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Title: Cat Luck
Date of first publication: 1929
Author: Jeffery Farnol (1878-1952)
Date first posted: Oct. 11, 2019
Date last updated: Oct. 11, 2019
Faded Page eBook #20191032

This eBook was produced by: Al Haines
This file was produced from images generously made available by www.unz.com/print/Colliers-1929jan12-00012




[Source: Collier's, January 12, 1929]




Cat Luck


By Jeffery Farnol


John Pentreath sat in his great sea-boots, stroking the cat with
large, brown hand; and John was like his hand--big and strong and
gentle, albeit there were times when that same hand could become a
fist, quick in action and terrible.

"Black cats be main lucky, Deborah!" said he, stealing a glance at
his comely wife, who sat beside him on the huge, high-backed settle,
busied with her needle.  "Ay, lass, main lucky be black cats!" he
repeated.

Deborah looked at her man beneath level, black brows.

"Jan," said she, a catch in her smooth, soft voice, but holding his
glance with hers, "when a sailorman talks o' luck there be somewhat
i' the wind, so--what du ee mean, Jan?"

"Nay, now," he answered, shaking his curly head, "I mean no more'n
what I says, lass--a black cat be lucky and this Tib o' yourn be
black as ... as a night wi' no moon or blink o' star."

"And there be no moon--tonight.  Jan ... oh, Jan!" she whispered, "I
du believe ee be turning to 'the trade' again--"

"'The trade?'" repeated John.  "Who--me, lass?"  And he opened his
blue eyes in stare of such wide innocence that her fears were
instantly confirmed.

"Jan," she questioned in the same hushed tone, "where be your lugger,
where be the Saucy Lass?"

"Why, she should be layin' in the Cove, for sure."

"Ay, I know she should, but she bean't!" said Deborah, her dark eyes
quick with anxiety.  "Where is she to, Jan?"

John slipped a long arm about his wife's trim waist and spoke:

"Nay, now, Deborah, why take on--?"

"Where be your lugger, Jan?  Oh, my dear, I du believe ee be goin' to
make another 'run' ... and after all your promises!  And the
Preventives so watchful and suspicious of ee!  Oh, Jan, be ee agoin'
out again?  Tell me the truth, lad."

"Well, then ... oh, ay I du be agoin', lass, for one more venter ...
just one ... the last, the very last--"

"Oh, Jan, and ee promised--"

"Belay, Deborah lass, an' lemme tell ee," said John, troubled by her
reproachful eyes, the nervous tremor of her clasping arms.  "Y'see it
be like this--it du so 'appen as Israel Trevanion's boat went aground
t'other night an' got bilged, can't be seaworthy for a week--so
tonight, him being with a cargo to run, I--"

"Be ee goin' in his place, Jan?"

"Why, no, lass, no--Israel be comin' along wi' me aboard my lugger.
Ye know as Israel an' me be old shipmates, Debby, an' I couldn't
refuse him spite o' the promise I made ee, dear lass--"

"But ... Oh, Jan, if they took an' 'prison ee--"

"Never fear, Debby."



"But there be that Tom Mings as be just made an officer o' the
Preventives, he be forever comin' an' goin' hereabouts."

"Ay, dang him!  You be a rare handsome creeter, Deborah--"

"Nay, don't be fullish, Jan!  'Tis because he suspicions ee, 'tis
this brings him here.... So, Jan dear, doan't ee go tonight, doan't
ee go, Jan, for my sake--"

"I be pledged, lass.  Sweetheart, I be expected and go I must!  Just
once more, just this last run and never again, dear lass, never
again!"

"But, Jan, if there be danger ... supposing that Tom Mings should
come--?"

"Why then, sweet lass, if ee think there be any danger lift the
curtain at the lattice yonder and I'll know."



"Mrs. Pentreath, a fair good evenin', ma'm!  Wot, all alone?  Why,
where be your John, then?"

"Why, Mr. Mings, Jan be over to Marazion."

