The Madness of Mr. Lister Read online

straitenedcircumstances, was well content with the tacit bargain, and then, bit bybit, the character of Mr. Lister was revealed to him. It was not a nicecharacter, but subtle; and when he made the startling discovery that awill could be rendered invalid by the simple process of making anotherone the next day, he became as a man possessed. When he ascertained thatMr. Lister when at home had free quarters at the house of a marriedniece, he used to sit about alone, and try and think of ways and means ofsecuring capital sunk in a concern which seemed to show no signs of beingwound-up.

  "I've got a touch of the 'art again, lad," said the elderly invalid, asthey sat alone in the forecastle one night at Seacole.

  "You move about too much," said the cook. "Why not turn in and rest?"

  Mr. Lister, who had not expected this, fidgeted. "I think I'll go ashorea bit and try the air," he said, suggestively. "I'll just go as far asthe Black Horse and back. You won't have me long now, my lad."

  "No, I know," said the cook; "that's what's worrying me a bit.""Don't worry about me," said the old man, pausing with his hand on theother's shoulder; "I'm not worth it. Don't look so glum, lad."

  "I've got something on my mind, Jem," said the cook, staring straight infront of him.

  "What is it?" inquired Mr. Lister.

  "You know what you told me about those pains in your inside?" said thecook, without looking at him.

  Jem groaned and felt his side.

  "And what you said about its being a relief to die," continued the other,"only you was afraid to commit suicide?"

  "Well?" said Mr. Lister.

  "It used to worry me," continued the cook, earnestly. "I used to say tomyself, 'Poor old Jem,' I ses, 'why should 'e suffer like this when hewants to die? It seemed 'ard.'"

  "It is 'ard," said Mr. Lister, "but what about it?"

  The other made no reply, but looking at him for the first time, surveyedhim with a troubled expression.

  "What about it?" repeated Mr. Lister, with some emphasis.

  "You did say you wanted to die, didn't you?" said the cook. "Nowsuppose suppose----"

  "Suppose what?" inquired the old man, sharply. "Why don't you say whatyou're agoing to say?"

  "Suppose," said the cook, "some one what liked you, Jem--what liked you,mind--'eard you say this over and over again, an' see you sufferin' and'eard you groanin' and not able to do nothin' for you except lend you afew shillings here and there for medicine, or stand you a few glasses o'rum; suppose they knew a chap in a chemist's shop?"

  "Suppose they did?" said the other, turning pale.

  "A chap what knows all about p'isons," continued the cook, "p'isons whata man can take without knowing it in 'is grub. Would it be wrong, do youthink, if that friend I was speaking about put it in your food to put youout of your misery?"

  "Wrong," said Mr. Lister, with glassy eyes. "Wrong. Look 'ere, cook--"

  "I don't mean anything to give him pain," said the other, waving hishand; "you ain't felt no pain lately, 'ave you, Jem?"

  "Do you mean to say" shouted Mr. Lister.

  "I don't mean to say anything," said the cook. "Answer my question. Youain't felt no pain lately, 'ave you?"

  "Have--you--been--putting--p'ison--in--my--wittles?" demanded Mr. Lister,in trembling accents.

  "If I 'ad, Jem, supposin' that I 'ad," said the cook, in accents ofreproachful surprise, "do you mean to say that you'd mind?"

  "MIND," said Mr. Lister, with fervour. "I'd 'ave you 'ung!"

  "But you said you wanted to die," said the surprised cook.

  Mr. Lister swore at him with startling vigour. "I'll 'ave you 'ung," herepeated, wildly.

  "Me," said the cook, artlessly. "What for?"

  "For giving me p'ison," said Mr. Lister, frantically. "Do you think youcan deceive me by your roundabouts? Do you think I can't see throughyou?"

  The other with a sphinx-like smile sat unmoved. "Prove it," he said,darkly. "But supposin' if anybody 'ad been givin' you p'ison, would youlike to take something to prevent its acting?"

  "I'd take gallons of it," said Mr. Lister, feverishly.

  The other sat pondering, while the old man watched him anxiously. "It'sa pity you don't know your own mind, Jem," he said, at length; "still,you know your own business best. But it's very expensive stuff."

  "How much?" inquired the other.

  "Well, they won't sell more than two shillings-worth at a time," said thecook, trying to speak carelessly, "but if you like to let me 'ave themoney, I'll go ashore to the chemist's and get the first lot now."

  Mr. Lister's face was a study in emotions, which the other tried in vainto decipher.

  Then he slowly extracted the amount from his trousers-pocket, and handedit over with-out a word.

  "I'll go at once," said the cook, with a little feeling, "and I'll nevertake a man at his word again, Jem."

  He ran blithely up on deck, and stepping ashore, spat on the coins forluck and dropped them in his pocket. Down below, Mr. Lister, with hischin in his hand, sat in a state of mind pretty evenly divided betweenrage and fear.

  The cook, who was in no mood for company, missed the rest of the crew bytwo public-houses, and having purchased a baby's teething powder andremoved the label, had a congratulatory drink or two before going onboard again. A chatter of voices from the forecastle warned him that thecrew had returned, but the tongues ceased abruptly as he descended, andthree pairs of eyes surveyed him in grim silence.

  "What's up?" he demanded.

  "Wot 'ave you been doin' to poor old Jem?" demanded Henshaw, sternly.

  "Nothin'," said the other, shortly.

  "You ain't been p'isoning 'im?" demanded Henshaw.

  "Certainly not," said the cook, emphatically.

  "He ses you told 'im you p'isoned 'im," said Henshaw, solemnly, "and 'egive you two shillings to get something to cure 'im. It's too late now."

  "What?" stammered the bewildered cook. He looked round anxiously at themen.

  They were all very grave, and the silence became oppressive."Where is he?" he demanded.

  Henshaw and the others exchanged glances. "He's gone mad," said he,slowly.

  "Mad?" repeated the horrified cook, and, seeing the aversion of the crew,in a broken voice he narrated the way in which he had been victimized.

  "Well, you've done it now," said Henshaw, when he had finished. "He'sgone right orf 'is 'ed."

  "Where is he?" inquired the cook.

  "Where you can't follow him," said the other, slowly.

  "Heaven?" hazarded the unfortunate cook. "No; skipper's bunk," said Lea.

  "Oh, can't I foller 'im?" said the cook, starting up. "I'll soon 'ave'im out o' that."

  "Better leave 'im alone," said Henshaw. "He was that wild we couldn't donothing with 'im, singing an' larfin' and crying all together--Icertainly thought he was p'isoned."

  "I'll swear I ain't touched him," said the cook.

  "Well, you've upset his reason," said Henshaw; "there'll be an awful rowwhen the skipper comes aboard and finds 'im in 'is bed.

  "'Well, come an' 'elp me to get 'im out," said the cook.

  "I ain't going to be mixed up in it," said Henshaw, shaking his head.

  "Don't you, Bill," said the other two.

  "Wot the skipper'll say I don't know," said Henshaw; "anyway, it'll besaid to you, not----"

  "I'll go and get 'im out if 'e was five madmen," said the cook,compressing his lips.

  "You'll harve to carry 'im out, then," said Henshaw. "I don't wish youno 'arm, cook, and perhaps it would be as well to get 'im out afore theskipper or mate comes aboard. If it was me, I know what I should do."

  "What?" inquired the cook, breathlessly.

  "Draw a sack over his head," said Henshaw, impressively; "he'll screamlike blazes as soon as you touch him, and rouse the folks ashore if youdon't. Besides that, if you draw it well down