CHAPTER XXV

THE NEW LIFEBOAT

NOTHING at this time gave greater pleasure to the Vicar than to get hold of some outsider, not yet up in the subject of lifeboats, and to display to him, or at least to pour out to him all particulars connected with the now possession of Old Maxham. A school-boy with a new bat is not more eager over that bat, than was Mr. Gilbert over the new boat; only, his was joy on behalf of others, while the schoolboy's delight is on behalf of himself.

One afternoon, two or three days after Mildred's encounter with Mr. Willoughby, the Vicar had paused in a road just outside the village, for a few words with the doctor; and as they talked, a figure could be descried coming along the road at some distance.

"There comes one of my friends," Mr. Bateson naturally remarked. "Mr. Willoughby."

"I saw him in Church on Sunday. A rather striking-looking man. One of your patients?"

"Well, not precisely. Hardly a patient, in the proper sense. He runs down here for rest and change, once in a while, and I prescribe for him if needful. A thoroughly nice fellow. Rich, too, if a man may be accounted rich because he has more money than he wants for himself. He is one of the best men that I ever came across; simple and true-hearted as a child; not an atom of nonsense about him. I've known him for years,—used to be a London bookseller in a large way. He rose to that from small beginnings; and I should think there never was a time when he wasn't one of 'Nature's gentlemen.' He'd be that if he were driving a plough."

"In business now?"

"No; he gave up, on account of certain symptoms of head-weakness. He had been working too hard, and was suffering from it; and he was able to retire on a small competency. Then he came in unexpectedly for a fortune from a distant cousin,—what, at least, was a fortune for him, with his simple tastes. So he took to spending time and money in philanthropic directions, and is one of the busiest people I know. Gets done up once in a way, and comes down here."

"Generous, I suppose?"

"After his own fashion. Odd, rather, in his way of doing good. If you beg him for some pet object, ten to one he'll refuse to give a penny; and then, perhaps, for a thing you don't count half so important he'll hand over twenty pounds. I tried to interest him in your lifeboat scheme last time he was here, and he showed no more concern than if I had been speaking about a pop-gun."

"When was that?"

"He has been twice before. First time he stayed a week; last time only three or four days. That was just about when we had that severe storm, and the two bodies were washed up. Yes,—just then. This time he means to stay longer; told me yesterday, he thought of taking a month off work. I don't know why, for he seems well; but I am glad, for he is pleasant in the house."

The Vicar was deep in thought, "Time of that Storm," he murmured. "Ah! When somebody gave the ninety pounds."

The doctor's lips took a queer set, and the Vicar laughed slightly.

"Well, as I say, I tried to interest him in the subject, and he apparently wouldn't be interested. Possibly, afterwards, on thinking it over—"

"And you have never given me a hint till this moment?"

"It wasn't my business," Mr. Bateson answered. "And it isn't my business now. Of course, I drew my own deductions; and you are at liberty to draw yours. That's all. I don't say he did it."

"No, of course. I understand. But—well, here he comes. I've never spoken to him yet."

"You were ill the first time, and last time he was here no time worth mentioning."

Mr. Bateson waited till Mr. Willoughby drew near, and then named him to the Vicar, who raised his hat. The doctor went off, and in three minutes Mr. Gilbert was in eager converse with Mr. Willoughby.

He had been speaking to the doctor about the lifeboat, newly received. Had Mr. Willoughby seen it yet? And did Mr. Willoughby feel any interest in lifeboats generally?

Mr. Willoughby confessed to an interest in everything that benefited his fellow-men.

This set the Vicar off afresh. Was Mr. Willoughby engaged elsewhere? If not, would he like to come and see the lifeboat there and then? Mr. Gilbert would be delighted to escort him, and they could call on their way for the key. The distance was not great.

Mr. Willoughby demurred, and suggested that another day might do as well. He had walked rather far already, and he was not disposed to do quite so much in addition; moreover, the Vicar's time was doubtless valuable. He would turn and go with the Vicar for a short distance, and so hear about the boat instead of immediately seeing it. Mr. Willoughby studiously abstained from showing any special interest in the matter.

He asked rather carelessly, Was it not the Vicar who had set the affair going in the first instance? He could recall hearing a mention of the boat as wanted, in the Vicar's address at the funeral of the two sailors. And, by-the-bye, was not Miss Pattison the sole survivor of the wreck which had first, perhaps, put it into the mind of the Vicar that a lifeboat ought to be had?

So composed and indifferent was the speaker's manner, that the Vicar began to question the truth of his own late surmise. He fell in, of course, with Mr. Willoughby's mood, and refrained from the faintest hint that he had ever supposed Mr. Willoughby to be the donor of the ninety pounds.

