A Ship's Tale by N. Jay Young Page A

the look on the poor lad’s face, one could see that he was not entertaining the notion of any further discussion. Harris returned to the table with a pleased look on his face.
    â€œWhy didn’t ye just crush the damn thing to a powder?” grumbled Bowman.
    â€œAh, but then you would have said I was showing off,” Harris smiled.
    The laughter and chat picked up again when Robert came through the door. “Good evening everyone. I trust I haven’t kept you waiting.”
    â€œNo,” I said, “This is only my first round.” I held up my glass in illustration.
    â€œThanks for coming down,” Harris began. “This is Bowman and Edward. We’ve ordered a pint for you, and that’s Boris getting our drinks there.”
    We all looked up just in time to see the barmaid slap Boris. He came back to the table with our drinks, grinning. “She likes me, yes?”
    â€œOh, that much was quite obvious to all,” Edward said laughing.
    â€œWhat brought on the violence?” asked Harris, trying to hide his amusement.
    Boris looked blank, “Language misunderstanding I think so, but she still smile.”
    â€œOh, ever the ladies’ man, aren’t ye?” coughed Bowman, “but ye haven’t reached Harris’s deviant level of behaviour around the ladies, praise be.”
    Harris pretended to look elsewhere, but gave a nasty cackle.
    I stood up and took Robert’s arm. “Excuse me, but may I chat with you a moment?” I asked, tugging at his arm.
    â€œBut it’s warm here by the fire,” he objected. “’Tis colder than a whore’s heart this night. It’s the blasted fog. Besides, this is the best show in town, eh?”
    â€œYou would know,” I said, abandoning my plan for a private word.
    It was obvious to me that Robert was a possible recruit to the project, now that his job was coming to an end. First we needed to settle the matter of the canvas.
    â€œDid you find out anything more about canvas?” I asked.
    Robert took a good long drink before answering. “I’ve asked around for canvas everywhere,” he said, “but there’s not a spare foot in all London, let alone 3500 square feet. I talked to a few old shipmates who work in the Chatham Dockyard and London Docks. There’s not a bit of canvas. Even if there was, scrap-yard security is pretty tight. It seems a good deal of stuff goes missing.”
    Harris’s eyes grew big as he cleared his throat noisily, taking a long drink. In fact, he found that he’d quickly drained his glass and waved to the barmaid to order another.
    â€œBut what I’d like to know,” Robert continued, “is what the devil do you need all that canvas for? And what’s all this bit about sailing, anyway?”
    â€œHush lad, lower your voice,” Bowman interposed. “All things in due course.”
    Suddenly from outside there arose the agonised yelp of a dog. A few heads turned, but in the main room the heart-rending sound was ignored by the pub-goers as it disappeared into the distance. One man rose and went out.
    â€œWhat in God’s name was that?” Robert exclaimed.
    Harris raised a placating hand. “Don’t let it alarm you. It’s just the landlady’s tom-cat. Himself likes to lie in wait by the steps and attack dogs. One really can’t let a small dog out unescorted most nights around here. Curse the little bastard.”
    Harris leaned back in his chair. “Now, this afternoon you mentioned that they were taking the circus down for the winter soon.”
    â€œYes, this is the last week of work for me,” said Robert. “Then I don’t know what I’ll be doing.”
    Harris thought for a moment. “What happens to everything after that?” He asked blandly.
    â€œWhen the circus comes to town, all of the equipment is carried by rail in six goods wagons. They’re packed with