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diff --git a/10573-0.txt b/10573-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..630d150 --- /dev/null +++ b/10573-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5910 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10573 *** + +SHIP'S COMPANY + +By W.W. Jacobs + + +CONTENTS: + + Fine Feathers + Friends in Need + Good Intentions + Fairy Gold + Watch-Dogs + The Bequest + The Guardian Angel + Dual Control + Skilled Assistance + For Better or Worse + The Old Man of The Sea + “Manners Makyth Man” + + + + +[Illustration: “Can I 'ave it took off while I eat my bloater, mother?”] + + + + +FINE FEATHERS + + +Mr. Jobson awoke with a Sundayish feeling, probably due to the fact that +it was Bank Holiday. He had been aware, in a dim fashion, of the rising +of Mrs. Jobson some time before, and in a semi-conscious condition had +taken over a large slice of unoccupied territory. He stretched himself +and yawned, and then, by an effort of will, threw off the clothes and +springing out of bed reached for his trousers. + +He was an orderly man, and had hung them every night for over twenty +years on the brass knob on his side of the bed. He had hung them there +the night before, and now they had absconded with a pair of red braces +just entering their teens. Instead, on a chair at the foot of the bed +was a collection of garments that made him shudder. With trembling +fingers he turned over a black tailcoat, a white waistcoat, and a pair of +light check trousers. A white shirt, a collar, and tie kept them +company, and, greatest outrage of all, a tall silk hat stood on its own +band-box beside the chair. Mr. Jobson, fingering his bristly chin, +stood: regarding the collection with a wan smile. + +“So that's their little game, is it?” he muttered. “Want to make a toff +of me. Where's my clothes got to, I wonder?” + +A hasty search satisfied him that they were not in the room, and, pausing +only to drape himself in the counterpane, he made his way into the next. +He passed on to the others, and then, with a growing sense of alarm, +stole softly downstairs and making his way to the shop continued the +search. With the shutters up the place was almost in darkness, and in +spite of his utmost care apples and potatoes rolled on to the floor and +travelled across it in a succession of bumps. Then a sudden turn brought +the scales clattering down. + +“Good gracious, Alf!” said a voice. “Whatever are you a-doing of?” + +Mr. Jobson turned and eyed his wife, who was standing at the door. + +“I'm looking for my clothes, mother,” he replied, briefly. + +“Clothes!” said Mrs. Jobson, with an obvious attempt at unconcerned +speech. “Clothes! Why, they're on the chair.” + +“I mean clothes fit for a Christian to wear--fit for a greengrocer to +wear,” said Mr. Jobson, raising his voice. + +“It was a little surprise for you, dear,” said his wife. “Me and Bert +and Gladys and Dorothy 'ave all been saving up for it for ever so long.” + +“It's very kind of you all,” said Mr. Jobson, feebly--“very, but--” + +“They've all been doing without things themselves to do it,” interjected +his wife. “As for Gladys, I'm sure nobody knows what she's given up.” + +“Well, if nobody knows, it don't matter,” said Mr. Jobson. “As I was +saying, it's very kind of you all, but I can't wear 'em. Where's my +others?” + +Mrs. Jobson hesitated. + +“Where's my others?” repeated her husband. + +“They're being took care of,” replied his wife, with spirit. “Aunt +Emma's minding 'em for you--and you know what she is. H'sh! Alf! Alf! +I'm surprised at you!” + +Mr. Jobson coughed. “It's the collar, mother,” he said at last. “I +ain't wore a collar for over twenty years; not since we was walking out +together. And then I didn't like it.” + +“More shame for you,” said his wife. “I'm sure there's no other +respectable tradesman goes about with a handkerchief knotted round his +neck.” + +“P'r'aps their skins ain't as tender as what mine is,” urged Mr. Jobson; +“and besides, fancy me in a top-'at! Why, I shall be the laughing-stock +of the place.” + +“Nonsense!” said his wife. “It's only the lower classes what would +laugh, and nobody minds what they think.” + +Mr. Jobson sighed. “Well, I shall 'ave to go back to bed again, then,” + he said, ruefully. “So long, mother. Hope you have a pleasant time at +the Palace.” + +He took a reef in the counterpane and with a fair amount of dignity, +considering his appearance, stalked upstairs again and stood gloomily +considering affairs in his bedroom. Ever since Gladys and Dorothy had +been big enough to be objects of interest to the young men of the +neighbourhood the clothes nuisance had been rampant. He peeped through +the window-blind at the bright sunshine outside, and then looked back at +the tumbled bed. A murmur of voices downstairs apprised him that the +conspirators were awaiting the result. + +He dressed at last and stood like a lamb--a redfaced, bull-necked lamb-- +while Mrs. Jobson fastened his collar for him. + +“Bert wanted to get a taller one,” she remarked, “but I said this would +do to begin with.” + +“Wanted it to come over my mouth, I s'pose,” said the unfortunate Mr. +Jobson. “Well, 'ave it your own way. Don't mind about me. What with +the trousers and the collar, I couldn't pick up a sovereign if I saw one +in front of me.” + +“If you see one I'll pick it up for you,” said his wife, taking up the +hat and moving towards the door. “Come along!” + +Mr. Jobson, with his arms standing out stiffly from his sides and his +head painfully erect, followed her downstairs, and a sudden hush as he +entered the kitchen testified to the effect produced by his appearance. +It was followed by a hum of admiration that sent the blood flying to his +head. + +“Why he couldn't have done it before I don't know,” said the dutiful +Gladys. “Why, there ain't a man in the street looks a quarter as smart.” + +“Fits him like a glove!” said Dorothy, walking round him. + +“Just the right length,” said Bert, scrutinizing the coat. + +“And he stands as straight as a soldier,” said Gladys, clasping her hands +gleefully. + +“Collar,” said Mr. Jobson, briefly. “Can I 'ave it took off while I eat +my bloater, mother?” + +“Don't be silly, Alf,” said his wife. “Gladys, pour your father out a +nice, strong, Pot cup o' tea, and don't forget that the train starts at +ha' past ten.” + +“It'll start all right when it sees me,” observed Mr. Jobson, squinting +down at his trousers. + +Mother and children, delighted with the success of their scheme, laughed +applause, and Mr. Jobson somewhat gratified at the success of his retort, +sat down and attacked his breakfast. A short clay pipe, smoked as a +digestive, was impounded by the watchful Mrs. Jobson the moment he had +finished it. + +“He'd smoke it along the street if I didn't,” she declared. + +“And why not?” demanded her husband--“always do.” + +“Not in a top-'at,” said Mrs. Jobson, shaking her head at him. + +“Or a tail-coat,” said Dorothy. + +“One would spoil the other,” said Gladys. + +“I wish something would spoil the hat,” said Mr. Jobson, wistfully. +“It's no good; I must smoke, mother.” + +Mrs. Jobson smiled, and, going to the cupboard, produced, with a smile of +triumph, an envelope containing seven dangerous-looking cigars. Mr. +Jobson whistled, and taking one up examined it carefully. + +“What do they call 'em, mother?” he inquired. “The 'Cut and Try Again +Smokes'?” + +Mrs. Jobson smiled vaguely. “Me and the girls are going upstairs to get +ready now,” she said. “Keep your eye on him, Bert!” + +Father and son grinned at each other, and, to pass the time, took a cigar +apiece. They had just finished them when a swish and rustle of skirts +sounded from the stairs, and Mrs. Jobson and the girls, beautifully +attired, entered the room and stood buttoning their gloves. A strong +smell of scent fought with the aroma of the cigars. + +“You get round me like, so as to hide me a bit,” entreated Mr. Jobson, as +they quitted the house. “I don't mind so much when we get out of our +street.” + +Mrs. Jobson laughed his fears to scorn. + +“Well, cross the road, then,” said Mr. Jobson, urgently. “There's Bill +Foley standing at his door.” + +His wife sniffed. “Let him stand,” she said, haughtily. + +Mr. Foley failed to avail himself of the permission. He regarded Mr. +Jobson with dilated eyeballs, and, as the party approached, sank slowly +into a sitting position on his doorstep, and as the door opened behind +him rolled slowly over onto his back and presented an enormous pair of +hobnailed soles to the gaze of an interested world. + +“I told you 'ow it would be,” said the blushing Mr. Jobson. “You know +what Bill's like as well as I do.” + +His wife tossed her head and they all quickened their pace. The voice of +the ingenious Mr. Foley calling piteously for his mother pursued them to +the end of the road. + +“I knew what it 'ud be,” said Mr. Jobson, wiping his hot face. “Bill +will never let me 'ear the end of this.” + +“Nonsense!” said his wife, bridling. “Do you mean to tell me you've got +to ask Bill Foley 'ow you're to dress? He'll soon get tired of it; and, +besides, it's just as well to let him see who you are. There's not many +tradesmen as would lower themselves by mixing with a plasterer.” + +Mr. Jobson scratched his ear, but wisely refrained from speech. Once +clear of his own district mental agitation subsided, but bodily +discomfort increased at every step. The hat and the collar bothered him +most, but every article of attire contributed its share. His uneasiness +was so manifest that Mrs. Jobson, after a little womanly sympathy, +suggested that, besides Sundays, it might be as well to wear them +occasionally of an evening in order to get used to them. + +“What, 'ave I got to wear them every Sunday?” demanded the unfortunate, +blankly; “why, I thought they was only for Bank Holidays.” + +Mrs. Jobson told him not to be silly. + +“Straight, I did,” said her husband, earnestly. “You've no idea 'ow I'm +suffering; I've got a headache, I'm arf choked, and there's a feeling +about my waist as though I'm being cuddled by somebody I don't like.” + +Mrs. Jobson said it would soon wear off and, seated in the train that +bore them to the Crystal Palace, put the hat on the rack. Her husband's +attempt to leave it in the train was easily frustrated and his +explanation that he had forgotten all about it received in silence. It +was evident that he would require watching, and under the clear gaze of +his children he seldom had a button undone for more than three minutes at +a time. + +The day was hot and he perspired profusely. His collar lost its starch-- +a thing to be grateful for--and for the greater part of the day he wore +his tie under the left ear. By the time they had arrived home again he +was in a state of open mutiny. + +“Never again,” he said, loudly, as he tore the collar off and hung his +coat on a chair. + +There was a chorus of lamentation; but he remained firm. Dorothy began +to sniff ominously, and Gladys spoke longingly of the fathers possessed +by other girls. It was not until Mrs. Jobson sat eyeing her supper, +instead of eating it, that he began to temporize. He gave way bit by +bit, garment by garment. When he gave way at last on the great hat +question, his wife took up her knife and fork. + +His workaday clothes appeared in his bedroom next morning, but the others +still remained in the clutches of Aunt Emma. The suit provided was of +considerable antiquity, and at closing time, Mr. Jobson, after some +hesitation, donned his new clothes and with a sheepish glance at his wife +went out; Mrs. Jobson nodded delight at her daughters. + +“He's coming round,” she whispered. “He liked that ticket-collector +calling him 'sir' yesterday. I noticed it. He's put on everything but +the topper. Don't say nothing about it; take it as a matter of course.” + +It became evident as the days wore on that she was right... Bit by bit +she obtained the other clothes--with some difficulty--from Aunt Emma, but +her husband still wore his best on Sundays and sometimes of an evening; +and twice, on going into the bedroom suddenly, she had caught him +surveying himself at different angles in the glass. + +And, moreover, he had spoken with some heat--for such a good-tempered +man--on the shortcomings of Dorothy's laundry work. + +“We'd better put your collars out,” said his wife. + +“And the shirts,” said Mr. Jobson. “Nothing looks worse than a bad +got-up cuff.” + +“You're getting quite dressy,” said his wife, with a laugh. + +Mr. Jobson eyed her seriously. + +“No, mother, no,” he replied. “All I've done is to find out that you're +right, as you always 'ave been. A man in my persition has got no right +to dress as if he kept a stall on the kerb. It ain't fair to the gals, +or to young Bert. I don't want 'em to be ashamed of their father.” + +“They wouldn't be that,” said Mrs. Jobson. + +“I'm trying to improve,” said her husband. “O' course, it's no use +dressing up and behaving wrong, and yesterday I bought a book what tells +you all about behaviour.” + +“Well done!” said the delighted Mrs. Jobson. + +Mr. Jobson was glad to find that her opinion on his purchase was shared +by the rest of the family. Encouraged by their approval, he told them of +the benefit he was deriving from it; and at tea-time that day, after a +little hesitation, ventured to affirm that it was a book that might do +them all good. + +“Hear, hear!” said Gladys. + +“For one thing,” said Mr. Jobson, slowly, “I didn't know before that it +was wrong to blow your tea; and as for drinking it out of a saucer, the +book says it's a thing that is only done by the lower orders.” + +“If you're in a hurry?” demanded Mr. Bert Jobson, pausing with his +saucer half way to his mouth. + +“If you're in anything,” responded his father. “A gentleman would rather +go without his tea than drink it out of a saucer. That's the sort o' +thing Bill Foley would do.” + +Mr. Bert Jobson drained his saucer thoughtfully. + +“Picking your teeth with your finger is wrong, too,” said Mr. Jobson, +taking a breath. “Food should be removed in a--a--un-undemonstrative +fashion with the tip of the tongue.” + +“I wasn't,” said Gladys. + +“A knife,” pursued her father--“a knife should never in any circumstances +be allowed near the mouth.” + +“You've made mother cut herself,” said Gladys, sharply; “that's what +you've done.” + +“I thought it was my fork,” said Mrs. Jobson. “I was so busy listening I +wasn't thinking what I was doing. Silly of me.” + +“We shall all do better in time,” said Mr. Jobson. “But what I want to +know is, what about the gravy? You can't eat it with a fork, and it +don't say nothing about a spoon. Oh, and what about our cold tubs, +mother?” + +“Cold tubs?” repeated his wife, staring at him. “What cold tubs?” + +“The cold tubs me and Bert ought to 'ave,” said Mr. Jobson. “It says in +the book that an Englishman would just as soon think of going without his +breakfus' as his cold tub; and you know how fond I am of my breakfus'.” + +“And what about me and the gals?” said the amazed Mrs. Jobson. + +“Don't you worry about me, ma,” said Gladys, hastily. + +“The book don't say nothing about gals; it says Englishmen,” said Mr. +Jobson. + +“But we ain't got a bathroom,” said his son. + +“It don't signify,” said Mr. Jobson. “A washtub'll do. Me and Bert'll +'ave a washtub each brought up overnight; and it'll be exercise for the +gals bringing the water up of a morning to us.” + +“Well, I don't know, I'm sure,” said the bewildered Mrs. Jobson. +“Anyway, you and Bert'll 'ave to carry the tubs up and down. Messy, I +call it. + +“It's got to be done, mother,” said Mr. Jobson cheerfully. “It's only +the lower orders what don't 'ave their cold tub reg'lar. The book says +so.” + +He trundled the tub upstairs the same night and, after his