porter, and calendars and chromos of ships supplied by the big steamship companies. There had as yet been no opportunity for Jennie to give the signal for them to cut and run, since the door was shut to keep in the steamy, pleasant warmth, and there was too much danger of their being trampled underfoot if they tried to get out during the brief periods of its opening and closing.
Mr. Strachan, with one pint of dark in his system and another at his elbow, was standing next to a little fellow, a factory-hand with a needle nose, in a peaked tweed cap, while beside him there was an enormous docker, his badge still pinned to his braces; also a commercial man, several sailors off a destroyer, and the usual roster of beer drinkers and nondescripts.
It was the little needle-nose who eventually provided the opening for which Mr. Strachan had been waiting. Nodding towards Peter and Jennie he said, 'Huish, that's a fine pair o' puissies ye have there. I'll reckon ye are no little attoched to them …'
'Oh aye,' said Mr. Strachan, and then added in a slightly louder voice: `Would you say now, just standin' there lookin' at them, that there was onything verra extraordinary aboot the twa?'
This question naturally provoked the large docker and the commercial man to turn and look too, as well as those sitting at the nearest tables. Challenged, the factory worker remarked, 'Noo then, I wouldna like to say exoctly or draw comparisons twixt yin and th' ither, though it strikes me the white one might verra well be a superior specimen. What had ye in mind?'
'Would ye believe it?' asked Mr. Strachan in a still louder voice which centred practically the attention of all except those who were watching the darts game upon him, 'if I were to tell you that yon pair . . .' and without waiting for any further expressions from his audience launched full tilt into the tale of Peter and Jennie, that is, from his point of view and as he had seen it.
He told how they had been found stowed away in the storeroom of the Countess of Greenock with a supply of mice and rats laid by as an offering to pay their way, of the size of the rat that Peter had overcome and the subsequent disaster to Jennie, Peter's uncat-like and heroic act of going over the side to join her, the rescue by the lifeboat crew with Jennie given up for dead, and the final resurrection accomplished by Peter.
He told it quite well, it teemed to Peter, and listening to it he found himself rather enjoying the narrative plus being the centre of many pairs of interested eyes. There were a few details here and there he should have liked to have filled in, or elaborated upon somewhat, but in the main he felt that the mate was doing a good job and had done them justice. And if the truth be told, Jennie likewise seemed far from averse herself to being the centre of attention and even preened herself a little, washing, and turning her head this way and that so that those in the rear of the room who were now craning their necks could get a better look, as Mr. Strachan concluded his yarn with a flourish:'. . . thus providing an exomple of unparalleled fidelity, love and devotion far beyond the call of duty in the onimal kingdom, and the proof of which ye see here stonding on the bar before your verra eyes …'
The needle-nosed factory worker with the peaked cap took a swallow of his beer, wiped the back of his hand across his lips, and said just one word, which unfortunately was 'Tosh!'
'Eh?' said Mr. Strachan. 'I dinna believe I heered ye correctly.'
'Oh yus ye did,' said needle-nose, who really, Peter decided, had a most unpleasant face and close-set distrustful eyes. 'I said 'Tosh,' to which I will be glod to add 'Rosh' and 'Fosh.' I will also say that I have never heered such a pock of lies and fabrications in a' me life . . .'
Several of the bystanders sniggered, but one of them said, 'Ah've heered stranger things before and, like he says, yon's the proof before ye …'
This support was all that Mr. Strachan needed to restore some of the confidence that Captain Sourlies had so badly shaken, and he drew himself up to good height with 'Bosh and tosh, is it? Sith an' if ye no can take the evidence of yer ain eyes letting alone the fact that I was in commond of the verra lifesaving craft that bore down upon them struggling for their lives in the sea …'
Needle-nose now turned and put his face, on which there rested a most unpleasant sneer, quite close to Jennie and Peter as though inspecting them minutely.
Jennie turned suddenly, squatted down on the bar with her head veered towards the door, and said very quietly: `Peter. I don't understand all they're saying, but I know the signs of how people behave– there is going to be a jolly little dust-up in here in just a minute. Whatever you do, don't leave the bar while they're fighting. Wait until the constables come and then follow me.'
Needle-nose, having completed his investigation, turned his face to Mr. Strachan again and said: `I have inspected your cots, and I no can find onything writ on them neither by hond nor in fine print to the effect that on such and such a day sairtain hoppenings took place. Ontil such time as such becomes legible, ye wull forgive me if I say-Toshl'
Mr. Strachan had had it. He was rubbed raw. The captain had badly upset him and his faith in himself, and now this nasty bit of work was proposing to ruin the best yarn he had ever told—with proof. 'Ah weel,' he said softly, with a kind of sigh, 'perhops this will improve your veesion,' and he carefully poured his untasted pint of dark over the head of Needle-nose.
The large docker next him, with the badge, thereupon turned sadly upon Mr. Strachan and said in a mildly reproving voice, `Now then. Ye shouldna ha' done that to little Jock who lacks the height of ye. Ye'll have some of your ain back then,' and without further ado he poured his beer over Mr. Strachan who at the same time received a punch in the stomach from Needle-nose.
The stranger who had originally taken Mr. Strachan's part now reached for the docker, but in so doing jostled the two sailors, causing them to spill their grog. Mr. Strachan, aiming a retaliatory blow at Jock, hit the commercial man instead, who fell into the nearest table showering the neighbouring one with the upset drinks.
And the next moment, to Peter's horror, everybody in the bar seemed to be fighting everybody else while the barman went up and down behind the bar with a bung-starter looking for heads to crack at, and the bar-woman screamed murder at the top of her lungs.
`Stand fast!' Jennie cautioned. `Don't let them push you off the bar, or they'll trample you to death. It won't be long now.'
Faster and faster came the blows, the shouts, the cracking of chairs and tables knocked over and splintered, while Peter and Jennie leaped this way and that to avoid some of the swings aimed at no one in particular. Half the room was siding and fighting with Mr. Strachan, the others had nominated them– selves partisans of Needle-nose, and the gauge of battle turned first towards one, then the other. Somebody threw a bottle that went crashing into the street through the window. And then all of a sudden the door flew open and in marched the largest constable that Peter had ever seen, backed by a smaller one who stood in the open doorway.
'Ullo,'ullo,'ullo,'ullo,' boomed the first constable. `What's a' this?'
His voice and words had a most amazing effect, just like in a fairy pantomime Peter had once seen when the wizard had spoken magic words and waved his wand and everybody had frozen stock still in whatever position or attitude they happened to be in, or whatever they were doing.
For as much as five seconds, nobody moved in the public bar. Some stood with arms drawn back, others half ducked, others still with their fingers intertwined in the hair of opponents, and the last thing Peter remembered was that Jock, the needle-nosed one, had climbed half-way up Mr. Strachan and was perched there like a monkey on a stick when Jennie said-'Now!'
In a flash they were both off the bar, on to the floor, and out the door and running together down the street as fast as they could.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Killers
More and more, Peter was aware of a change that seemed to have come over Jennie Baldrin. She did not appear to be her old, gay, talkative self any longer, but was given over to falling into moods and long silences, and several times he caught her apparently staring off into space quite lost in some inner contemplation. Once when he had offered her the traditional penny for her thoughts she had not replied to him, and the sudden switching and twitching of her tail had warned him not to pursue the matter. Peter set it down to the shock of her experience when she had fallen overboard from the Countess and nearly drowned.
