The Ghost and Mrs. Muir Page #5

if we included a chapter

about your early life...

your school days.

I never went to school.

I was educated by the vicar.

Poor man. He must have

had a dreadful time.

He enjoyed every minute of it...

except for the time

I put a snake in this bed.

You must have been

a horrid little boy.

I suppose you were

a model of all the virtues

when you were 1 2.

Certainly I was.

I won a prize

for deportment at school.

I can see you.

Fat little girl

in hair ribbons.

I wasn't fat.

I was skinny.

Just as bad.

And I wore my hair in braids.

And a thousand freckles.

You, uh, you still

have freckles.

Only seven of them...

and I'm told

they're most becoming.

They are at that.

Good heavens! 11:OO.

I--

I had no idea

it was so late.

Yes. You had better

be getting some sleep.

We'll put in

a full day tomorrow.

Daniel, what did your aunt do

when you ran away to sea?

Oh, probably thanked heaven

there was no one around

to fill her house

with mongrel puppies

and track mud

on her carpets.

Did she write to you?

Every Sunday for seven years.

I was at sea

when she died.

It was the year

I got me mate's ticket.

What are you

thinking about, Lucia?

I'm thinking how lonely

she must have felt

with her clean carpets.

Seen that Coombe

in the village.

He give me this for you.

Oh, thanks, Martha.

It's another demand

for payment of the rent.

He did say something

about sending the bailiffs

to put us out.

I've got a little money

put by, ma'am.

There ain't been nothing

to spend it on here.

Oh, thank you, Martha...

but I wouldn't dream

of taking it.

We'll manage somehow.

Yes, ma'am.

It's unimportant.

Don't worry about it.

What if he sends the bailiffs?

I'll handle them.

Bailiffs are nothing

but sea lawyers

come ashore.

I'm so tired, Daniel.

I can't see straight

or think straight.

Ah, now then...

there's only one more

chapter to do.

Better be at it.

Lucia!

I'm ready, Daniel.

Good, my dear.

To all who follow

the hard and honorable

profession of the sea...

to the after-guard

and forecastle alike...

to masters, mates,

and engineers...

to able-bodied

and ordinary seamen...

to stokers, apprentices,

ship's boys...

carpenters, sailmakers,

and sea cooks...

I dedicate this volume.

The end.

The end.

Now, tomorrow

you'll take it to the publishers.

I hope they like it.

They must like it.

They will.

It's strange. I--

I didn't think so at first.

Somehow--

Somehow it's a very wise book.

It has elements of wisdom

in it, my dear.

I didn't lead

a very wise life myself...

but it was-- it was a full one

and a grown-up one.

You come of age very quickly

through shipwreck and disaster.

I never understood

the sea before...

or the men who go to sea.

Why did you write

the book, Daniel?

It wasn't merely to

save the house for me.

Partly that.

For you and the retired seamen

you'll leave it to in your will...

but mostly to help

people understand...

to make them understand.

All those

comfortable swabs

who sit at home

in their beam-ends

reveling in the luxuries

that seamen risk their lives

to bring to them...

and despising

the poor devils

if they so much as touch

a drop of rum, and--

and even sneering at people

who try to do them some good

like you and me.

Well, uh...

tomorrow, the publishers.

Tacket and Sproule

in Great Smith Street.

Now be sure you see Sproule.

He owned a small

sailing yacht.

He came in fourth

in a club regatta once

and fancies himself as the very devil

of a seafaring man.

Ha ha ha!

To tell you the truth, he doesn't know

a crossjack from a scuttlebutt.

Yes, Daniel.

Ship out there.

Too close, by the sound.

It's the loneliest sound...

like a child lost

and crying in the dark.

He's lost,

all right...

with a captain

cursing a blue streak

and wondering why

he ever went to sea

instead of opening

a grocer's shop

like a sensible man.

Fog in the channel

is treacherous.

I'd rather face

a northeaster.

Still, it's honest, the sea.

It makes you face things

honestly, doesn't it?

There's something

on your mind.

Yes.

What's to become

of us, Daniel?

Of you and me?

Nothing can become of me.

Everything's happened

that can happen.

But not to me.

When we were

writing the book...

I was happy.

We were accomplishing

something together.

Now, when I try to

think about the future...

it's--it's all dark

and confused...

like--like trying

to see into the fog.

You've been working too hard,

cooped up in the house too long.

You need a change of scene.

But I love it here.

You should be out

in the world more...

meeting people.

Seeing men.

I have no desire

to see men.

You should, Lucia.

You're a confoundedly

attractive woman...

or hadn't you noticed?

Really, my dear,

you owe it to yourself.

Yes, Daniel.

Good night.

Good night.

My dear.

Oh, Daniel, I'm afraid

we've got ourselves

into an awful fix.

I should like to see

Mr. Sproule, please.

I see you're back,

Mr. Fairley.

Obviously.

Have you decided to wait?

Forever if I must.

I should like to see

Mr. Sproule, please.

Can't see Mr. Sproule

without an appointment.

But I have a manuscript.

So you have a manuscript.

Most unusual.

No more so than your adenoids

and your bad manners.

Now, take the lady's name.

Leave your name.

Mrs. Edwin Muir.

Mrs...

Mrs. Edwin Muir.

Gull Cottage,

Whitecliff-by-the-sea.

Can't I have just a few moments

with Mr. Sproule now?

I've come all the way in

from Whitecliff.

All for now.

Is it a cookbook?

I hope not another

life of Byron.

Or is it

a book of dreams?

You're trying

to give me a hint.

Has it something

to do with ice?

Is it really very important

for you to see old Sproule?

Oh, yes, so important.

Then see him you shall...

and it is your good fortune

that I'm not only irresponsible...

but also unreasonable.

I don't understand.

I had an appointment

at 11:
OO.

I arrived at 1 O:3O

and wouldn't wait.

I'm only here now because

I followed you back.

So you may have

my appointment...

for which you

are just in time.

That's very good of you,

but I'm afraid I can't--

Now, my dear young woman...

if you will set aside

your book of social graces

for just long enough

to seize an opportunity

that you want very much

by merely indulging a small

natural selfish instinct.

Without doubt, sir, you are

the most forward gentleman

I have ever encountered.

Without doubt.

Mr. Fairley.

Forward.

Oh, no, no.

I couldn't.

It's quite all right.

Oh, no, really.

Here now--

She's mad about you.

Couldn't you tell?

Come in, Fairley.

Come in.

Your new book is terrible...

the most awful trash

I've had on my desk since--

Who are you?

I--I'm-- That is--

Who let you in?

Why, the gentleman outside

said it was all right.

Oh, he did, did he?

Well, it isn't all right...

and I'll trouble you

take yourself elsewhere.

Oh, please, Mr. Sproule.

I simply had to get in

to see you. I--

I have a manuscript.

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