Lieutenant Hornblower

Now a grim figure appeared climbing the stairs from the basement—Mrs Mason; she had no mobcap on so that her curl papers were all visible.

“You’ll disturb my other gentlemen with all this noise,” she said.

“Mother, they think it’s going to be war,” said Maria.

“And not a bad thing perhaps if it means some people will pay what they owe.”

“I’ll do that this minute,” said Hornblower hotly. “What’s my reckoning, Mrs Mason?”

“Oh, please, please—” said Maria, interposing.

“You just shut your mouth, miss,” snapped Mrs Mason. “It’s only because of you that I’ve let this young spark run on.”

“Mother!”

” ‘I’ll pay my reckoning’ he says, like a lord. And not a shirt in his chest. His chest’d be at the pawnbroker’s too if I hadn’t nobbled it.”

“I said I’d pay my reckoning and I mean it, Mrs Mason,” said Hornblower with enormous dignity.

“Let’s see the colour of your money, then,” stipulated Mrs Mason, not in the least convinced. “Twentyseven and six.”

Hornblower brought a fistful of silver out of his trouser pocket. But there was not enough there, and he had to extract a note from his breast pocket, revealing as he did so that there were many more.

“So!” said Mrs Mason. She looked down at the money in her hand as if it were fairy gold, and opposing emotions waged war in her expression.

“I think I might give you a week’s warning, too,” said Hornblower, harshly.

“Oh no!” said Maria.

“That’s a nice room you have upstairs,” said Mrs Mason. “You wouldn’t be leaving me just on account of a few words.”

“Don’t leave us, Mr. Hornblower,” said Maria.

If ever there was a man completely at a loss it was Hornblower. After a glance at him Bush found it hard not to grin. The man who could keep a cool head when playing for high stakes with admirals—the man who fired the broadside that shook the Renown off the mud when under the fire of redhot shot—was helpless when confronted by a couple of women. It would be a picturesque gesture to pay his reckoning—if necessary to pay an extra week’s rent in lieu of warning—and to shake the dust of the place from his feet. But on the other hand he had been allowed credit here, and it would be a poor return for that consideration to leave the moment he could pay. But to stay on in a house that knew his secrets was an irksome prospect too. The dignified Hornblower who was ashamed of ever appearing human would hardly feel at home among people who knew that he had been human enough to be in debt. Bush was aware of all these problems as they confronted Hornblower, of the kindly feelings and the embittered ones. And Bush could be fond of him even while he laughed at him, and could respect him even while he knew of his weaknesses.

“When did you ge

“I don’t think we did,” answered Hornblower, with a side glance at Bush.

“You must be hungry, then, if you was up all night. Let me cook you a nice breakfast. A couple of thick chops for each of you. Now how about that?”

“By George!” said Hornblower.

“You go on up,” said Mrs Mason. “I’ll send the girl up with hot water an’ you can shave. Then when you come down there’ll be a nice breakfast ready for you. Maria, run and make the fire up.”

Up in the attic Hornblower looked whimsically at Bush.

“That bed you paid a shilling for is still virgin,” he said. “You haven’t had a wink of sleep all night and it’s my fault. Please forgive me.”

“It’s not the first night I haven’t slept,” said Bush. He had not slept on the night they stormed Samaná; many were the occasions in foul weather when he had kept the deck for twentyfour hours continuously. And after a month of living with his sisters in the Chichester cottage, of nothing to do except to weed the garden, of trying to sleep for twelve hours a night for that very reason, the variety of excitement he had gone through had been actually pleasant. He sat down on the bed while Hornblower paced the floor.

“You’ll have plenty more if it’s war,” Hornblower said; and Bush shrugged his shoulders.

A thump on the door a

“Thank you, Susie,” said Hornblower; and Susie dropped an angular curtsey before she scuttled from the room with one last glance round the door as she left.

Hornblower waved a hand at the washhand stand and the hot water.

“You first,” said Bush.

Hornblower peeled off his coat and his shirt and addressed himself to the business of shaving. The razor blade rasped on his bristly cheeks; he turned his face this way and that so as to apply the edge. Neither of them felt any need for conversation, and it was practically in silence that Hornblower washed himself, poured the wash water into the slop pail, and stood aside for Bush to shave himself.

“Make the most of it,” said Hornblower. “A pint of fresh water twice a week for shaving’ll be all you’ll get if you have your wish.”

“Who cares?” said Bush.

He shaved, restropped his razor with care, and put it back into his roll of toilet articles. The scars that seamed his ribs gleamed pale as he moved. When he had finished dressing he glanced at Hornblower.

“Chops,” said Hornblower. “Thick chops. Come on.”

There were several places laid at the table in the diningroom opening out of the hall, but nobody else was present; apparently it was not the breakfast hour of Mrs Mason’s other gentlemen.

“Only a minute, sir,” said Susie, showing up in the doorway for a moment before hurrying down into the kitchen.

She came staggering back laden with a tray; Hornblower pushed back his chair and was about to help her, but she checked him with a scandalised squeak and managed to put the tray safely on the side table without accident.

“I can serve you, sir,” she said.

She scuttled back and forward between the two tables like the boys ru

“Ah!” said Hornblower, taking up a spoon and fork to serve. “Have you had your breakfast, Susie?”

“Me, sir? No, sir. Not yet, sir.”

Hornblower paused, spoon and fork in hand, looking from the chops to Susie and back again. Then he put down the spoon and thrust his right hand into his trouser pocket.

“There’s no way in which you can have one of these chops?” he said.

“Me, sir? Of course not, sir.”

“Now here’s half a crown.”

“Half a crown, sir!”

That was more than a day’s wages for a labourer.

“I want a promise from you, Susie.”

“Sir—sir—!”

Susie’s hands were behind her.

“Take this, and promise me that the first chance that comes your way, the moment Mrs Mason lets you out, you’ll buy yourself something to eat. Fill that wretched little belly of yours. Faggots and Pease pudding, pig’s trotters, all the things you like. Promise me.”

“But, sir—”

Half a crown, the prospect of unlimited food, were things that could not be real.

“Oh, take it,” said Hornblower testily.

“Yes, sir.”

Susie clasped the coin in her ski

“Don’t forget I have your promise.”

“Yes, sir, please, sir, thank you, sir.”