wife had gone +downstairs next morning, opened the door and took in the can and pail +that stood outside. He poured the contents into the tub, and, after +eyeing it thoughtfully for some time, agitated the surface with his right +foot. He dipped and dried that much enduring member some ten times, and +after regarding the damp condition of the towels with great satisfaction, +dressed himself and went downstairs. + +“I'm all of a glow,” he said, seating himself at the table. “I believe I +could eat a elephant. I feel as fresh as a daisy; don't you, Bert?” + +Mr. Jobson, junior, who had just come in from the shop, remarked, +shortly, that he felt more like a blooming snowdrop. + +“And somebody slopped a lot of water over the stairs carrying it up,” + said Mrs. Jobson. “I don't believe as everybody has cold baths of a +morning. It don't seem wholesome to me.” + +Mr. Jobson took a book from his pocket, and opening it at a certain page, +handed it over to her. + +“If I'm going to do the thing at all I must do it properly,” he said, +gravely. “I don't suppose Bill Foley ever 'ad a cold tub in his life; he +don't know no better. Gladys!” + +“Halloa!” said that young lady, with a start. + +“Are you--are you eating that kipper with your fingers?” + +Gladys turned and eyed her mother appealingly. + +“Page-page one hundred and something, I think it is,” said her father, +with his mouth full. “'Manners at the Dinner Table.' It's near the end +of the book, I know.” + +“If I never do no worse than that I shan't come to no harm,” said his +daughter. + +Mr. Jobson shook his head at her, and after eating his breakfast with +great care, wiped his mouth on his handkerchief and went into the shop. + +“I suppose it's all right,” said Mrs. Jobson, looking after him, “but +he's taking it very serious--very.” + +“He washed his hands five times yesterday morning,” said Dorothy, who had +just come in from the shop to her breakfast; “and kept customers waiting +while he did it, too.” + +“It's the cold-tub business I can't get over,” said her mother. “I'm +sure it's more trouble to empty them than what it is to fill them. +There's quite enough work in the 'ouse as it is.” + +“Too much,” said Bert, with unwonted consideration. + +“I wish he'd leave me alone,” said Gladys. “My food don't do me no good +when he's watching every mouthful I eat.” + +Of murmurings such as these Mr. Jobson heard nothing, and in view of the +great improvement in his dress and manners, a strong resolution was +passed to avoid the faintest appearance of discontent. Even when, +satisfied with his own appearance, he set to work to improve that of Mrs. +Jobson, that admirable woman made no complaint. Hitherto the brightness +of her attire and the size of her hats had been held to atone for her +lack of figure and the roomy comfort of her boots, but Mr. Jobson, +infected with new ideas, refused to listen to such sophistry. He went +shopping with Dorothy; and the Sunday after, when Mrs. Jobson went for an +airing with him, she walked in boots with heels two inches high and toes +that ended in a point. A waist that had disappeared some years before +was recaptured and placed in durance vile; and a hat which called for a +new style of hair-dressing completed the effect. + +“You look splendid, ma!” said Gladys, as she watched their departure. +“Splendid!” + +“I don't feel splendid,” sighed Mrs. Jobson to her husband. “These 'ere +boots feel red-'ot.” + +“Your usual size,” said Mr. Jobson, looking across the road. + +“And the clothes seem just a teeny-weeny bit tight, p'r'aps,” continued +his wife. + +Mr. Jobson regarded her critically. “P'r'aps they might have been let +out a quarter of an inch,” he: said, thoughtfully. “They're the best fit +you've 'ad for a long time, mother. I only 'ope the gals'll 'ave such +good figgers.” + +His wife smiled faintly, but, with little breath for conversation, walked +on for some time in silence. A growing redness of face testified to her +distress. + +“I--I feel awful,” she said at last, pressing her hand to her side. +“Awful.” + +“You'll soon get used to it,” said Mr. Jobson, gently. “Look at me! I +felt like you do at first, and now I wouldn't go back to old clothes--and +comfort--for anything. You'll get to love them boots. + +“If I could only take 'em off I should love 'em better,” said his wife, +panting; “and I can't breathe properly--I can't breathe.” + +“You look ripping, mother,” said her husband, simply. + +His wife essayed another smile, but failed. She set her lips together +and plodded on, Mr. Jobson chatting cheerily and taking no notice of the +fact that she kept lurching against him. Two miles from home she stopped +and eyed him fixedly. + +“If I don't get these boots off, Alf, I shall be a 'elpless cripple for +the rest of my days,” she murmured. “My ankle's gone over three times.” + +“But you can't take 'em off here,” said Mr. Jobson, hastily. “Think 'ow +it would look.” + +“I must 'ave a cab or something,” said his wife, hysterically. “If I +don't get 'em off soon I shall scream.” + +She leaned against the iron palings of a house for support, while Mr. +Jobson, standing on the kerb, looked up and down the road for a cab. A +four-wheeler appeared just in time to prevent the scandal--of Mrs. Jobson +removing her boots in the street. + +“Thank goodness,” she gasped, as she climbed in. “Never mind about +untying 'em, Alf; cut the laces and get 'em off quick.” + +They drove home with the boots standing side by side on the seat in front +of them. Mr. Jobson got out first and knocked at the door, and as soon +as it opened Mrs. Jobson pattered across the intervening space with the +boots dangling from her hand. She had nearly reached the door when Mr. +Foley, who had a diabolical habit of always being on hand when he was +least wanted, appeared suddenly from the offside of the cab. + +“Been paddlin'?” he inquired. + +Mrs. Jobson, safe in her doorway, drew herself up and, holding the boots +behind her, surveyed him with a stare of high-bred disdain. + +“Been paddlin'?” he inquired + +“I see you going down the road in 'em,” said the unabashed Mr. Foley, +“and I says to myself, I says, 'Pride'll bear a pinch, but she's going +too far. If she thinks that she can squeedge those little tootsywootsies +of 'ers into them boo--'” + +The door slammed violently and left him exchanging grins with Mr. Jobson. + +“How's the 'at?” he inquired. + +Mr. Jobson winked. “Bet you a level 'arf-dollar I ain't wearing it next +Sunday,” he said, in a hoarse whisper. + +Mr. Foley edged away. + +“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “I've had a good many bets +with you first and last, Alf, but I can't remember as I ever won one yet. +So long.” + + + + + + + +FRIENDS IN NEED + + + +R. Joseph Gibbs finished his half-pint in the private bar of the Red Lion +with the slowness of a man unable to see where the next was coming from, +and, placing the mug on the counter, filled his pipe from a small paper +of tobacco and shook his head slowly at his companions. + +“First I've 'ad since ten o'clock this morning,” he said, in a hard +voice. + +“Cheer up,” said Mr. George Brown. + +“It can't go on for ever,” said Bob Kidd, encouragingly. + +“All I ask for--is work,” said Mr. Gibbs, impressively. “Not slavery, +mind yer, but work.” + +“It's rather difficult to distinguish,” said Mr. Brown. + +“'Specially for some people,” added Mr. Kidd. + +“Go on,” said Mr. Gibbs, gloomily. “Go on. Stand a man 'arf a pint, and +then go and hurt 'is feelings. Twice yesterday I wondered to myself what +it would feel like to make a hole in the water.” + +“Lots o' chaps do do it,” said Mr. Brown, musingly. + +“And leave their wives and families to starve,” said Mr. Gibbs, icily. + +“Very often the wife is better off,” said his friend. “It's one mouth +less for her to feed. Besides, she gen'rally gets something. When pore +old Bill went they 'ad a Friendly Lead at the 'King's Head' and got his +missis pretty nearly seventeen pounds.” + +“And I believe we'd get more than that for your old woman,” said Mr. +Kidd. “There's no kids, and she could keep 'erself easy. Not that I +want to encourage you to make away with yourself.” + +Mr. Gibbs scowled and, tilting his mug, peered gloomily into the +interior. + +“Joe won't make no 'ole in the water,” said Mr. Brown, wagging his head. +“If it was beer, now--” + +Mr. Gibbs turned and, drawing himself up to five feet three, surveyed the +speaker with an offensive stare. + +“I don't see why he need make a 'ole in anything,” said Mr. Kidd, slowly. +“It 'ud do just as well if we said he 'ad. Then we could pass the hat +round and share it.” + +“Divide it into three halves and each 'ave one,” said Mr. Brown, nodding; +“but 'ow is it to be done?” + +“'Ave some more beer and think it over,” said Mr. Kidd, pale with +excitement. “Three pints, please.” + +He and Mr. Brown took up their pints, and nodded at each other. Mr. +Gibbs, toying idly with the handle of his, eyed them carefully. “Mind, +I'm not promising anything,” he said, slowly. “Understand, I ain't +a-committing of myself by drinking this 'ere pint.” + +“You leave it to me, Joe,” said Mr. Kidd. + +Mr. Gibbs left it to him after a discussion in which pints played a +persuasive part; with the result that Mr. Brown, sitting in the same bar +the next evening with two or three friends, was rudely disturbed by the +cyclonic entrance of Mr. Kidd, who, dripping with water, sank on a bench +and breathed heavily. + +“What's up? What's the matter?” demanded several voices. + +“It's Joe--poor Joe Gibbs,” said Mr. Kidd. “I was on Smith's wharf +shifting that lighter to the next berth, and, o' course Joe must come +aboard to help. He was shoving her off with 'is foot when--” + +He broke off and shuddered and, accepting a mug of beer, pending the +arrival of some brandy that a sympathizer had ordered, drank it slowly. + +“It all 'appened in a flash,” he said, looking round. “By the time I 'ad +run round to his end he was just going down for the third time. I hung +over the side and grabbed at 'im, and his collar and tie came off in my +hand. Nearly went in, I did.” + +He held out the collar and tie; and approving notice was taken of the +fact that he was soaking wet from the top of his head to the middle +button of his waistcoat. + +“Pore chap!” said the landlord, leaning over the bar. “He was in 'ere +only 'arf an hour ago, standing in this very bar.” + +“Well, he's 'ad his last drop o' beer,” said a carman in a chastened +voice. + +“That's more than anybody can say,” said the landlord, sharply. “I never +heard anything against the man; he's led a good life so far as I know, +and 'ow can we tell that he won't 'ave beer?” + +He made Mr. Kidd a present of another small glass of brandy. + +“He didn't leave any family, did he?” he inquired, as he passed it over. + +“Only a wife,” said Mr. Kidd; “and who's to tell that pore soul I don't +know. She fair doated on 'im. 'Ow she's to live I don't know. I shall +do what I can for 'er.” + +“Same 'ere,” said Mr. Brown, in a deep voice. + +“Something ought to be done for 'er,” said the carman, as he went out. + +“First thing is to tell the police,” said the landlord. “They ought to +know; then p'r'aps one of them'll tell her. It's what they're paid for.” + +“It's so awfully sudden. I don't know where I am 'ardly,” said Mr. Kidd. +“I don't believe she's got a penny-piece in the 'ouse. Pore Joe 'ad a +lot o' pals. I wonder whether we could'nt get up something for her.” + +“Go round and tell the police first,” said the landlord, pursing up his +lips thoughtfully. “We can talk about that later on.” + +Mr. Kidd thanked him warmly and withdrew, accompanied by Mr. Brown. +Twenty minutes later they left the station, considerably relieved at the +matter-of-fact way in which the police had received the tidings, and, +hurrying across London Bridge, made their way towards a small figure +supporting its back against a post in the Borough market. + +“Well?” said Mr. Gibbs, snappishly, as he turned at the sound of their +footsteps. + +“It'll be all right, Joe,” said Mr. Kidd. “We've sowed the seed.” + +“Sowed the wot?” demanded the other. + +Mr. Kidd explained. + +“Ho!” said Mr. Gibbs. “An' while your precious seed is a-coming up, wot +am I to do? Wot about my comfortable 'ome? Wot about my bed and grub?” + +His two friends looked at each other uneasily. In the excitement of the +arrangements they had for gotten these things, and a long and sometimes +painful experience of Mr. Gibbs showed them only too plainly where they +were drifting. + +“You'll 'ave to get a bed this side o' the river somewhere,” said Mr. +Brown, slowly. “Coffee-shop or something; and a smart, active man wot +keeps his eyes open can always pick up a little money.” + +Mr. Gibbs laughed. + +“And mind,” said Mr. Kidd, furiously, in reply to the laugh, “anything we +lend you is to be paid back out of your half when you get it. And, wot's +more, you don't get a ha'penny till you've come into a barber's shop and +'ad them whiskers off. We don't want no accidents.” + +Mr. Gibbs, with his back against the post, fought for his whiskers for +nearly half an hour, and at the end of that time was led into a barber's, +and in a state of sullen indignation proffered his request for a “clean” + shave. He gazed at the bare-faced creature that confronted him in the +glass after the operation in open-eyed consternation, and Messrs. Kidd +and Brown's politeness easily gave way before their astonishment. + +“Well, I may as well have a 'air-cut while I'm here,” said Mr. Gibbs, +after a lengthy survey. + +“And a shampoo, sir?” said the assistant. + +“Just as you like,” said Mr. Gibbs, turning a deaf ear to the frenzied +expostulations of his financial backers. “Wot is it?” + +[Illustration: Mr. Gibbs, with his back against the post, fought for +nearly half an hour] + +He sat in amazed discomfort during the operation, and emerging with his +friends remarked that he felt half a stone lighter. The information was +received in stony silence, and, having spent some time in the selection, +they found a quiet public-house, and in a retired corner formed +themselves into a Committee of Ways and Means. + +“That'll do for you to go on with,” said Mr. Kidd, after he and Mr. Brown +had each made a contribution; “and, mind, it's coming off of your share.” + +Mr. Gibbs nodded. “And any evening you want to see me you'll find me in +here,” he remarked. “Beer's ripping. Now you'd better go and see my old +woman.” + +The two friends departed, and, to their great relief, found a little knot +of people outside the abode of Mrs. Gibbs. It was clear that the news +had been already broken, and, pushing their way upstairs, they found the +widow with a damp handkerchief in her hand surrounded by attentive +friends. In feeble accents she thanked Mr. Kidd for his noble attempts +at rescue. + +“He ain't dry yet,” said Mr. Brown. + +“I done wot I could,” said Mr. Kidd, simply. “Pore Joe! Nobody could +ha' had a better pal. Nobody!” + +“Always ready to lend a helping 'and to them as was in trouble, he was,” + said Mr. Brown, looking round. + +“'Ear, 'ear!” said a voice. + +“And we'll lend 'im a helping 'and,” said Mr. Kidd, energetically. “We +can't do 'im no good, pore chap, but we can try and do something for 'er +as is left behind.” + +He moved slowly to the door, accompanied by Mr. Brown, and catching the +eye of one or two of the men beckoned them to follow. Under his able +guidance a small but gradually increasing crowd made its way to the “Red +Lion.” For the next three or four days the friends worked unceasingly. +Cards stating that a Friendly Lead would be held at the “Red Lion,” for +the benefit of the widow of the late Mr. Joseph Gibbs, were distributed +broadcast; and anecdotes portraying a singularly rare and beautiful +character obtained an even wider circulation. Too