Yes, certainly, he said, he was glad to say that he had had a hand in first starting the motion—not that the people of Old Maxham had not in earlier years felt the need of a lifeboat, but only that they had failed to come to a point in the matter. Perhaps he had helped to bring them to a point. But once aroused, the people of the place had responded nobly to his appeal.

They were dear people, the Vicar said warmly, with a touch of boyish enthusiasm, at which the older man smiled with pleasure. The Vicar went on to say that he was proud of his people. And—yes, it was Miss Pattison who had had so remarkable an escape from drowning, and whose escape had partly made him think about a lifeboat.

Then, just as Mr. Willoughby was hoping to hear more about Mildred Pattison, the Vicar swerved off again to the subject of the lifeboat itself, and dashed into an eager explanation of its make and its merits.

He described the wonderful self-righting power of a lifeboat; the air-cases to which it owes its buoyancy; the tubes through which may escape any water shipped by the boat; the life-lines hanging outside, in readiness to be caught and clung to by any man overboard.

Then he congratulated himself and his Parish on the transporting carriage which had also been provided, by means of which the lifeboat could be quickly conveyed to the water's edge, and launched in heavy surf.

He had much also to say as to lesser equipments,—anchors, cables life-buoys, grapnels, rockets; and, above all, the cork lifebelts to be worn by the crew, the buoyant and flexible make of which had greatly delighted him.

"With one of those belts on, a man wearing heavy clothing may not only float safely, but may keep another person afloat also," he said. "It's a marvellous invention. One wonders how the world managed to get on before all these things were found out."

"Not quite such an amount of shipping in earlier times," suggested Mr. Willoughby.

"That's true. But no doubt many a poor fellow lost his life in those days, who in these days might be rescued. Why, only think, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution has in charge over three hundred lifeboats on our coasts. It's a splendid work,—grand! And they are grand men who carry it on. Not many of us realise what some of those noble fellows have to go through, tossing about for hours on a bitter winter night, drenched with rain and spray, half-drowned and half-frozen, yet never giving in, so long as they have a hope of saving a life. It's magnificent!"

Mr. Willoughby assented warmly, and he would have assented a great deal more warmly if he had not feared, by a show of too much sympathy, to betray the generous part which he had himself taken in procuring this very lifeboat.

He did not suppose the Vicar's suspicions to have been already aroused, and he had no wish to arouse them. After listening a little longer, he made an attempt to turn the talk into another channel.

"The shipwreck of last year seems to have done good to Old Maxham in more ways than one."

"By bringing about the presence of a lifeboat? Yes, indeed."

"Not that only. I said, 'in more ways than one.' I was thinking that it had also brought about the presence of Miss Pattison in the place. That must be a gain."

"You are quite right. It is a gain. I have the greatest esteem for Miss Pattison. I believe she does good wherever she goes."

"I have not, of course, seen very much of her yet," remarked Mr. Willoughby, drawing the point of his walking-stick through the dust. "But the little that I have seen,—I confess she seems to me to be a woman among a thousand. We are perhaps better off than King Solomon was. He didn't manage to find one woman among a thousand. I am inclined to think that I—have!"

The Vicar stopped short, and looked full at Mr. Willoughby.

"I am inclined to think that I have," repeated Mr. Willoughby, with deliberation. "I may be mistaken; but I think not."

"You mean—" began the Vicar.

"Yes. I've never been married yet; but there is no especial reason why I shouldn't marry. I am not quite so old as I look, perhaps. How old should you guess me to be? 'Sixty?' Some would have guessed sixty-five. No; I am just over fifty-four—not old at all for a man. And she is over thirty. Nothing out of joint as to age, you see. I have enough money to keep a wife in comfort, and still to be able to give away. Moreover, I am much alone in the world, and she is the same. Why should we not—?"

Mr. Willoughby came to a pause, and the Vicar said heartily, "Why not, indeed?"

"That is the question. It is only an idea in my mind at present; and I can't tell if she could ever care for me. But I want to see more of her, and it is not easy to manage. So I thought I would ask your help. If in the end she isn't willing,—why, I'm no worse off than I have been before."

"Well, I wish you good success; and if there is any way in which I can help matters on, you only have to command me. I wish my sister were here just now, but she isn't. Your best plan really is to interest Mrs. Bateson. She could help you, I don't doubt. I mean, as to arranging for you and Miss Pattison to meet."

"That's an idea worth consideration," Mr. Willoughby remarked.