Jeff Benson, or the Young Coastguardsman by R. M. Ballantyne (no david read aloud TXT) 📕

The wonder-working power of Time is proverbial. Behold Jeffrey Benson once again, looking like his old self, at the hospitable board of Miss Millet. It is an occasion of importance. Opposite to her sits her brother. Jeff is on her right hand. On the left sits Rose—prettier, brighter, and more womanly than ever. A gold circlet on one of the fingers of her left hand proclaims a great fact. A happy smile on her face proves that her confidence has not been misplaced.

Jeff is nearly as stout and strong as he ever was; of his severe illness scarcely a trace remains. The doctor does not know what it was, and it is not to be expected that we should know. Sufficient for us to state the fact that it is gone.

But our hero is not now a coastguardsman. Listen, and the captain will explain why.

“Molly, my dear, another cup of your superb tea, to web my whistle before I begin. It ought to be good, for I know the man that grew it, and the firm through which it came. Well, now, both you and Rosebud will nat’rally want to know about the situation which I’ve obtained for Jeff. You’ll be surprised to hear that he is now Secretary of State to King Richard Longpurse.”

“In other words,” interrupted Jeff, with a laugh, “your brother thinks—”

“If you think, sir,” interrupted the captain in his turn, “that King Richard cannot explain matters in his own words, you had better say so at once, and I will abdicate in your favour.”

“Go on, sire—I submit,” said Jeff.

“Well then, Molly, I was about to say, when my secretary interrupted me, that he and I have at last come to an agreement. After much explanation, I have got him to understand that a king cannot possibly manage all his own affairs with his own hands, and that I am forced to have a secretary, who can at least do the ‘three R’s’ pretty well. You see, although my edication has not been neglected, it still remains a fact that I can’t read without specs, that in cipherin’ I am slow—slow, though sure—and that in the matter of penmanship I am neither swift nor legible. Therefore, seein’ that in such things I don’t differ much from other kings and great men, Jeff has generously consented to refuse the lucrative sitooation under Goverment, with nothin’ partik’lar to do, which has been offered to him, and to accept the secretary of state-ship, now at the disposal of King Richard, who will give him at least as good a salary as Government, and at the same time keep his nose closer to the grindstone.”

“Oh! Jeff,” said Rosebud at this point, shaking her finger at her husband, “I knew there was something in the wind!”

“My child,” remarked the captain, “there is always something in the wind. According to the best authorities, you may count on findin’ oxygen, nitrogen, and carbonic-acid gases in it—not to mention foreign substances at times, such as dust leaves, bits of old newspaper and the like, except at sea, where it is always pure and good.”

“But with plenty of salt in it,” interposed Miss Millet, “though not enough to cure you of bad habits, brother. Come now, tell us really what you mean.”

“Well, sister, what I really mean is this: that the fortune which has been sent to me is far too big for one pair of hands and one brain to manage: so my son-in-law has agreed to help me—and the labourer, you know, is worthy of his hire! Surely I don’t need to explain the meaning of that text to you! Since we last conversed in this room on the disposal of my surplus funds, Jeff and I have had many a long talk and walk together. Moreover, I have kept the young secretary’s nose so tight to the grindstone for some months past that he has produced results which will, I think, interest—it may be even surprise—you.”

“Before going further,” continued the captain, pushing in his cup, “let’s have some more o’ that brew to wet my whistle. Well, you will be pleased to hear that I have changed my mind about the carriage and four, and the mansion in Belgravia, and the castle at Folkestone, and the steam-yacht—given ’em all up, and decided to come here an’ live quietly beside you, sister.”

“Are you in earnest brother?” asked Miss Millet, with sparkling eyes.

“Never more in earnest in my life; but get out your plans an’ papers, secretary, an’ explain ’em.”

Jeff rose, left the room, and returned with a business-like bundle of papers, which he untied and arranged on the table before him. Taking up one, he said—

“This is a list of the poor people in Cranby, in whom Miss Millet has been accustomed to take special interest. The first on the list is old Susan Jenkins.”

“My dear old woman, who has been bedridden so long, and in such terrible poverty?” asked Miss Millet.

“The same,” answered Jeff. “Captain Millet has succeeded in getting her admission into the hospital for incurables. We have only just received intimation of the appointment; and as the old woman does not know of it yet, we thought it best to let you be the bearer of the news.”

“Oh, brother!” exclaimed Miss Millet, clasping her hands in delight. She knew now that the captain was in earnest, for he would sooner have cut off his own hand than trifle with her feelings.

“Go on, secretary,” cried the captain, taking a considerable swig of tea, “an’ don’t you interrupt, Molly, else we’ll never get through.”

“The next name is Martha Brand.”

“What, ragged little Martha?” exclaimed Miss Millet.

“The same. A new rig-out has been ordered for Martha, and she is to be sent to school. Joe Puncheon, better known as Vagabond Joe, has been apprenticed to a carpenter—by his own special desire—and goes to work on Monday next in a suit of suitable clothes.”

“Come, sir, none o’ that in business hours,” cried the captain, “and heave that list overboard. It would take us half the night to get through with it. Come to the plans, sir; open the plans.”

Putting aside the list, the obedient secretary took up a large document, and, unfolding it, spread it on the table.

“This,” said Jeff, with business-like gravity, “is a plan of the Cranby Swimming Bath. The coast near the town being rocky, and in many ways inconvenient for bathing, sea-water is to be pumped into this bath daily by a steam-engine. A professor of swimming is appointed to give gratuitous instruction in his art. The bath is to be in two parts—one for ladies, one for gentlemen—and will have dressing-boxes all round, besides diving-boards and every sort of convenience. At certain hours of the morning and evening it will be open free of charge to all comers; so that there will be no excuse for any man, woman, or child in Cranby being dirty or unable to swim.”

“What a blessing it would be,” exclaimed the enthusiastic Miss Millet, “if such baths existed all over the kingdom!”

“It is a disgrace to the kingdom,” said Jeff, “that a bath such as this does not exist in every town of the kingdom. A mere tithe of the money wasted on drink and tobacco,” (“and tea,” muttered the captain, pushing in his cup for more), “would suffice to do it.”

“Come, Jeff, clap a stopper on your long-winded lectures, and go ahead wi’ the next plan,” said the captain, “and don’t moralise if you can help it.”

“But, brother, can you afford all this?” asked Miss Millet.

“Afford it? Of course I can. It’s wonderful, Molly, what men can afford when they’re willing to spend. Why, I’ve known a man myself who was so uncommon willin’ to spend that he ruined his baker an’ butcher an’ greengrocer before he had done spendin’. If that’s so with them as hasn’t got money to spend, surely it’s for a man like me to do so who’s rollin’ in four thousand a year, more or less. Besides, I’m goin’ to invest some o’ the capital in a way that’ll pay back three or four hundred per cent interest! I’m not goin’ to leave it all to my Rosebud. A reasonable provision she shall have—not more. You see, Molly, I’m of opinion that whatever a man has—whether he makes it