late Wapping realized +the benevolent disposition and the kindly but unobtrusive nature that had +departed from it for ever. + +Mr. Gibbs, from his retreat across the water, fully shared his friends' +enthusiasm, but an insane desire--engendered by vanity--to be present at +the function was a source of considerable trouble and annoyance to them. +When he offered to black his face and take part in the entertainment as a +nigger minstrel, Mr. Kidd had to be led outside and kept there until such +time as he could converse in English pure and undefiled. + +“Getting above 'imself, that's wot it is,” said Mr. Brown, as they wended +their way home. “He's having too much money out of us to spend; but it +won't be for long now.” + +“He's having a lord's life of it, while we're slaving ourselves to +death,” grumbled Mr. Kidd. “I never see'im looking so fat and well. By +rights he oughtn't to 'ave the same share as wot we're going to 'ave; he +ain't doing none of the work.” + +His ill-humour lasted until the night of the “Lead,” which, largely owing +to the presence of a sporting fishmonger who had done well at the races +that day, and some of his friends, realized a sum far beyond the +expectations of the hard-working promoters. The fishmonger led off by +placing a five-pound note in the plate, and the packed audience breathed +so hard that the plate-holder's responsibility began to weigh upon his +spirits. In all, a financial tribute of thirty-seven pounds three and +fourpence was paid to the memory of the late Mr. Gibbs. + +“Over twelve quid apiece,” said the delighted Mr. Kidd as he bade his +co-worker good night. “Sounds too good to be true.” + +The next day passed all too slowly, but work was over at last, and Mr. +Kidd led the way over London Bridge a yard or two ahead of the more +phlegmatic Mr. Brown. Mr. Gibbs was in his old corner at the +“Wheelwright's Arms,” and, instead of going into ecstasies over the sum +realized, hinted darkly that it would have been larger if he had been +allowed to have had a hand in it. + +“It'll 'ardly pay me for my trouble,” he said, shaking his head. “It's +very dull over 'ere all alone by myself. By the time you two have 'ad +your share, besides taking wot I owe you, there'll be 'ardly anything +left.” + +“I'll talk to you another time,” said Mr. Kidd, regarding him fixedly. +“Wot you've got to do now is to come acrost the river with us.” + +“What for?” demanded Mr. Gibbs. + +“We're going to break the joyful news to your old woman that you're alive +afore she starts spending money wot isn't hers,” said Mr. Kidd. “And we +want you to be close by in case she don't believe us. + +“Well, do it gentle, mind,” said the fond husband. “We don't want 'er +screaming, or anything o' that sort. I know 'er better than wot you do, +and my advice to you is to go easy.” + +He walked along by the side of them, and, after some demur, consented, as +a further disguise, to put on a pair of spectacles, for which Mr. Kidd's +wife's mother had been hunting high and low since eight o'clock that +morning. + +“You doddle about 'ere for ten minutes,” said Mr. Kidd, as they reached +the Monument, “and then foller on. When you pass a lamp-post 'old your +handkerchief up to your face. And wait for us at the corner of your road +till we come for you.” + +He went off at a brisk pace with Mr. Brown, a pace moderated to one of +almost funeral solemnity as they approached the residence of Mrs. Gibbs. +To their relief she was alone, and after the usual amenities thanked them +warmly for all they had done for her. + +“I'd do more than that for pore Joe,” said Mr. Brown. + +“They--they 'aven't found 'im yet?” said the widow. + +Mr. Kidd shook his head. “My idea is they won't find 'im,” he said, +slowly. + +“Went down on the ebb tide,” explained Mr. Brown; and spoilt Mr. Kidd's +opening. + +“Wherever he is 'e's better off,” said Mrs. Gibbs. + +“No more trouble about being out o' work; no more worry; no more pain. +We've all got to go some day. + +“Yes,” began Mr. Kidd; “but-- + +“I'm sure I don't wish 'im back,” said Mrs. Gibbs; “that would be +sinful.” + +“But 'ow if he wanted to come back?” said Mr. Kidd, playing for an +opening. + +“And 'elp you spend that money,” said Mr. Brown, ignoring the scowls of +his friend. + +Mrs. Gibbs looked bewildered. “Spend the money?” she began. + +“Suppose,” said Mr. Kidd, “suppose he wasn't drownded after all? Only +last night I dreamt he was alive.” + +“So did I,” said Mr. Brown. + +“He was smiling at me,” said Mr. Kidd, in a tender voice. “'Bob,' he +ses, 'go and tell my pore missis that I'm alive,' he ses; 'break it to +'er gentle.'” + +“It's the very words he said to me in my dream,” said Mr. Brown. “Bit +strange, ain't it?” + +“Very,” said Mrs. Gibbs. + +“I suppose,” said Mr. Kidd, after a pause, “I suppose you haven't been +dreaming about 'im?” + +“No; I'm a teetotaller,” said the widow. + +The two gentlemen exchanged glances, and Mr. Kidd, ever of an impulsive +nature, resolved to bring matters to a head. + +“Wot would you do if Joe was to come in 'ere at this door?” he asked. + +“Scream the house down,” said the widow, promptly. + +“Scream--scream the 'ouse down?” said the distressed Mr. Kidd. + +Mrs. Gibbs nodded. “I should go screaming, raving mad,” she said, with +conviction. + +“But--but not if 'e was alive!” said Mr. Kidd. + +“I don't know what you're driving at,” said Mrs. Gibbs. “Why don't you +speak out plain? Poor Joe is drownded, you know that; you saw it all, +and yet you come talking to me about dreams and things.” + +Mr. Kidd bent over her and put his hand affectionately on her shoulder. +“He escaped,” he said, in a thrilling whisper. “He's alive and well.” + +“WHAT?” said Mrs. Gibbs, starting back. + +“True as I stand 'ere,” said Mr. Kidd; “ain't it, George?” + +“Truer,” said Mr. Brown, loyally. + +Mrs. Gibbs leaned back, gasping. “Alive!” she said. “But 'ow? 'Ow can +he be?” + +“Don't make such a noise,” said Mr. Kidd, earnestly. “Mind, if anybody +else gets to 'ear of it you'll 'ave to give that money back.” + +“I'd give more than that to get 'im back,” said Mrs. Gibbs, wildly. “I +believe you're deceiving me.” + +“True as I stand 'ere,” asseverated the other. “He's only a minute or +two off, and if it wasn't for you screaming I'd go out and fetch 'im in.” + +“I won't scream,” said Mrs. Gibbs, “not if I know it's flesh and blood. +Oh, where is he? Why don't you bring 'im in? Let me go to 'im.” + +“All right,” said Mr. Kidd, with a satisfied smile at Mr. Brown; “all in +good time. I'll go and fetch 'im now; but, mind, if you scream you'll +spoil everything.” + +He bustled cheerfully out of the room and downstairs, and Mrs. Gibbs, +motioning Mr. Brown to silence, stood by the door with parted lips, +waiting. Three or four minutes elapsed. + +“'Ere they come,” said Mr. Brown, as footsteps sounded on the stairs. +“Now, no screaming, mind!” + +Mrs. Gibbs drew back, and, to the gratification of all concerned, did not +utter a sound as Mr. Kidd, followed by her husband, entered the room. +She stood looking expectantly towards the doorway. + +“Where is he?” she gasped. + +“Eh?” said Mr. Kidd, in a startled voice. “Why here. Don't you know +'im?” + +“It's me, Susan,” said Mr. Gibbs, in a low voice. + +“Oh, I might 'ave known it was a joke,” cried Mrs. Gibbs, in a faint +voice, as she tottered to a chair. “Oh, 'ow cruel of you to tell me my +pore Joe was alive! Oh, 'ow could you?” + +“Lor' lumme,” said the incensed Mr. Kidd, pushing Mr. Gibbs forward. +“Here he is. Same as you saw 'im last, except for 'is whiskers. Don't +make that sobbing noise; people'll be coming in.” + +“Oh! Oh! Oh! Take 'im away,” cried Mrs. Gibbs. “Go and play your +tricks with somebody else's broken 'art.” + +“But it's your husband,” said Mr. Brown. + +“Take 'im away,” wailed Mrs. Gibbs. + +Mr. Kidd, grinding his teeth, tried to think. “'Ave you got any marks on +your body, Joe?” he inquired. + +“I ain't got a mark on me,” said Mr. Gibbs with a satisfied air, “or a +blemish. My skin is as whi--” + +“That's enough about your skin,” interrupted Mr. Kidd, rudely. + +“If you ain't all of you gone before I count ten,” said Mrs. Gibbs, in a +suppressed voice, “I'll scream. 'Ow dare you come into a respectable +woman's place and talk about your skins? Are you going? One! Two! +Three! Four! Five!” + +Her voice rose with each numeral; and Mr. Gibbs himself led the way +downstairs, and, followed by his friends, slipped nimbly round the +corner. + +“It's a wonder she didn't rouse the whole 'ouse,” he said, wiping his +brow on his sleeve; “and where should we ha' been then? I thought at the +time it was a mistake you making me 'ave my whiskers off, but I let you +know best. She's never seen me without 'em. I 'ad a remarkable strong +growth when I was quite a boy. While other boys was--” + +“Shut-up!” vociferated Mr. Kidd. + +“Sha'n't!” said Mr. Gibbs, defiantly. “I've 'ad enough of being away +from my comfortable little 'ome and my wife; and I'm going to let 'em +start growing agin this very night. She'll never reckernize me without +'em, that's certain.” + +“He's right, Bob,” said Mr. Brown, with conviction. + +“D'ye mean to tell me we've got to wait till 'is blasted whiskers grow?” + cried Mr. Kidd, almost dancing with fury. “And go on keeping 'im in +idleness till they do?” + +“You'll get it all back out o' my share,” said Mr. Gibbs, with dignity. +“But you can please yourself. If you like to call it quits now, I don't +mind.” + +Mr. Brown took his seething friend aside, and conferred with him in low +but earnest tones. Mr. Gibbs, with an indifferent air, stood by +whistling softly. + +“'Ow long will they take to grow?” inquired Mr. Kidd, turning to him +with a growl. + +Mr. Gibbs shrugged his shoulders. “Can't say,” he replied; “but I should +think two or three weeks would be enough for 'er to reckernize me by. If +she don't, we must wait another week or so, that's all.” + +“Well, there won't be much o' your share left, mind that,” said Mr. Kidd, +glowering at him. + +“I can't help it,” said Mr. Gibbs. “You needn't keep reminding me of +it.” + +They walked the rest of the way in silence; and for the next fortnight +Mr. Gibbs's friends paid nightly visits to note the change in his +appearance, and grumble at its slowness. + +“We'll try and pull it off to-morrow night,” said Mr. Kidd, at the end of +that period. “I'm fair sick o' lending you money.” + +Mr. Gibbs shook his head and spoke sagely about not spoiling the ship for +a ha'porth o' tar; but Mr. Kidd was obdurate. + +“There's enough for 'er to reckernize you by,” he said, sternly, “and we +don't want other people to. Meet us at the Monument at eight o'clock +to-morrow night, and we'll get it over.” + +“Give your orders,” said Mr. Gibbs, in a nasty voice. + +“Keep your 'at well over your eyes,” commanded Mr. Kidd, sternly. “Put +them spectacles on wot I lent you, and it wouldn't be a bad idea if you +tied your face up in a piece o' red flannel.” + +“I know wot I'm going to do without you telling me,” said Mr. Gibbs, +nodding. “I'll bet you pots round that you don't either of you +reckernize me tomorrow night.” + +The bet was taken at once, and from eight o'clock until ten minutes to +nine the following night Messrs. Kidd and Brown did their best to win it. +Then did Mr. Kidd, turning to Mr. Brown in perplexity, inquire with many +redundant words what it all meant. + +[Illustration: “Gone!” exclaimed both gentlemen. “Where?”] + +“He must 'ave gone on by 'imself,” said Mr. Brown. “We'd better go and +see.” + +In a state of some disorder they hurried back to Wapping, and, mounting +the stairs to Mrs. Gibbs's room, found the door fast. To their fervent +and repeated knocking there was no answer. + +“Ah, you won't make her 'ear,” said a woman, thrusting an untidy head +over the balusters on the next landing. “She's gone.” + +“Gone!” exclaimed both gentlemen. “Where?” + +“Canada,” said the woman. “She went off this morning.” + +Mr. Kidd leaned up against the wall for support; Mr. Brown stood +open-mouthed and voiceless. + +“It was a surprise to me,” said the woman, “but she told me this morning +she's been getting ready on the quiet for the last fortnight. Good +spirits she was in, too; laughing like anything.” + +“Laughing!” repeated Mr. Kidd, in a terrible voice. + +The woman nodded. “And when I spoke about it and reminded 'er that she +'ad only just lost 'er pore husband, I thought she would ha' burst,” she +said, severely. “She sat down on that stair and laughed till the tears +ran dowwn 'er face like water.” + +Mr. Brown turned a bewildered face upon his partner. “Laughing!” he +said, slowly. “Wot 'ad she got to laugh at?” + +“Two born-fools,” replied Mr. Kidd. + + + + + + +GOOD INTENTIONS + + +“Jealousy; that's wot it is,” said the night-watchman, trying to sneer-- +“pure jealousy.” He had left his broom for a hurried half-pint at the +“Bull's Head”--left it leaning in a negligent attitude against the +warehouse-wall; now, lashed to the top of the crane at the jetty end, it +pointed its soiled bristles towards the evening sky and defied capture. + +“And I know who it is, and why 'e's done it,” he continued. “Fust and +last, I don't suppose I was talking to the gal for more than ten minutes, +and 'arf of that was about the weather. + +“I don't suppose anybody 'as suffered more from jealousy than wot I 'ave: +Other people's jealousy, I mean. Ever since I was married the missis has +been setting traps for me, and asking people to keep an eye on me. I +blacked one of the eyes once--like a fool--and the chap it belonged to +made up a tale about me that I ain't lived down yet. + +“Years ago, when I was out with the missis one evening, I saved a gal's +life for her. She slipped as she was getting off a bus, and I caught 'er +just in time. Fine strapping gal she was, and afore I could get my +balance we 'ad danced round and round 'arfway acrost the road with our +arms round each other's necks, and my missis watching us from the +pavement. When we were safe, she said the gal 'adn't slipped at all; +and, as soon as the gal 'ad got 'er breath, I'm blest if she didn't say +so too. + +“You can't argufy with jealous people, and you can't shame 'em. When I +told my missis once that I should never dream of being jealous of her, +instead of up and thanking me for it, she spoilt the best frying-pan we +ever had. When the widder-woman next-door but two and me 'ad rheumatics +at the same time, she went and asked the doctor whether it was catching. + +“The worse trouble o' that kind I ever got into was all through trying to +do somebody else a kindness. I went out o' my way to do it; I wasted the +whole evening for the sake of other people, and got into such trouble +over it that even now it gives me the cold shivers to think of. + +“Cap'n Tarbell was the man I tried to do a good turn to; a man what used +to be master of a ketch called the _Lizzie and Annie,_ trading between +'ere and Shoremouth. 'Artful Jack' he used to be called, and if ever a +man deserved the name, he did. A widder-man of about fifty, and as silly +as a boy of fifteen. He 'ad been talking of getting married agin for +over ten years, and, thinking it was only talk, I didn't give 'im any +good advice. Then he told me one night that 'e was keeping company with +a woman named Lamb, who lived at a place near Shoremouth. When I asked +'im what she looked like, he said that she had a good 'art, and, knowing +wot that meant, I wasn't at all surprised when he told me some time arter +that 'e had been a silly fool. + +“'Well, if she's got a good 'art,' I ses, 'p'r'aps she'll let you go.' + +“'Talk sense,' he ses. 'It ain't good enough for that. Why, she +worships the ground I tread on. She thinks there is nobody like me in +the whole wide world.' + +“'Let's 'ope she'll think so arter you're married,' I ses, trying to +cheer him up. + +“'I'm not going to get married,' he ses. 