"Oh, Mrs. Pentreath?  Indeed, ma'm?  Which then 'ee can't nowise be
along o' that smugglin' raskell Israel Trevanion as be runnin' a
cargo somewheres hereabouts tonight.  Hows'ever, ma'm, me and my man
Jarge 'ere--off wi' your castor to the lady, Jarge--me and Jarge,
ma'm, will bide 'ere a while an' keep you company."

So saying, Mr. Mings, officer in the Preventive Service, resplendent
in his new uniform, placed his fine new, gold-laced hat between the
lighted lamp and china bowl of flowers upon the small solid table
that stood in the recess before the curtained window and seated
himself between Deborah and the window while Deborah went on sewing,
her mind busy as her needle, seeking how she might reach and lift
that veiling curtain if only for one little moment ...

It was at this moment that Tib, the big black cat, yawned, stretched,
rose and, crossing the room sedately, tail in air, leapt upon the
officer's knee, expectant of caresses; but Mings, ever mindful of his
new uniform, promptly rid himself of the animal, which stared up at
him with wide, topaz eyes, and, lashing indignant tail, paced back to
his corner of the hearth.

"Now," quoth Mr. Mings, taking out his snuffbox and rapping it
loudly, "talkin' o' smugglin', Mrs. Pentreath---"

"I ... I'm not!" said Deborah breathlessly.

"Why, no, ma'm, but I am, for, d'ye see, they're a'goin' to pass a
act o' Parliament to make smuggling a capital offense, a matter for
Jack Ketch ... the 'angman, ma'm, the noose, Mrs. Pentreath, the
gallers an' jibbet, ma'm!"  Deborah uttered a stifled gasp.

"Was you speakin', ma'm?"

"No.  I ... I pricked my finger with the needle," she answered,
stealing another yearning, agonized glance toward that lamp, that
curtained window.

"So d'ye see, ma'm, if we should ha' the good fortun' to take any man
smugglin'--tonight, say ... well, that man would be took, clapped in
jail and dooly 'anged, ma'm--in a noose--on a gallers.  And that man
being dead, Mrs. Pentreath, they take his body, or as you might say,
corpse, ma'm, and 'ang it in chains ... on a jibbet, for a warnin'."

Sick with a creeping horror, Deborah closed her eyes....  That they
should work such ghastly doing on her loved John's handsome, stalwart
body!  Ah, dear God in Heaven, forbid it! ... Somehow she must reach
the window.



A large moth was fluttering about the room making small, dreary
rustlings against wall and ceiling and Tib, the black cat, cut short
a yawn to watch it with unwinking, topaz eyes.

"Wot, Mrs. Pentreath, are ye faint, ma'm?" inquired Mings, closing
snuffbox with a snap.  "Shall Jarge get ye a drink o' water, ma'm?"

"No," said Deborah faintly.  "No!" and, dropping her needlework, she
rose, strung with desperate purpose, her burning gaze upon the
curtained window ... and then--Tib leapt, reaching the table in a
single bound, for the moth was hovering about the lamp ... from lamp
it fluttered to the curtain--and again Tib leapt, upsetting the china
bowl with a crash and, missing that fluttering insect, clung to the
curtain with his every claw, swaying there a moment, and as Mings
snatched up the lamp down came Tib and curtain in a writhing tangle.

Deborah sank back upon the settle, and, bowing her head between
trembling hands, poured forth her passionate thankfulness in
whispered prayer, for the lamplight was beaming through the
unshrouded window, her beloved John was saved.

"Frighted ye, eh, ma'm?" growled Mings, setting the lamp in a place
of safety.  "Frighted ye, ma'm?  And no wonder!  That cat o' yourn
might ha' set the place afire.  Ah, and he's broke your fine chaney
bowl and--Lord love us, lookee 'ere, ma'm!"  And Mr. Mings showed his
fine, new, gold-laced hat dripping with water.  "Look at it, ma'm!"
he growled, "and there be fools as says black cats is lucky!"


[The end of _Cat Luck_ by Jeffery Farnol]