half-nigger in stripe-cotton breeches?” queried Mipps. “I’ve got him. And I remember a dodge

he had, which was nothing less than highway robbery, saying he’d filled the barrels when he’d only drained ‘em out,

and tilted the same water back again. I remember catching him at it and drawing my claspknife across his throat,

saying that if pork was in season I’d have him for it. Was it that dodge you was thinking of, Vicar? You was

preaching at the Red Injun Ch ristian church at the time.

“No, my good Mipps, though I remember the fellow as a rascal,” laughed Doctor Syn. “I’ll show you what his

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