'Leastways, not to 'er. But +'ow to get out of it without breaking her 'art and being had up for +breach o' promise I can't think. And if the other one got to 'ear of it, +I should lose her too.' + +“'Other one?' I ses, 'wot other one?' + +“Cap'n Tarbell shook his 'ead and smiled like a silly gal. + +“'She fell in love with me on top of a bus in the Mile End Road,' he ses. +'Love at fust sight it was. She's a widder lady with a nice little 'ouse +at Bow, and plenty to live on-her 'usband having been a builder. I don't +know what to do. You see, if I married both of 'em it's sure to be found +out sooner or later.' + +“'You'll be found out as it is,' I ses, 'if you ain't careful. I'm +surprised at you.' + +“'Yes,' he ses, getting up and walking backwards and forwards; +'especially as Mrs. Plimmer is always talking about coming down to see +the ship. One thing is, the crew won't give me away; they've been with +me too long for that. P'r'aps you could give me a little advice, Bill.' + +“I did. I talked to that man for an hour and a'arf, and when I 'ad +finished he said he didn't want that kind of advice at all. Wot 'e +wanted was for me to tell 'im 'ow to get rid of Miss Lamb and marry Mrs. +Plimmer without anybody being offended or having their feelings hurt. + +“Mrs. Plimmer came down to the ship the very next evening. Fine-looking +woman she was, and, wot with 'er watch and chain and di'mond rings and +brooches and such-like, I should think she must 'ave 'ad five or six +pounds' worth of jewell'ry on 'er. She gave me a very pleasant smile, +and I gave 'er one back, and we stood chatting there like old friends +till at last she tore 'erself away and went on board the ship. + +“She came off by and by hanging on Cap'n Tarbell's arm. The cap'n was +dressed up in 'is Sunday clothes, with one of the cleanest collars on I +'ave ever seen in my life, and smoking a cigar that smelt like an escape +of gas. He came back alone at ha'past eleven that night, and 'e told me +that if it wasn't for the other one down Shoremouth way he should be the +'appiest man on earth. + +“'Mrs. Plimmer's only got one fault,' he ses, shaking his 'cad, 'and +that's jealousy. If she got to know of Laura Lamb, it would be all U.P. +It makes me go cold all over when I think of it. The only thing is to +get married as quick as I can; then she can't help 'erself.' + +“'It wouldn't prevent the other one making a fuss, though,' I ses. + +“'No,' he ses, very thoughtfully, 'it wouldn't. I shall 'ave to do +something there, but wot, I don't know.' + +“He climbed on board like a man with a load on his mind, and arter a look +at the sky went below and forgot both 'is troubles in sleep. + +“Mrs. Plimmer came down to the wharf every time the ship was up, arter +that. Sometimes she'd spend the evening aboard, and sometimes they'd go +off and spend it somewhere else. She 'ad a fancy for the cabin, I think, +and the cap'n told me that she 'ad said when they were married she was +going to sail with 'im sometimes. + +“'But it ain't for six months yet,' he ses, 'and a lot o' things might +'appen to the other one in that time, with luck.' + +“It was just about a month arter that that 'e came to me one evening +trembling all over. I 'ad just come on dooty, and afore I could ask 'im +wot was the matter he 'ad got me in the 'Bull's Head' and stood me three +'arf-pints, one arter the other. + +“'I'm ruined,' he ses in a 'usky whisper; 'I'm done for. Why was wimmen +made? Wot good are they? Fancy 'ow bright and 'appy we should all be +without 'em.' + +“'I started to p'int out one or two things to 'im that he seemed to 'ave +forgot, but 'e wouldn't listen. He was so excited that he didn't seem to +know wot 'e was doing, and arter he 'ad got three more 'arf-pints waiting +for me, all in a row on the counter, I 'ad to ask 'im whether he thought +I was there to do conjuring tricks, or wot?' + +“'There was a letter waiting for me in the office,' he ses. 'From Miss +Lamb--she's in London. She's coming to pay me a surprise visit this +evening--I know who'll get the surprise. Mrs. Plimmer's coming too.' + +“I gave 'im one of my 'arf-pints and made 'im drink it. He chucked the +pot on the floor when he 'ad done, in a desprit sort o' way, and 'im and +the landlord 'ad a little breeze then that did 'im more good than wot the +beer 'ad. When we came outside 'e seemed more contented with 'imself, +but he shook his 'ead and got miserable as soon as we got to the wharf +agin. + +“'S'pose they both come along at the same time,' he ses. 'Wot's to be +done?' + +“I shut the gate with a bang and fastened the wicket. Then I turned to +'im with a smile. + +“'I'm watchman 'ere,' I ses, 'and I lets in who I thinks I will. This +ain't a public 'ighway,' I ses; 'it's a wharf.' + +“'Bill,' he ses, 'you're a genius.' + +“'If Miss Lamb comes 'ere asking arter you,' I ses, 'I shall say you've +gone out for the evening.' + +“'Wot about her letter?' he ses. + +“'You didn't 'ave it,' I ses, winking at 'im. + +“'And suppose she waits about outside for me, and Mrs. Plimmer wants me +to take 'er out?' he ses, shivering. 'She's a fearful obstinate woman; +and she'd wait a week for me.' + +“He kept peeping up the road while we talked it over, and then we both +see Mrs. Plimmer coming along. He backed on to the wharf and pulled out +'is purse. + +“'Bill,' he ses, gabbling as fast as 'e could gabble, 'here's five or six +shillings. If the other one comes and won't go away tell 'er I've gone +to the Pagoda Music-'all and you'll take 'er to me, keep 'er out all the +evening some'ow, if you can, if she comes back too soon keep 'er in the +office.' + +“'And wot about leaving the wharf and my dooty?' I ses, staring. + +“'I'll put Joe on to keep watch for you,' he ses, pressing the money in +my 'and. 'I rely on you, Bill, and I'll never forget you. You won't +lose by it, trust me.' + +“He nipped off and tumbled aboard the ship afore I could say a word. I +just stood there staring arter 'im and feeling the money, and afore I +could make up my mind Mrs. Plimmer came up. + +“I thought I should never ha' got rid of 'er. She stood there chatting +and smiling, and seemed to forget all about the cap'n, and every moment I +was afraid that the other one might come up. At last she went off, +looking behind 'er, to the ship, and then I went outside and put my back +up agin the gate and waited. + +“I 'ad hardly been there ten minutes afore the other one came along. I +saw 'er stop and speak to a policeman, and then she came straight over to +me. + +“'I want to see Cap'n Tarbell,' she ses. + +“'Cap'n Tarbell?' I ses, very slow; 'Cap'n Tarbell 'as gone off for the +evening.' + +“'Gone off!' she ses, staring. 'But he can't 'ave. Are you sure?' + +“'Sartain,' I ses. Then I 'ad a bright idea. 'And there's a letter come +for 'im,' I ses. + +“'Oh, dear!' she ses. 'And I thought it would be in plenty of time. +Well, I must go on the ship and wait for 'im, I suppose.' + +“If I 'ad only let 'er go I should ha' saved myself a lot o' trouble, and +the man wot deserved it would ha' got it. Instead o' that I told 'er +about the music-'all, and arter carrying on like a silly gal o' seventeen +and saying she couldn't think of it, she gave way and said she'd go with +me to find 'im. I was all right so far as clothes went as it happened. +Mrs. Plimmer said once that I got more and more dressy every time she saw +me, and my missis 'ad said the same thing only in a different way. I +just took a peep through the wicket and saw that Joe 'ad taken up my +dooty, and then we set off. + +“I said I wasn't quite sure which one he'd gone to, but we'd try the +Pagoda Music-'all fust, and we went there on a bus from Aldgate. It was +the fust evening out I 'ad 'ad for years, and I should 'ave enjoyed it if +it 'adn't been for Miss Lamb. Wotever Cap'n Tarbell could ha' seen in +'er, I can't think. + +“She was quiet, and stupid, and bad-tempered. When the bus-conductor came +round for the fares she 'adn't got any change; and when we got to the +hall she did such eggsterrordinary things trying to find 'er pocket that +I tried to look as if she didn't belong to me. When she left off she +smiled and said she was farther off than ever, and arter three or four +wot was standing there 'ad begged 'er to have another try, I 'ad to pay +for the two. + +“The 'ouse was pretty full when we got in, but she didn't take no notice +of that. Her idea was that she could walk about all over the place +looking for Cap'n Tarbell, and it took three men in buttons and a +policeman to persuade 'er different. We were pushed into a couple o' +seats at last, and then she started finding fault with me. + +“'Where is Cap'n Tarbell?' she ses. 'Why don't you find him?' + +“'I'll go and look for 'im in the bar presently,' I ses. 'He's sure to +be there, arter a turn or two.' + +“I managed to keep 'er quiet for 'arf an hour--with the 'elp of the +people wot sat near us--and then I 'ad to go. I 'ad a glass o' beer to +pass the time away, and, while I was drinking it, who should come up but +the cook and one of the hands from the _Lizzie and Annie_. + +“'We saw you,' ses the cook, winking; 'didn't we Bob?' + +“'Yes,' ses Bob, shaking his silly 'ead; 'but it wasn't no surprise to +me. I've 'ad my eye on 'im for a long time past.' + +“'I thought 'e was married,' ses the cook. + +“'So he is,' ses Bob, 'and to the best wife in London. I know where she +lives. Mine's a bottle o' Bass,' he ses, turning to me. + +“'So's mine,' ses the cook. + +“I paid for two bottles for 'em, and arter that they said that they'd +'ave a whisky and soda apiece just to show as there was no ill-feeling. + +“'It's very good,' ses Bob, sipping his, 'but it wants a sixpenny cigar +to go with it. It's been the dream o' my life to smoke a sixpenny +cigar.' + +“'So it 'as mine,' ses the cook, 'but I don't suppose I ever shall.' + +“They both coughed arter that, and like a goodnatured fool I stood 'em a +sixpenny cigar apiece, and I 'ad just turned to go back to my seat when +up come two more hands from the Lizzie and Annie. + +“'Halloa, watchman!' ses one of 'em. 'Why, I thought you was a-taking +care of the wharf.' + +“'He's got something better than the wharf to take care of,' ses Bob, +grinning. + +“'I know; we see 'im,' ses the other chap. 'We've been watching 'is +goings-on for the last 'arf-hour; better than a play it was.' + +“I stopped their mouths with a glass o' bitter each, and went back to my +seat while they was drinking it. I told Miss Lamb in whispers that 'e +wasn't there, but I'd 'ave another look for him by and by. If she'd ha' +whispered back it would ha' been all right, but she wouldn't, and, arter +a most unpleasant scene, she walked out with her 'ead in the air follered +by me with two men in buttons and a policeman. + +“O' course, nothing would do but she must go back to the wharf and wait +for Cap'n Tarbell, and all the way there I was wondering wot would 'appen +if she went on board and found 'im there with Mrs. Plimmer. However, +when we got there I persuaded 'er to go into the office while I went +aboard to see if I could find out where he was, and three minutes +arterwards he was standing with me behind the galley, trembling all over +and patting me on the back. + +“'Keep 'er in the office a little longer,' he ses, in a whisper. 'The +other's going soon. Keep 'er there as long as you can.' + +“'And suppose she sees you and Mrs. Plimmer passing the window?' I ses. + +“'That'll be all right; I'm going to take 'er to the stairs in the ship's +boat,' he ses. 'It's more romantic.' + +“He gave me a little punch in the ribs, playfullike, and, arter telling +me I was worth my weight in gold-dust, went back to the cabin agin. + +“I told Miss Lamb that the cabin was locked up, but that Cap'n Tarbell +was expected back in about 'arf-an-hour's time. Then I found 'er an old +newspaper and a comfortable chair and sat down to wait. I couldn't go on +the wharf for fear she'd want to come with me, and I sat there as patient +as I could, till a little clicking noise made us both start up and look +at each other. + +“'Wot's that?' she ses, listening. + +“'It sounded,' I ses 'it sounded like somebody locking the door.' + +“I went to the door to try it just as somebody dashed past the window +with their 'ead down. It was locked fast, and arter I had 'ad a try at +it and Miss Lamb had 'ad a try at it, we stood and looked at each other +in surprise. + +“'Somebody's playing a joke on us,' I ses. + +“'Joke!' ses Miss Lamb. 'Open that door at once. If you don't open it +I'll call for the police.' + +“She looked at the windows, but the iron bars wot was strong enough to +keep the vans outside was strong enough to keep 'er in, and then she gave +way to such a fit o' temper that I couldn't do nothing with 'er. + +“'Cap'n Tarbell can't be long now,' I ses, as soon as I could get a word +in. 'We shall get out as soon as e comes.' + +“She flung 'erself down in the chair agin with 'er back to me, and for +nearly three-quarters of an hour we sat there without a word. Then, to +our joy, we 'eard footsteps turn in at the gate. Quick footsteps they +was. Somebody turned the handle of the door, and then a face looked in +at the window that made me nearly jump out of my boots in surprise. A +face that was as white as chalk with temper, and a bonnet cocked over one +eye with walking fast. She shook 'er fist at me, and then she shook it +at Miss Lamb. + +“'Who's that?' ses Miss Lamb. + +“'My missis,' I ses, in a loud voice. 'Thank goodness she's come.' + +“'Open the door!' ses my missis, with a screech. + +“'OPEN THE DOOR!' + +“'I can't,' I ses. 'Somebody's locked it. This is Cap'n Tarbell's young +lady.' + +“'I'll Cap'n Tarbell 'er when I get in!' ses my wife. 'You too. I'll +music-'all you! I'll learn you to go gallivanting about! Open the +door!' + +“She walked up and down the alley-way in front of the window waiting for +me just like a lion walking up and down its cage waiting for its dinner, +and I made up my mind then and there that I should 'ave to make a clean +breast of it and let Cap'n Tarbell get out of it the best way he could. +I wasn't going to suffer for him. + +“'Ow long my missis walked up and down there I don't know. It seemed +ages to me; but at last I 'eard footsteps and voices, and Bob and the +cook and the other two chaps wot we 'ad met at the music'all came along +and stood grinning in at the window. + +“'Somebody's locked us in,' I ses. 'Go and fetch Cap'n Tarbell.' + +“'Cap'n Tarbell?' ses the cook. 'You don't want to see 'im. Why, he's +the last man in the world you ought to want to see! You don't know 'ow +jealous he is.' + +“'You go and fetch 'im, I ses. ''Ow dare you talk like that afore my +wife!' + +“'I dursen't take the responserbility,' ses the cook. 'It might mean +bloodshed.' + +“'You go and fetch 'im,' ses my missis. 'Never mind about the bloodshed. +I don't. Open the door!' + +“She started banging on the door agin, and arter talking among themselves +for a time they moved off to the ship. They came back in three or four +minutes, and the cook 'eld up something in front of the window. + +“'The boy 'ad got it,' he ses. 'Now shall I open the door and let your +missis in, or would you rather stay where you are in peace and +quietness?' + +“I saw my missis jump at the key, and Bob and the others, laughing fit to +split their sides, 'olding her back. Then I heard a shout, and the next +moment Cap'n Tarbell came up and asked 'em wot the trouble was about. + +“They all started talking at once, and then the cap'n, arter one look in +at the window, threw up his 'ands and staggered back as if 'e couldn't +believe his eyesight. He stood dazed-like for a second or two, and then +'e took the key out of the cook's 'and, opened the door, and walked in. +The four men was close be'ind 'im, and, do all she could, my missis +couldn't get in front of 'em. + +“'Watchman!' he ses, in a stuck-up voice, 'wot does this mean? Laura +Lamb! wot 'ave you got to say for yourself? Where 'ave you been all the +evening?' + +“'She's been to a music-'all with Bill,' ses the cook. 