Grand Canary Read Online Free PDF Page A

profuse. Upon her upper lip a few stray roots sprouted unashamedly, emphasising her air of spirited effrontery. She was draped in clothes of a lively plum shade, and around her neck, suspended, was a black handbag which gaped upon her bosom like a pelican’s pouch.
    Tranter stared at her with extreme distrust.
    â€˜Would you care to sit down, ma’am?’ he said at length, doubtfully indicating the settee.
    She shook her head till the earrings rattled, eased her corsets with a tug, then with an impulsive movement went forward and spread herself largely upon the lower bunk.
    â€˜Carajo coño, that’s better,’ she declared, pointing her native cockney with the Spanish idiom. ‘ Come up the ladder too ’asty, I did. ’Aving a small pow-wow and a drop of brown with the wardress – meanin’ the stewardess.’
    A chill seemed to fall upon the cabin for almost a minute, then with a sort of uneasy politeness Robert said:
    â€˜I had hoped, ma’am, my sister Susan might have the lower berth. She’s a kind of poor sailor and she’d feel the roll much more up top there.’
    Mother Hemmingway wrinkled up her squat brow and grinned like a ferret.
    â€˜â€™Oo finds keeps,’ she quoted slyly. ‘’Oo loses – you know the rest, mister. ’Ere I am and ’ere I stye. Why didn’t you swipe it before I come in? I respects your ’on’able request. I respects your feelings as a brother. I’m heart-broke for Susan. But it’s age before honesty these dyes. So it’s up aloft for Susannah, and ’ere below for the elders. Carajo coño, and by Jesu-Maria, I only ’ ope and pray she won’t sick down on me.’
    There was a stricken silence intensified to horror as Mother Hemmingway slipped her fat ringed hand into her open bag, drew out a small brown cigar, struck a match on the side of the bunk, and nonchalantly lit up.
    â€˜Carajo,’ she went on coolly, pursing her lips to a small round hole from which trickled a thin thread of smoke. ‘ It brings a smile to my fyce to get back on the briny. Yes, mister. I’m all agog for the islands. Blymed funny, though. There’s dyes in Santa I’m that mucho longin’ for Wapping, I’d give fifty peseta for a sniff of the pubs on a foggy night. ’ Uman weakness – ’ome, sweet ’ome, you see – like you blubs w’en you ’ears Melbar on the phonograph. But, by Cristo, w’en I am ’ome I’d give five ’undred peseta to be hout of it.’
    â€˜You live, then, in Santa Cruz?’ said Robert stiffly; only for his sister’s sake did he feel himself constrained to conversation.
    â€˜Thirty year come next Ascension Dye,’ answered Mother Hemmingway with a reflective wave of her cigar. ‘My ’ usband, blast ’is mem’ry, was master of the Christopher – little coasting barque – five ’undred tons – guano tryde. I can smell ’ er as I lies ’ere on this bunk. Thirty years come next Ascension Dye ’e went on the lush roundin’ Teneriffe like ’e ’ ad the playful little ’abit. Lost ’is course and lost ’is bleedin’ ship. Run ’er on the Anaga rocks, slap-bang like that, and sunk ’er to the bottom of the deep blue sea. ’E’d ’ave sunk me too if ’e’d’ad ’is dyin’ wish. Out of spite, you see. But I done a Crusoe on ’im. The only one syved from the wreck, like Corney Grain used ter sing. That’s ’ow I come to ’it Santa Cruz. And, Madre de Dios, come to think on it, that’s’ow I styed.’
    â€˜You have certainly acclimatised yourself, ma’am,’ said Robert uncomfortably. ‘Do you find the Spanish people agreeable?’
    â€˜Tyke as you find,’ replied the other complacently. ‘ I can’t sye I likes and I can’t sye I ’ates.