'We saw 'em.' + +“'WOT?' ses the cap'n, falling back again. 'It can't be!' + +“'It was them,' ses my wife. 'A little boy brought me a note telling me. +You let me go; it's my husband, and I want to talk to 'im.' + +“'It's all right,' I ses, waving my 'and at Miss Lamb, wot was going to +speak, and smiling at my missis, wot was trying to get at me. + +“'We went to look for you,' ses Miss Lamb, very quick. 'He said you were +at the music-'all, and as you 'adn't got my letter I thought it was very +likely.' + +“'But I did get your letter,' ses the cap'n. + +“'He said you didn't,' ses Miss Lamb. + +“'Look 'ere,' I ses. 'Why don't you keep quiet and let me explain? I +can explain everything.' + +“'I'm glad o' that, for your sake, my man,' ses the cap'n, looking at me +very hard. 'I 'ope you will be able to explain 'ow it was you came to +leave the wharf for three hours.' + +“I saw it all then. If I split about Mrs. Plimmer, he'd split to the +guv'nor about my leaving my dooty, and I should get the sack. I thought +I should ha' choked, and, judging by the way they banged me on the back, +Bob and the cook thought so too. They 'elped me to a chair when I got +better, and I sat there 'elpless while the cap'n went on talking. + +“'I'm no mischief-maker,' he ses; 'and, besides, p'r'aps he's been +punished enough. And as far as I'm concerned he can take this lady to a +music-'all every night of the week if 'e likes. I've done with her.' + +“There was an eggsterrordinary noise from where my missis was standing; +like the gurgling water makes sometimes running down the kitchen sink at +'ome, only worse. Then they all started talking together, and +'arf-a- dozen times or more Miss Lamb called me to back 'er up in wot +she was saying, but I only shook my 'ead, and at last, arter tossing her +'ead at Cap'n Tarbell and telling 'im she wouldn't 'ave 'im if he'd got +fifty million a year, the five of 'em 'eld my missis while she went off. + +“They gave 'er ten minutes' start, and then Cap'n Tarbell, arter looking +at me and shaking his 'ead, said he was afraid they must be going. + +“'And I 'ope this night'll be a lesson to you,' he ses. 'Don't neglect +your dooty again. I shall keep my eye on you, and if you be'ave yourself +I sha'n't say anything. Why, for all you know or could ha' done the +wharf might ha' been burnt to the ground while you was away!' + +“He nodded to his crew, and they all walked out laughing and left me +alone--with the missis.” + + + + + + +[Illustration: Mr. Chase, with his friend in his powerful grasp, was +doing his best, as he expressed it, to shake the life out of him] + + + +FAIRY GOLD + + +“Come and have a pint and talk it over,” said Mr. Augustus Teak. “I've +got reasons in my 'ead that you don't dream of, Alf.” + +Mr. Chase grunted and stole a side-glance at the small figure of his +companion. “All brains, you are, Gussie,” he remarked. “That's why it +is you're so well off.” + +“Come and have a pint,” repeated the other, and with surprising ease +pushed his bulky friend into the bar of the “Ship and Anchor.” Mr. +Chase, mellowed by a long draught, placed his mug on the counter and +eyeing him kindly, said-- + +“I've been in my lodgings thirteen years.” + +“I know,” said Mr. Teak; “but I've got a partikler reason for wanting +you. Our lodger, Mr. Dunn, left last week, and I only thought of you +yesterday. I mentioned you to my missis, and she was quite pleased. You +see, she knows I've known you for over twenty years, and she wants to +make sure of only 'aving honest people in the 'ouse. She has got a +reason for it.” + +He closed one eye and nodded with great significance at his friend. + +“Oh!” said Mr. Chase, waiting. + +“She's a rich woman,” said Mr. Teak, pulling the other's ear down to his +mouth. “She--” + +“When you've done tickling me with your whiskers,” said Mr. Chase, +withdrawing his head and rubbing his ear vigorously, “I shall be glad.” + +Mr. Teak apologized. “A rich woman,” he repeated. “She's been stinting +me for twenty-nine years and saving the money--my money!--money that I +'ave earned with the sweat of my brow. She 'as got over three 'undred +pounds!” + +“'Ow much?” demanded Mr. Chase. + +“Three 'undred pounds and more,” repeated the other; “and if she had 'ad +the sense to put it in a bank it would ha' been over four 'undred by this +time. Instead o' that she keeps it hid in the 'Ouse.” + +“Where?” inquired the greatly interested Mr. Chase. + +Mr. Teak shook his head. “That's just what I want to find out,” he +answered. “She don't know I know it; and she mustn't know, either. +That's important.” + +“How did you find out about it, then?” inquired his friend. + +“My wife's sister's husband, Bert Adams, told me. His wife told 'im in +strict confidence; and I might 'ave gone to my grave without knowing +about it, only she smacked his face for 'im the other night.” + +“If it's in the house you ought to be able to find it easy enough,” said +Mr. Chase. + +“Yes, it's all very well to talk,” retorted Mr. Teak. “My missis never +leaves the 'ouse unless I'm with her, except when I'm at work; and if she +thought I knew of it she'd take and put it in some bank or somewhere +unbeknown to me, and I should be farther off it than ever.” + +“Haven't you got no idea?” said Mr. Chase. + +“Not the leastest bit,” said the other. “I never thought for a moment +she was saving money. She's always asking me for more, for one thing; +but, then women alway do. And look 'ow bad it is for her--saving money +like that on the sly. She might grow into a miser, pore thing. For 'er +own sake I ought to get hold of it, if it's only to save her from +'erself.” + +Mr. Chase's face reflected the gravity of his own. + +“You're the only man I can trust,” continued Mr. Teak, “and I thought if +you came as lodger you might be able to find out where it is hid, and get +hold of it for me.” + +“Me steal it, d'ye mean?” demanded the gaping Mr. Chase. “And suppose +she got me locked up for it? I should look pretty, shouldn't I?” + +“No; you find out where it is hid,” said the other; “that's all you need +do. I'll find someway of getting hold of it then.” + +“But if you can't find it, how should I be able to?” inquired Mr. Chase. + +“'Cos you'll 'ave opportunities,” said the other. “I take her out some +time when you're supposed to be out late; you come 'ome, let yourself in +with your key, and spot the hiding-place. I get the cash, and give you +ten-golden-sovereigns--all to your little self. It only occurred to me +after Bert told me about it, that I ain't been in the house alone for +years.” + +He ordered some more beer, and, drawing Mr. Chase to a bench, sat down to +a long and steady argument. It shook his faith in human nature to find +that his friend estimated the affair as a twenty-pound job, but he was in +no position to bargain. They came out smoking twopenny cigars whose +strength was remarkable for their age, and before they parted Mr. Chase +was pledged to the hilt to do all that he could to save Mrs. Teak from +the vice of avarice. + +It was a more difficult undertaking than he had supposed. The house, +small and compact, seemed to offer few opportunities for the concealment +of large sums of money, and after a fortnight's residence he came to the +conclusion that the treasure must have been hidden in the garden. The +unalloyed pleasure, however, with which Mrs. Teak regarded the efforts +of her husband to put under cultivation land that had lain fallow for +twenty years convinced both men that they were on a wrong scent. Mr. +Teak, who did the digging, was the first to realize it, but his friend, +pointing out the suspicions that might be engendered by a sudden +cessation of labour, induced him to persevere. + +“And try and look as if you liked it,” he said, severely. “Why, from the +window even the back view of you looks disagreeable.” + +“I'm fair sick of it,” declared Mr. Teak. “Anybody might ha' known she +wouldn't have buried it in the garden. She must 'ave been saving for +pretty near thirty years, week by week, and she couldn't keep coming out +here to hide it. 'Tain't likely.” + +Mr. Chase pondered. “Let her know, casual like, that I sha'n't be 'ome +till late on Saturday,” he said, slowly. “Then you come 'ome in the +afternoon and take her out. As soon as you're gone I'll pop in and have +a thorough good hunt round. Is she fond of animals?” + +“I b'lieve so,” said the other, staring. “Why?” + +“Take 'er to the Zoo,” said Mr. Chase, impressively. “Take two-penn'orth +o' nuts with you for the monkeys, and some stale buns for--for--for +animals as likes 'em. Give 'er a ride on the elephant and a ride on the +camel.” + +“Anything else?” inquired Mr. Teak disagreeably. “Any more ways you can +think of for me to spend my money?” + +“You do as I tell you,” said his friend. “I've got an idea now where it +is. If I'm able to show you where to put your finger on three 'undred +pounds when you come 'ome it'll be the cheapest outing you have ever 'ad. +Won't it?” + +Mr. Teak made no reply, but, after spending the evening in deliberation, +issued the invitation at the supper-table. His wife's eyes sparkled at +first; then the light slowly faded from them and her face fell. + +“I can't go,” she said, at last. “I've got nothing to go in.” + +“Rubbish!” said her husband, starting uneasily. + +“It's a fact,” said Mrs. Teak. “I should like to go, too--it's years +since I was at the Zoo. I might make my jacket do; it's my hat I'm +thinking about.” + +Mr. Chase, meeting Mr. Teak's eye, winked an obvious suggestion. + +“So, thanking you all the same,” continued Mrs. Teak, with amiable +cheerfulness, “I'll stay at 'ome.” + +“'Ow-'ow much are they?” growled her husband, scowling at Mr. Chase. + +“All prices,” replied his wife. + +“Yes, I know,” said Mr. Teak, in a grating voice. “You go in to buy a +hat at one and eleven-pence; you get talked over and flattered by a man +like a barber's block, and you come out with a four-and-six penny one. +The only real difference in hats is the price, but women can never see +it.” + +Mrs. Teak smiled faintly, and again expressed her willingness to stay at +home. They could spend the afternoon working in the garden, she said. +Her husband, with another indignant glance at the right eye of Mr. Chase, +which was still enacting the part of a camera-shutter, said that she +could have a hat, but asked her to remember when buying it that nothing +suited her so well as a plain one. + +The remainder of the week passed away slowly; and Mr. Teak, despite his +utmost efforts, was unable to glean any information from Mr. Chase as to +that gentleman's ideas concerning the hiding-place. At every suggestion +Mr. Chase's smile only got broader and more indulgent. + +“You leave it to me,” he said. “You leave it to me, and when you come +home from a happy outing I 'ope to be able to cross your little hand with +three 'undred golden quids.” + +“But why not tell me?” urged Mr. Teak. + +“'Cos I want to surprise you,” was the reply. “But mind, whatever you +do, don't let your wife run away with the idea that I've been mixed up in +it at all. Now, if you worry me any more I shall ask you to make it +thirty pounds for me instead of twenty.” + +The two friends parted at the corner of the road on Saturday afternoon, +and Mr. Teak, conscious of his friend's impatience, sought to hurry his +wife by occasionally calling the wrong time up the stairs. She came down +at last, smiling, in a plain hat with three roses, two bows, and a +feather. + +“I've had the feather for years,” she remarked. “This is the fourth hat +it has been on--but, then, I've taken care of it.” + +Mr. Teak grunted, and, opening the door, ushered her into the street. A +sense of adventure, and the hope of a profitable afternoon made his +spirits rise. He paid a compliment to the hat, and then, to the surprise +of both, followed it up with another--a very little one--to his wife. + +They took a tram at the end of the street, and for the sake of the air +mounted to the top. Mrs. Teak leaned back in her seat with placid +enjoyment, and for the first ten minutes amused herself with the life in +the streets. Then she turned suddenly to her husband and declared that +she had felt a spot of rain. + +“'Magination,” he said, shortly. + +Something cold touched him lightly on the eyelid, a tiny pattering +sounded from the seats, and then swish, down came the rain. With an +angry exclamation he sprang up and followed his wife below. + +“Just our luck,” she said, mournfully. “Best thing we can do is to stay +in the car and go back with it.” + +“Nonsense!” said her husband, in a startled' voice; “it'll be over in a +minute.” + +Events proved the contrary. By the time the car reached the terminus it +was coming down heavily. Mrs. Teak settled herself squarely in her seat, +and patches of blue sky, visible only to the eye of faith and her +husband, failed to move her. Even his reckless reference to a cab +failed. + +“It's no good,” she said, tartly. “We can't go about the grounds in a +cab, and I'm not going to slop about in the wet to please anybody. We +must go another time. It's hard luck, but there's worse things in life.” + +Mr. Teak, wondering as to the operations of Mr. Chase, agreed dumbly. He +stopped the car at the corner of their road, and, holding his head down +against the rain, sprinted towards home. Mrs. Teak, anxious for her hat, +passed him. + +“What on earth's the matter?” she inquired, fumbling in her pocket for +the key as her husband executed a clumsy but noisy breakdown on the front +step. + +“Chill,” replied Mr. Teak. “I've got wet.” + +He resumed his lumberings and, the door being opened, gave vent to his +relief at being home again in the dry, in a voice that made the windows +rattle. Then with anxious eyes he watched his wife pass upstairs. + +“Wonder what excuse old Alf'll make for being in?” he thought. + +He stood with one foot on the bottom stair, listening acutely. He heard +a door open above, and then a wild, ear-splitting shriek rang through the +house. Instinctively he dashed upstairs and, following his wife into +their bedroom, stood by her side gaping stupidly at a pair of legs +standing on the hearthstone. As he watched they came backwards into the +room, the upper part of a body materialized from the chimney, and turning +round revealed the soot-stained face of Mr. Alfred Chase. Another wild +shriek from Mrs. Teak greeted its appearance. + +“Hul-lo!” exclaimed Mr. Teak, groping for the right thing to say. +“Hul-lo! What--what are you doing, Alf?” + +Mr. Chase blew the soot from his lips. “I--I--I come 'ome unexpected,” + he stammered. + +“But--what are--you doing?” panted Mrs. Teak, in a rising voice. + +“I--I was passing your door,” said Mr. Chase, “passing your door--to go +to my room to--to 'ave a bit of a rinse, when--” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Teak. + +Mr. Chase gave Mr. Teak a glance the pathos of which even the soot could +not conceal. “When I--I heard a pore little bird struggling in your +chimbley,” he continued, with a sigh of relief. “Being fond of animals, +I took the liberty of comin' into your room and saving its life.” + +Mr. Teak drew a breath, which he endeavoured in vain to render noiseless. + +“It got its pore little foot caught in the brickwork,” continued the +veracious Mr. Chase, tenderly. “I released it, and it flowed--I mean +flew--up the chimbley.” + +With the shamefaced air of a man detected in the performance of a noble +action, he passed out of the room. Husband and wife eyed each other. + +“That's Alf--that's Alf all over,” said Mr. Teak, with enthusiasm. “He's +been like it from a child. He's the sort of man that 'ud dive off +Waterloo Bridge to save the life of a drownding sparrow.” + +“He's made an awful mess,” said his wife, frowning; “it'll take me the +rest of the day to clean up. There's soot everywhere. The rug is quite +spoilt.” + +She took off her hat and jacket and prepared for the fray. Down below +Messrs. Teak and Chase, comparing notes, sought, with much warmth, to +put the blame on the right shoulders. + +“Well, it ain't there,” said Mr. Chase, finally. “I've made sure of +that. That's something towards it. I shan't 'ave to look there again, +thank goodness.” + +Mr. Teak sniffed. “Got any more ideas?” he queried. + +“I have,” said the other sternly. “There's plenty of places to search +yet. I've only just begun. Get her out as much as you can and I'll 'ave +my hands on it afore you can say--” + +“Soot?” suggested Mr. Teak, sourly. + +“Any more of your nasty snacks and I chuck it up altogether,” said Mr. +Chase, heatedly. “If I wasn't hard up I'd drop it now.” + +He went up to his room in dudgeon, and for the next few days Mr. Teak saw +but little of him. To, lure Mrs. Teak out was almost as difficult as to +persuade a snail to leave its shell, but he succeeded on two or three +occasions, and each time she added something to her wardrobe. + +The assistant fortune-hunter had been in residence just a month when Mr. +Teak, returning home one afternoon, stood in the small passage listening +to a suppressed wailing noise proceeding from upstairs. It was so creepy +that half-way up he hesitated, and, in a stern but trembling voice, +demanded to know what his wife meant by it. A louder wail than before +was the only reply, and, summoning up his courage, he pushed open the +door of the bedroom and peeped in. His gaze fell on Mrs. Teak, who was +sitting on the hearth-rug, rocking to and fro in front of a dismantled +fire-place. + +“What--what's the matter?” he said, hastily. + +Mrs. Teak raised her voice to a pitch that set his teeth on edge. “My +money!” she wailed. “It's all gone! All gone!” + +“Money?” repeated Mr. Teak, hardly able to contain himself. “What +money?” + +“All--all my savings!” moaned his wife. “Savings!” said the delighted +Mr. Teak. “What savings?” + +“Money I have been putting by for our old age,” said his wife. “Three +hundred and twenty-two pounds. All gone!” + +In a fit of sudden generosity Mr. Teak decided then and there that Mr. +Chase should have the odd twenty-two pounds. + +“You're dreaming!” he said, sternly. + +“I wish I was,” said his wife, wiping her eyes. “Three hundred and +twenty-two pounds in empty mustard-tins. Every ha'penny's gone!” + +Mr. Teak's eye fell on the stove. He stepped for ward and examined it. +The back was out, and Mrs. Teak, calling his attention to a tunnel at the +side, implored him to put his arm in and satisfy himself that it was +empty. + +“But where could you get all that money from?” he demanded, after a +prolonged groping. + +“Sa--sa--saved it,” sobbed his wife, “for our old age.” + +“Our old age?” repeated Mr. Teak, in lofty tones. “And suppose I had +died first? Or suppose you had died sudden? This is what comes of +deceitfulness and keeping things from your husband. Now somebody has +stole it.” + +Mrs. Teak bent her head and sobbed again. “I--I had just been out for +--for an hour,” she gasped. “When I came back I fou--fou--found the +washhouse window smashed, and--” + +Sobs choked her utterance. Mr. Teak, lost in admiration of Mr. Chase's +cleverness, stood regarding her in silence. + +“What--what about the police?” said his wife at last. + +“Police!” repeated Mr. Teak, with extraordinary vehemence. “Police! +Certainly not. D'ye think I'm going to let it be known all round that +I'm the husband of a miser? I'd sooner lose ten times the money.” + +He stalked solemnly out of the room and downstairs, and, safe in the +parlour, gave vent to his feelings in a wild but silent hornpipe. He +cannoned against the table at last, and, subsiding into an easy-chair, +crammed his handkerchief to his mouth and gave way to suppressed mirth. + +In his excitement he forgot all about tea, and the bereaved Mrs. Teak +made no attempt to come downstairs to prepare it. With his eye on the +clock he waited with what patience he might for the arrival of Mr. Chase. +The usual hour for his return came and went. Another hour passed; and +another. A horrible idea that Mr. Chase had been robbed gave way to one +more horrible still. He paced the room in dismay, until at nine o'clock +his wife came down, and in a languid fashion began to set the +supper-table. + +“Alf's very late,” said Mr. Teak, thickly. + +“Is he?” said his wife, dully. + +“Very late,” said Mr. Teak. “I can't think--Ah, there he is!” + +He took a deep breath and clenched 'his hands together. By the time Mr. +Chase came into the room he was able to greet him with a stealthy wink. +Mr. Chase, with a humorous twist of his mouth, winked back. + +“We've 'ad a upset,” said Mr. Teak, in warning tones. + +“Eh?” said the other, as Mrs. Teak threw her apron over her head and sank +into a chair. “What about?” + +In bated accents, interrupted at times by broken murmurs from his wife, +Mr. Teak informed him of the robbery. Mr. Chase, leaning against the +doorpost, listened with open mouth and distended eyeballs. Occasional +interjections of pity and surprise attested his interest. The tale +finished, the gentlemen exchanged a significant wink and sighed in +unison. + +“And now,” said Mr. Teak an hour later, after his wife had retired, +“where is it?” + +“Ah, that's the question,” said Mr. Chase, roguishly. “I wonder where it +can be?” + +“I--I hope it's in a safe place,” said Mr. Teak, anxiously. “Where 'ave +you put it?” + +“Me?” said Mr. Chase. “Who are you getting at? I ain't put it +anywhere. You know that.” + +“Don't play the giddy goat,” said the other, testily. “Where've you hid +it? Is it safe?” + +Mr. Chase leaned back in his chair and, shaking his head at him, smiled +approvingly. “You're a little wonder, that's what you are, Gussie,” he +remarked. “No wonder your pore wife is took in so easy.” + +Mr. Teak sprang up in a fury. “Don't play the fool,” he said hoarsely. +“Where's the money? I want it. Now, where've you put it?” + +“Go on,” said Mr. Chase, with a chuckle. “Go on. Don't mind me. You +ought to be on the stage, Gussie, that's where you ought to be.” + +“I'm not joking,” said Mr. Teak, in a trembling voice, “and I don't want +you to joke with me. If you think you are going off with my money, +you're mistook. If you don't tell me in two minutes where it is, I shall +give you in charge for theft.” + +“Oh” said Mr. Chase. He took a deep breath. “Oh, really!” he said. “I +wouldn't 'ave thought it of you, Gussie. I wouldn't 'ave thought you'd +have played it so low down. I'm surprised at you.” + +“You thought wrong, then,” said the other. + +“Trying to do me out o' my twenty pounds, that's what you are,” said Mr. +Chase, knitting his brows. “But it won't do, my boy. I wasn't born +yesterday. Hand it over, afore I lose my temper. Twenty pounds I want +of you, and I don't leave this room till I get it.” + +Speechless with fury, Mr. Teak struck at him. The next moment the +supper-table was overturned with a crash, and Mr. Chase, with his friend +in his powerful grasp, was doing his best, as he expressed it, to shake +the life out of him. A faint scream sounded from above, steps pattered +on the stairs, and Mrs. Teak, with a red shawl round her shoulders, burst +'hurriedly into the room. Mr. Chase released Mr. Teak, opened his mouth +to speak, and then, thinking better of it, dashed into the passage, took +his hat from the peg, and, slamming the front door with extraordinary +violence, departed. + +He sent round for his clothes next day, but he did not see Mr. Teak until +a month afterwards. His fists clenched and his mouth hardened, but Mr. +Teak, with a pathetic smile, held out his hand, and Mr. Chase, after a +moment's hesitation, took it. Mr. Teak, still holding his friend's hand, +piloted him to a neighbouring hostelry. + +“It was my mistake, Alf,” he said, shaking his head, “but it wasn't my +fault. It's a mistake anybody might ha' made.” + +“Have you found out who took it?” inquired Mr. Chase, regarding him +suspiciously. + +Mr. Teak gulped and nodded. “I met Bert Adams yesterday,” he said, +slowly. “It took three pints afore he told me, but I got it out of 'im +at last. My missis took it herself.” + +Mr. Chase put his mug down with a bang. “What?” he gasped. + +“The day after she found you with your head up the chimbley,” added Mr. +Teak, mournfully. “She's shoved it away in some bank now, and I shall +never see a ha'penny of it. If you was a married man, Alf, you'd +understand it better. You wouldn't be surprised at anything.” + + + + + +[Illustration: “As I was a-saying, kindness to animals is all very well”] + + + +WATCH-DOGS + +“It's a'most the only enj'yment I've got left,” said the oldest +inhabitant, taking a long, slow draught of beer, “that and a pipe o' +baccy. Neither of 'em wants chewing, and that's a great thing when you +ain't got anything worth speaking about left to chew with.” + +He put his mug on the table and, ignoring the stillness of the summer +air, sheltered the flame of a match between his cupped hands and conveyed +it with infinite care to the bowl of his pipe. A dull but crafty old eye +squinting down the stem assured itself that the tobacco was well alight +before the match was thrown away. + +“As I was a-saying, kindness to animals is all very well,” he said to the +wayfarer who sat opposite him in the shade of the “Cauliflower” elms; +“but kindness to your feller-creeturs is more. The pint wot you give me +is gone, but I'm just as thankful to you as if it wasn't.” + +He half closed his eyes and, gazing on to the fields beyond, fell into a +reverie so deep that he failed to observe the landlord come for his mug +and return with it filled. A little start attested his surprise, and, +to his great annoyance, upset a couple of tablespoonfuls of the precious +liquid. + +“Some people waste all their kindness on dumb animals,” he remarked, +after the landlord had withdrawn from his offended vision, “but I was +never a believer in it. I mind some time ago when a gen'lemen from +Lunnon wot 'ad more money than sense offered a prize for kindness to +animals. I was the only one that didn't try for to win it. + +“Mr. Bunnett 'is name was, and 'e come down and took Farmer Hall's 'ouse +for the summer. Over sixty 'e was, and old enough to know better. He +used to put saucers of milk all round the 'ouse for cats to drink, and, +by the time pore Farmer Hall got back, every cat for three miles round +'ad got in the habit of coming round to the back-door and asking for milk +as if it was their right. Farmer Hall poisoned a saucer o' milk at last, +and then 'ad to pay five shillings for a thin black cat with a mangy tail +and one eye that Bob Pretty said belonged to 'is children. Farmer Hall +said he'd go to jail afore he'd pay, at fust, but arter five men 'ad +spoke the truth and said they 'ad see Bob's youngsters tying a empty +mustard-tin to its tail on'y the day afore, he gave way. + +“Tha was Bob Pretty all over, that was; the biggest raskel Claybury 'as +ever had; and it wasn't the fust bit o' money 'e made out o' Mr. Bunnett +coming to the place. + +“It all come through Mr. Bunnett's love for animals. I never see a man +so fond of animals as 'e was, and if he had 'ad 'is way Claybury would +'ave been overrun by 'em by this time. The day arter 'e got to the farm +he couldn't eat 'is breakfuss because of a pig that was being killed in +the yard, and it was no good pointing out to 'im that the pig was on'y +making a fuss about it because it was its nature so to do. He lived on +wegetables and such like, and the way 'e carried on one day over 'arf a +biled caterpillar 'e found in his cabbage wouldn't be believed. He +wouldn't eat another mossel, but sat hunting 'igh and low for the other +'arf. + +“He 'adn't been in Claybury more than a week afore he said 'ow surprised +'e was to see 'ow pore dumb animals was treated. He made a little speech +about it one evening up at the schoolroom, and, arter he 'ad finished, he +up and offered to give a prize of a gold watch that used to belong to 'is +dear sister wot loved animals, to the one wot was the kindest to 'em +afore he left the place. + +“If he'd ha' known Claybury men better 'e wouldn't ha' done it. The very +next morning Bill Chambers took 'is baby's milk for the cat, and smacked +'is wife's 'ead for talking arter he'd told 'er to stop. Henery Walker +got into trouble for leaning over Charlie Stubbs's fence and feeding his +chickens for 'im, and Sam Jones's wife had to run off 'ome to 'er mother +'arf-dressed because she had 'appened to overlay a sick rabbit wot Sam +'ad taken to bed with 'im to keep warm. + +“People used to stop animals in the road and try and do 'em a kindness-- +especially when Mr. Bunnett was passing--and Peter Gubbins walked past +'is house one day with ole Mrs. Broad's cat in 'is arms. A bad-tempered +old cat it was, and, wot with Peter kissing the top of its 'ead and +calling of it Tiddleums, it nearly went out of its mind. + +“The fust time Mr. Bunnett see Bob Pretty was about a week arter he'd +offered that gold watch. Bob was stooping down very careful over +something in the hedge, and Mr. Bunnett, going up quiet-like behind 'im, +see 'im messing about with a pore old toad he 'ad found, with a smashed +leg. + +“'Wots the matter with it?' ses Mr. Bunnett. + +“Bob didn't seem to hear 'im. He was a-kneeling on the ground with 'is +'ead on one side looking at the toad; and by and by he pulled out 'is +pocket'an'kercher and put the toad in it, as if it was made of +egg-shells, and walked away. + +“'Wot's the matter with it?' ses Mr. Bunnett, a'most trotting to keep up +with 'im. + +“'Got it's leg 'urt in some way, pore thing,' ses Bob. 'I want to get it +'ome as soon as I can and wash it and put it on a piece o' damp moss. +But I'm afraid it's not long for this world.' + +“Mr. Bunnett said it did 'im credit, and walked home alongside of 'im +talking. He was surprised to find that Bob hadn't 'eard anything of the +gold watch 'e was offering, but Bob said he was a busy, 'ard-working man +and didn't 'ave no time to go to hear speeches or listen to +tittle-tattle. + +“'When I've done my day's work,' he ses, 'I can always find a job in the +garden, and arter that I go in and 'elp my missis put the children to +bed. She ain't strong, pore thing, and it's better than wasting time and +money up at the “Cauliflower.”' + +“He 'ad a lot o' talk with Mr. Bunnett for the next day or two, and when +'e went round with the toad on the third day as lively and well as +possible the old gen'leman said it was a miracle. And so it would ha' +been if it had been the same toad. + +“He took a great fancy to Bob Pretty, and somehow or other they was +always dropping acrost each other. He met Bob with 'is dog one day--a +large, ugly brute, but a'most as clever as wot Bob was 'imself. It stood +there with its tongue 'anging out and looking at Bob uneasy-like out of +the corner of its eye as Bob stood a-patting of it and calling it pet +names. + +“' Wunnerful affectionate old dog, ain't you, Joseph?' ses Bob. + +“'He's got a kind eye,' ses Mr. Bunnett. + +“'He's like another child to me, ain't you, my pretty?' ses Bob, smiling +at 'im and feeling in 'is pocket. 'Here you are, old chap.' + +“He threw down a biskit so sudden that Joseph, thinking it was a stone, +went off like a streak o' lightning with 'is tail between 'is legs and +yelping his 'ardest. Most men would ha' looked a bit foolish, but Bob +Pretty didn't turn a hair. + +“'Ain't it wunnerful the sense they've got,' he ses to Mr. Bunnett, wot +was still staring arter the dog. + +“'Sense?' ses the old gen'leman. + +“'Yes,' ses Bob smiling. 'His food ain't been agreeing with 'im lately +and he's starving hisself for a bit to get round agin, and 'e knew that +'e couldn't trust hisself alongside o' this biskit. Wot a pity men ain't +like that with beer. I wish as 'ow Bill Chambers and Henery Walker and a +few more 'ad been 'ere just now.' + +“Mr. Bunnett agreed with 'im, and said wot a pity it was everybody 'adn't +got Bob Pretty's commonsense and good feeling. + +“'It ain't that,' ses Bob, shaking his 'ead at him; 'it ain't to my +credit. I dessay if Sam Jones and Peter Gubbins, and Charlie Stubbs and +Dicky Weed 'ad been brought up the same as I was they'd 'ave been a lot +better than wot I am.' + +“He bid Mr. Bunnett good-bye becos 'e said he'd got to get back to 'is +work, and Mr. Bunnett had 'ardly got 'ome afore Henery Walker turned up +full of anxiousness to ask his advice about five little baby kittens wot +'is old cat had found in the wash-place: the night afore. + +“'Drownd them little innercent things, same as most would do, I can't,' +he ses, shaking his 'ead; 'but wot to do with 'em I don't know.' + +“'Couldn't you find 'omes for 'em?' ses Mr. Bunnett. + +“Henery Walker shook his 'ead agin. ''Tain't no use thinking o' that,' +he ses. 'There's more cats than 'omes about 'ere'. Why, Bill Chambers +drownded six o'ny last week right afore the eyes of my pore little boy. +Upset 'im dreadful it did.' + +“Mr. Bunnett walked up and down the room thinking. 'We must try and find +'omes for 'em when they are old enough,' he says at last; 'I'll go round +myself and see wot I can do for you.' + +“Henery Walker thanked 'im and went off 'ome doing a bit o' thinking; and +well he 'ad reason to. Everybody wanted one o' them kittens. Peter +Gubbins offered for to take two, and Mr. Bunnett told Henery Walker next +day that 'e could ha' found 'omes for 'em ten times over. + +“'You've no idea wot fine, kind-'arted people they are in this village +when their 'arts are touched,' he ses, smiling at Henery. 'You ought to +'ave seen Mr. Jones's smile when I asked 'im to take one. It did me good +to see it. And I spoke to Mr. Chambers about drowning 'is kittens, and +he told me 'e hadn't slept a wink ever since. And he offered to take +your old cat to make up for it, if you was tired of keeping it. + +“It was very 'ard on Henery Walker, I must say that. Other people was +getting the credit of bringing up 'is kittens, and more than that, they +used to ask Mr. Bunnett into their places to see 'ow the little dears was +a-getting on. + +“Kindness to animals caused more unpleasantness in Claybury than anything +'ad ever done afore. There was hardly a man as 'ud speak civil to each +other, and the wimmen was a'most as bad. Cats and dogs and such-like +began to act as if the place belonged to 'em, and seven people stopped +Mr. Bunnett one day to tell 'im that Joe Parsons 'ad been putting down +rat-poison and killed five little baby rats and their mother. + +“It was some time afore anybody knew that Bob Pretty 'ad got 'is eye on +that gold watch, and when they did they could 'ardly believe it. They +give Bob credit for too much sense to waste time over wot they knew 'e +couldn't get, but arter they 'ad heard one or two things they got +alarmed, and pretty near the whole village went up to see Mr. Bunnett and +tell 'im about Bob's true character. Mr. Bunnett couldn't believe 'em at +fast, but arter they 'ad told 'im of Bob's poaching and the artful ways +and tricks he 'ad of getting money as didn't belong to 'im 'e began to +think different. He spoke to parson about 'im, and arter that 'e said he +never wanted for to see Bob Pretty's face again. + +“There was a fine to-do about it up at this 'ere Cauliflower public-'ouse +that night, and the quietest man 'o the whole lot was Bob Pretty. He sat +still all the time drinking 'is beer and smiling at 'em and giving 'em +good advice 'ow to get that gold watch. + +“'It's no good to me,' he ses, shaking his 'ead. 'I'm a pore labourin' +man, and I know my place.' + +“'Ow you could ever 'ave thought you 'ad a chance, Bob, I don't know,' +ses Henery Walker. + +“'Ow's the toad, Bob?' ses Bill Chambers; and then they all laughed. + +“'Laugh away, mates,' ses Bob; 'I know you don't mean it. The on'y thing +I'm sorry for is you can't all 'ave the gold watch, and I'm sure you've +worked 'ard enough for it; keeping Henery Walker's kittens for 'im, and +hanging round Mr. Bunnett's.' + +“'We've all got a better chance than wot you 'ave, Bob,' ses little Dicky +Weed the tailor. + +“The quietest man o' the whole lot was Bob Pretty” + +“'Ah, that's your iggernerance, Dicky,' ses Bob. 'Come to think it over +quiet like, I'm afraid I shall win it arter all. Cos why? Cos I +deserves it.' + +“They all laughed agin, and Bill Chambers laughed so 'arty that 'e +joggled Peter Gubbins's arm and upset 'is beer. + +“'Laugh away,' ses Bob, pretending to get savage. 'Them that laughs best +laughs last, mind. I'll 'ave that watch now, just to spite you all.' + +“'Ow are you going to get it, Bob?' ses Sam Jones, jeering. + +“'Never you mind, mate,' ses Bob, stamping 'is foot; 'I'm going to win it +fair. I'm going to 'ave it for kindness to pore dumb animals.' + +“Ear! 'ear!' ses Dicky Weed, winking at the others. 'Will you 'ave a bet +on it, Bob?' + +“'No,' ses Bob Pretty; 'I don't want to win no man's money. I like to +earn my money in the sweat o' my brow.' + +“'But you won't win it, Bob,' ses Dicky, grinning. 'Look 'ere! I'll lay +you a level bob you don't get it.' + +“Bob shook his 'ead, and started talking to Bill Chambers about something +else. + +“'I'll bet you two bob to one, Bob,' ses Dicky. 'Well, three to one, +then.' + +“Bob sat up and looked at'im for a long time, considering, and at last he +ses, 'All right,' he ses, 'if Smith the landlord will mind the money I +will.' + +“He 'anded over his shilling,' but very slow-like, and Dicky Weed 'anded +over 'is money. Arter that Bob sat looking disagreeable like, especially +when. Dicky said wot 'e was goin' to do with the money, and by an by Sam +Jones dared 'im to 'ave the same bet with 'im in sixpences. + +“Bob Pretty 'ad a pint more beer to think it over, and arter Bill +Chambers 'ad stood 'im another, he said 'e would. He seemed a bit dazed +like, and by the time he went 'ome he 'ad made bets with thirteen of 'em. +Being Saturday night they 'ad all got money on 'em, and, as for Bob, he +always 'ad some. Smith took care of the money and wrote it all up on a +slate. + +“'Why don't you 'ave a bit on, Mr. Smith?' ses Dicky. + +“'Oh, I dunno,' ses Smith, wiping down the bar with a wet cloth. + +“'It's the chance of a lifetime,' ses Dicky. + +“'Looks like it,' ses Smith, coughing. + +“'But 'e can't win,' ses Sam Jones, looking a bit upset. 'Why, Mr. +Bunnett said 'e ought to be locked up.' + +“'He's been led away,' ses Bob Pretty, shaking his 'ead. 'He's a +kind-'arted old gen'leman when 'e's left alone, and he'll soon see wot a +mistake 'e's made about me. I'll show 'im. But I wish it was something +more useful than a gold watch.' + +“'You ain't got it yet,' ses Bill Chambers. + +“'No, mate,' ses Bob. + +“'And you stand to lose a sight o' money,' ses Sam Jones. 'If you like, +Bob Pretty, you can 'ave your bet back with me.' + +“'Never mind, Sam,' ses Bob; 'I won't take no advantage of you. If I +lose you'll 'ave sixpence to buy a rabbit-hutch with. Good-night, mates +all.' + +“He rumpled Bill Chambers's 'air for 'im as he passed--a thing Bill never +can a-bear--and gave Henery Walker, wot was drinking beer, a smack on the +back wot nearly ruined 'im for life. + + +[Illustration: “Some of 'em went and told Mr. Bunnett some more things +about Bob next day”] + + +“Some of 'em went and told Mr. Bunnett some more things about Bob next +day, but they might as well ha' saved their breath. The old gen'leman +said he knew all about 'im and he never wanted to 'ear his name mentioned +agin. Arter which they began for to 'ave a more cheerful way of looking +at things; and Sam Jones said 'e was going to 'ave a hole bored through +'is sixpence and wear it round 'is neck to aggravate Bob Pretty with. + +“For the next three or four weeks Bob Pretty seemed to keep very quiet, +and we all began to think as 'ow he 'ad made a mistake for once. +Everybody else was trying their 'ardest for the watch, and all Bob done +was to make a laugh of 'em and to say he believed it was on'y made of +brass arter all. Then one arternoon, just a few days afore Mr. Bunnett's +time was up at the farm, Bob took 'is dog out for a walk, and arter +watching the farm for some time met the old gen'leman by accident up at +Coe's plantation. + +“'Good arternoon, sir,' he ses, smiling at 'im. 'Wot wunnerful fine +weather we're a-having for the time o' year. I've just brought Joseph +out for a bit of a walk. He ain't been wot I might call hisself for the +last day or two, and I thought a little fresh air might do 'im good.' + +“Mr. Bunnett just looked at him, and then 'e passed 'im by without a +word. + +“'I wanted to ask your advice about 'im,' ses Bob, turning round and +follering of 'im. 'He's a delikit animal, and sometimes I wonder whether +I 'aven't been a-pampering of 'im too much.' + +“'Go away,' ses Mr. Bunnett; 'I've'eard all about you. Go away at once.' + +“'Heard all about me?' ses Bob Pretty, looking puzzled. 'Well, you can't +'ave heard no 'arm, that's one comfort.' + +“'I've been told your true character,' ses the old gen'leman, very firm. +'And I'm ashamed that I should have let myself be deceived by you. I +hope you'll try and do better while there is still time.' + +“'If anybody 'as got anything to say agin my character,' says Bob, 'I +wish as they'd say it to my face. I'm a pore, hard-working man, and my +character's all I've got.' + +“'You're poorer than you thought you was then,' says Mr. Bunnett. 'I +wish you good arternoon.' + +“'Good arternoon, sir,' ses Bob, very humble. 'I'm afraid some on 'em +'ave been telling lies about me, and I didn't think I'd got a enemy in +the world. Come on, Joseph. Come on, old pal. We ain't wanted here.' + +“He shook 'is 'ead with sorrow, and made a little sucking noise between +'is teeth, and afore you could wink, his dog 'ad laid hold of the old +gen'leman's leg and kep' quiet waiting orders. + +“'Help!' screams Mr. Bunnett. 'Call, 'im off! Call 'im off!' + +“Bob said arterwards that 'e was foolish enough to lose 'is presence o' +mind for a moment, and instead o' doing anything he stood there gaping +with 'is mouth open. + +“'Call 'im off!' screams Mr. Bunnett, trying to push the dog away. 'Why +don't you call him off?' + +“'Don't move,' ses Bob Pretty in a frightened voice. 'Don't move, +wotever you do.' + +“'Call him off! Take 'im away!' ses Mr. Bunnett. + +“'Why, Joseph! Joseph! Wotever are you a-thinking of?' ses Bob, shaking +'is 'ead at the dog. 'I'm surprised at you! Don't you know Mr. Bunnett +wot is so fond of animals?' + +“'If you don't call 'im off, ses Mr. Bunnett, trembling all over, 'I'll +have you locked up.' + +“'I am a-calling 'im off,' ses Bob, looking very puzzled. 'Didn't you +'ear me? It's you making that noise that excites 'im, I think. P'r'aps +if you keep quiet he'll leave go. Come off, Joseph, old boy, there's a +good doggie. That ain't a bone.' + +“'It's no good talking to 'im like that,' ses Mr. Bunnett, keeping quiet +but trembling worse than ever. 'Make him let go.' + +“'I don't want to 'urt his feelings,' ses Bob; 'they've got their +feelings the same as wot we 'ave. Besides, p'r'aps it ain't 'is fault-- +p'r'aps he's gone mad.' + +“'HELP!' ses the old gen'leman, in a voice that might ha' been heard a +mile away. 'HELP!' + +“'Why don't you keep quiet?' ses Bob. 'You're on'y frightening the pore +animal and making things worse. Joseph, leave go and I'll see whether +there's a biskit in my pocket. Why don't you leave go?' + +“'Pull him off. Hit 'im,' ses Mr. Bunnett, shouting. + +“'Wot?' ses Bob Pretty, with a start. 'Hit a poor, dumb animal wot don't +know no better! Why, you'd never forgive me, sir, and I should lose the +gold watch besides.' + +“'No, you won't,' ses Mr. Bunnett, speaking very fast. 'You'll 'ave as +much chance of it as ever you had. Hit 'im! Quick!' + +“'It 'ud break my 'art,' ses Bob. 'He'd never forgive me; but if you'll +take the responserbility, and then go straight 'ome and give me the gold +watch now for kindness to animals, I will.' + +“He shook his 'ead with sorrow and made that sucking noise agin.' + +“'All right, you shall 'ave it,' ses Mr. Bunnett, shouting. 'You shall +'ave it.' + +“'For kindness to animals?' ses Bob. 'Honour bright?' + +“'Yes,' ses Mr. Bunnett. + +[Illustration: “Bob Pretty lifted 'is foot and caught Joseph one behind +that surprised 'im.”] + +“Bob Pretty lifted 'is foot and caught Joseph one behind that surprised +'im. Then he 'elped Mr. Bunnett look at 'is leg, and arter pointing out +that the skin wasn't hardly broken, and saying that Joseph 'ad got the +best mouth of any dog in Claybury, 'e walked 'ome with the old gen'leman +and got the watch. He said Mr. Bunnett made a little speech when 'e gave +it to 'im wot he couldn't remember, and wot he wouldn't repeat if 'e +could. + +“He came up to this 'ere Cauliflower public-'ouse the same night for the +money 'e had won, and Bill Chambers made another speech, but, as Smith +the landlord put' in outside for it, it didn't do Bob Pretty the good it +ought to ha' done.” + + + + + + + +THE BEQUEST + +R. Robert Clarkson sat by his fire, smoking thoughtfully. His lifelong +neighbour and successful rival in love had passed away a few days before, +and Mr. Clarkson, fresh from the obsequies, sat musing on the fragility +of man and the inconvenience that sometimes attended his departure. + +His meditations were disturbed by a low knocking on the front door, which +opened on to the street. In response to his invitation it opened slowly, +and a small middle-aged man of doleful aspect entered softly and closed +it behind him. + +“Evening, Bob,” he said, in stricken accents. “I thought I'd just step +round to see how you was bearing up. Fancy pore old Phipps! Why, I'd +a'most as soon it had been me. A'most.” + +Mr. Clarkson nodded. + +“Here to-day and gone to-morrow,” continued Mr. Smithson, taking a seat. +“Well, well! So you'll have her at last-pore thing.” + +“That was his wish,” said Mr. Clarkson, in a dull voice. + +“And very generous of him too,” said Mr. Smithson. “Everybody is saying +so. Certainly he couldn't take her away with him. How long is it since +you was both of you courting her?” + +“Thirty years come June,” replied the other. + +“Shows what waiting does, and patience,” commented Mr. Smithson. “If +you'd been like some chaps and gone abroad, where would you have been +now? Where would have been the reward of your faithful heart?” + +Mr. Clarkson, whose pipe had gone out, took a coal from the fire and lit +it again. + +“I can't understand him dying at his age,” he said, darkly. “He ought to +have lived to ninety if he'd been taken care of.” + +“Well, he's gone, pore chap,” said his friend. “What a blessing it must +ha' been to him in his last moments to think that he had made provision +for his wife.” + +“Provision!” exclaimed Mr. Clarkson. “Why he's left her nothing but the +furniture and fifty pounds insurance money--nothing in the world.” + +Mr. Smithson fidgeted. “I mean you,” he said, staring. + +“Oh!” said the other. “Oh, yes--yes, of course.” + +“And he doesn't want you to eat your heart out in waiting,” said Mr. +Smithson. “'Never mind about me,' he said to her; 'you go and make Bob +happy.' Wonderful pretty girl she used to be, didn't she?” Mr. Clarkson +assented. + +“And I've no doubt she looks the same to you as ever she did,” pursued +the sentimental Mr. Smithson. “That's the extraordinary part of it.” + +Mr. Clarkson turned and eyed him; removed the pipe from his mouth, and, +after hesitating a moment, replaced it with a jerk. + +“She says she'd rather be faithful to his memory,” continued the +persevering Mr. Smithson, “but his wishes are her law. She said so to my +missis only yesterday.” + +“Still, she ought to be considered,” said Mr. Clarkson, shaking his head. +“I think that somebody ought to put it to her. She has got her feelings, +poor thing, and, if she would rather not marry again, she oughtn't to be +compelled to.” + +“Just what my missis did say to her,” said the other; “but she didn't pay +much attention. She said it was Henry's wish and she didn't care what +happened to her now he's gone. Besides, if you come to think of it, what +else is she to do? Don't you worry, Bob; you won't lose her again.” + +Mr. Clarkson, staring at the fire, mused darkly. For thirty years he had +played the congenial part of the disappointed admirer but faithful +friend. He had intended to play it for at least fifty or sixty. He +wished that he had had the strength of mind to refuse the bequest when +the late Mr. Phipps first mentioned it, or taken a firmer line over the +congratulations of his friends. As it was, Little Molton quite +understood that after thirty years' waiting the faithful heart was to be +rewarded at last. Public opinion seemed to be that the late Mr. Phipps +had behaved with extraordinary generosity. + +“It's rather late in life for me to begin,” said Mr. Clarkson at last. + +“Better late than never,” said the cheerful Mr. Smithson. + +“And something seems to tell me that I ain't long for this world,” + continued Mr. Clarkson, eyeing him with some disfavour. + +“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mr. Smithson. “You'll lose all them ideas as +soon as you're married. You'll have somebody to look after you and help +you spend your money.” + +Mr. Clarkson emitted a dismal groan, and clapping his hand over his mouth +strove to make it pass muster as a yawn. It was evident that the +malicious Mr. Smithson was deriving considerable pleasure from his +discomfiture--the pleasure natural to the father of seven over the +troubles of a comfortable bachelor. Mr. Clarkson, anxious to share his +troubles with somebody, came to a sudden and malicious determination to +share them with Mr. Smithson. + +“I don't want anybody to help me spend my money,” he said, slowly. +“First and last I've saved a tidy bit. I've got this house, those three +cottages in Turner's Lane, and pretty near six hundred pounds in the +bank.” + +Mr. Smithson's eyes glistened. + +“I had thought--it had occurred to me,” said Mr. Clarkson, trying to keep +as near the truth as possible, “to leave my property to a friend o' mine +--a hard-working man with a large family. However, it's no use talking +about that now. It's too late.” + +“Who--who was it?” inquired his friend, trying to keep his voice steady. + +Mr. Clarkson shook his head. “It's no good talking about that now, +George,” he said, eyeing him with sly enjoyment. “I shall have to leave +everything to my wife now. After all, perhaps it does more harm than +good to leave money to people.” + +“Rubbish!” said Mr. Smithson, sharply. “Who was it?” + +“You, George,” said Mr. Clarkson, softly. + +“Me?” said the other, with a gasp. “Me?” He jumped up from his chair, +and, seizing the other's hand, shook it fervently. + +“I oughtn't to have told you, George,” said Mr. Clarkson, with great +satisfaction. “It'll only make you miserable. It's just one o' the +might ha' beens.” + +Mr. Smithson, with his back to the fire and his hands twisted behind him, +stood with his eyes fixed in thought. + +“It's rather cool of Phipps,” he said, after a long silence; “rather +cool, I think, to go out of the world and just leave his wife to you to +look after. Some men wouldn't stand it. You're too easy-going, Bob, +that's what's the matter with you.” + +Mr. Clarkson sighed. + +“And get took advantage of,” added his friend. + +“It's all very well to talk,” said Mr. Clarkson, “but what can I do? I +ought to have spoke up at the time. It's too late now.” + +“If I was you,” said his friend very earnestly, “and didn't want to marry +her, I should tell her so. Say what you like it ain't fair to her you +know. It ain't fair to the pore woman. She'd never forgive you if she +found it out.” + +“Everybody's taking it for granted,” said the other. + +“Let everybody look after their own business,” said Mr. Smithson, tartly. +“Now, look here, Bob; suppose I get you out of this business, how am I to +be sure you'll leave your property to me?--not that I want it. Suppose +you altered your will?” + +“If you get me out of it, every penny I leave will go to you,” said Mr. +Clarkson, fervently. “I haven't got any relations, and it don't matter +in the slightest to me who has it after I'm gone.” + +“As true as you stand there?” demanded the other, eyeing him fixedly. + +“As true as I stand here,” said Mr. Clarkson, smiting his chest, and +shook hands again. + +Long after his visitor had gone he sat gazing in a brooding fashion at +the fire. As a single man his wants were few, and he could live on his +savings; as the husband of Mrs. Phipps he would be compelled to resume +the work he thought he had dropped for good three years before. +Moreover, Mrs. Phipps possessed a strength of character that had many +times caused him to congratulate himself upon her choice of a husband. + +Slowly but surely his fetters were made secure. Two days later the widow +departed to spend six weeks with a sister; but any joy that he might have +felt over the circumstance was marred by the fact that he had to carry +her bags down to the railway station and see her off. The key of her +house was left with him, with strict injunctions to go in and water her +geraniums every day, while two canaries and a bullfinch had to be removed +to his own house in order that they might have constant attention and +company. + +“She's doing it on purpose,” said Mr. Smithson, fiercely; “she's binding +you hand and foot.” + +Mr. Clarkson assented gloomily. “I'm trusting to you, George,” he +remarked. + +“How'd it be to forget to water the geraniums and let the birds die +because they missed her so much?” suggested Mr. Smithson, after +prolonged thought. + +Mr. Clarkson shivered. + +“It would be a hint,” said his friend. + +Mr. Clarkson took some letters from the mantelpiece and held them up. +“She writes about them every day,” he said, briefly, “and I have to +answer them.” + +“She--she don't refer to your getting married, I suppose?” said his +friend, anxiously. + +Mr. Clarkson said “No. But her sister does,” he added. “I've had two +letters from her.” + +Mr. Smithson got up and paced restlessly up and down the room. “That's +women all over,” he said, bitterly. “They never ask for things straight +out; but they always get 'em in roundabout ways. She can't do it +herself, so she gets her sister to do it.” + +Mr. Clarkson groaned. “And her sister is hinting that she can't leave +the house where she spent so many happy years,” he said, “and says what a +pleasant surprise it would be for Mrs. Phipps if she was to come home and +find it done up.” + +“That means you've got to live there when you're married,” said his +friend, solemnly. + +Mr. Clarkson glanced round his comfortable room and groaned again. “She +asked me to get an estimate from Digson,” he said, dully. “She knows as +well as I do her sister hasn't got any money. I wrote to say that it had +better be left till she comes home, as I might not know what was wanted.” + +Mr. Smithson nodded approval. + +“And Mrs. Phipps wrote herself and thanked me for being so considerate,” + continued his friend, grimly, “and says that when she comes back we must +go over the house together and see what wants doing.” + +Mr. Smithson got up and walked round the room again. + +“You never promised to marry her?” he said, stopping suddenly. + +“No,” said the other. “It's all been arranged for me. I never said a +word. I couldn't tell Phipps I wouldn't have her with them all standing +round, and him thinking he was doing me the greatest favour in the +world.” + +“Well, she can't name the day unless you ask her,” said the other. “All +you've got to do is to keep quiet and not commit yourself. Be as cool as +you can, and, just before she comes home, you go off to London on +business and stay there as long as possible.” + +Mr. Clarkson carried out his instructions to the letter, and Mrs. Phipps, +returning home at the end of her visit, learned that he had left for +London three days before, leaving the geraniums and birds to the care of +Mr. Smithson. From the hands of that unjust steward she received two +empty bird-cages, together with a detailed account of the manner in which +the occupants had effected their escape, and a bullfinch that seemed to +be suffering from torpid liver. The condition of the geraniums was +ascribed to worms in the pots, frost, and premature decay. + +“They go like it sometimes,” said Mr. Smithson, “and when they do nothing +will save 'em.” + +Mrs. Phipps thanked him. “It's very kind of you to take so much +trouble,” she said, quietly; “some people would have lost the cages too +while they were about it.” + +“I did my best,” said Mr. Smithson, in a surly voice. + +“I know you did,” said Mrs. Phipps, thoughtfully, “and I am sure I am +much obliged to you. If there is anything of yours I can look after at +any time I shall be only too pleased. When did you say Mr. Clarkson was +coming back?” + +“He don't know,” said Mr. Smithson, promptly. “He might be away a month; +and then, again, he might be away six. It all depends. You know what +business is.” + +“It's very thoughtful of him,” said Mrs. Phipps. “Very.” + +“Thoughtful!” repeated Mr. Smithson. + +“He has gone away for a time out of consideration for me,” said the +widow. “As things are, it is a little bit awkward for us to meet much at +present.” + +“I don't think he's gone away for that at all,” said the other, bluntly. + +Mrs. Phipps shook her head. “Ah, you don't know him as well as I do,” + she said, fondly. “He has gone away on my account, I feel sure.” + +Mr. Smithson screwed his lips together and remained silent. + +“When he feels that it is right and proper for him to come back,” pursued +Mrs. Phipps, turning her eyes upwards, “he will come. He has left his +comfortable home just for my sake, and I shall not forget it.” + +Mr. Smithson coughed-a short, dry cough, meant to convey incredulity. + +“I shall not do anything to this house till he comes back,” said Mrs. +Phipps. “I expect he would like to have a voice in it. He always used +to admire it and say how comfortable it was. Well, well, we never know +what is before us.” + +Mr. Smithson repeated the substance of the interview to Mr. Clarkson by +letter, and in the lengthy correspondence that followed kept him posted +as to the movements of Mrs. Phipps. By dint of warnings and entreaties +he kept the bridegroom-elect in London for three months. By that time +Little Molton was beginning to talk. + +“They're beginning to see how the land lays,” said Mr. Smithson, on the +evening of his friend's return, “and if you keep quiet and do as I tell +you she'll begin to see it too. As I said before, she can't name the day +till you ask her.” + +Mr. Clarkson agreed, and the following morning, when he called upon Mrs. +Phipps at her request, his manner was so distant that she attributed it +to ill-health following business worries and the atmosphere of London. +In the front parlour Mr. Digson, a small builder and contractor, was busy +whitewashing. + +“I thought we might as well get on with that,” said Mrs. Phipps; “there +is only one way of doing whitewashing, and the room has got to be done. +To-morrow Mr. Digson will bring up some papers, and, if you'll come +round, you can help me choose.” + +Mr. Clarkson hesitated. “Why not choose 'em yourself?” he said at last. + +“Just what I told her,” said Mr. Digson, stroking his black beard. +“What'll please you will be sure to please him, I says; and if it don't +it ought to.” + +Mr. Clarkson started. “Perhaps you could help her choose,” he said, +sharply. + +Mr. Digson came down from his perch. “Just what I said,” he replied. +“If Mrs. Phipps will let me advise her, I'll make this house so she won't +know it before I've done with it.” + +“Mr. Digson has been very kind,” said Mrs. Phipps, reproachfully. + +“Not at all, ma'am,” said the builder, softly. “Anything I can do to +make you happy or comfortable will be a pleasure to me.” + +Mr. Clarkson started again, and an odd idea sent his blood dancing. +Digson was a widower; Mrs. Phipps was a widow. Could anything be more +suitable or desirable? + +“Better let him choose,” he said. “After all, he ought to be a good +judge.” + +Mrs. Phipps, after a faint protest, gave way, and Mr. Digson, smiling +broadly, mounted his perch again. + +Mr. Clarkson's first idea was to consult Mr. Smithson; then he resolved +to wait upon events. The idea was fantastic to begin with, but, if +things did take such a satisfactory turn, he could not help reflecting +that it would not be due to any efforts on the part of Mr. Smithson, and +he would no longer be under any testamentary obligations to that +enterprising gentleman. + +By the end of a week he was jubilant. A child could have told Mr. +Digson's intentions--and Mrs. Phipps was anything but a child. Mr. +Clarkson admitted cheerfully that Mr. Digson was a younger and +better-looking man than himself--a more suitable match in every way. +And, so far as he could judge, Mrs. Phipps seemed to think so. At any +rate, she had ceased to make the faintest allusion to any tie between +them. He left her one day painting a door, while the attentive Digson +guided the brush, and walked homewards smiling. + +“Morning!” said a voice behind him. + +“Morning, Bignell,” said Mr. Clarkson. + +“When--when is it to be?” inquired his friend, walking beside him. + +Mr. Clarkson frowned. “When is what to be?” he demanded, disagreeably. + +Mr. Bignell lowered his voice. “You'll lose her if you ain't careful,” + he said. “Mark my words. Can't you see Digson's little game?” + +Mr. Clarkson shrugged his shoulders. + +“He's after her money,” said the other, with a cautious glance around. + +“Money?” said the other, with an astonished laugh. “Why, she hasn't got +any.” + + +[Illustration: “She'll be riding in her carriage and pair in six months”] + + +“Oh, all right,” said Mr. Bignell. “You know best of course. I was just +giving you the tip, but if you know better--why, there's nothing more to +be said. She'll be riding in her carriage and pair in six months, +anyhow; the richest woman in Little Molton.” + +Mr. Clarkson stopped short and eyed him in perplexity. + +“Digson got a bit sprung one night and told me,” said Mr. Bignell. “She +don't know it herself yet--uncle on her mother's side in America. She +might know at any moment.” + +“But--but how did Digson know?” inquired the astonished Mr. Clarkson. + +“He wouldn't tell me,” was the reply. “But it's good enough for him. +What do you think he's after? Her? And mind, don't let on to a soul +that I told you.” + +He walked on, leaving Mr. Clarkson standing in a dazed condition in the +centre of the foot-path. Recovering himself by an effort, he walked +slowly away, and, after prowling about for some time in an aimless +fashion, made his way back to Mrs. Phipps's house. + +He emerged an hour later an engaged man, with the date of the wedding +fixed. With jaunty steps he walked round and put up the banns, and then, +with the air of a man who has completed a successful stroke of business, +walked homewards. + +Little Molton is a small town and news travels fast, but it did not +travel faster than Mr. Smithson as soon as he had heard it. He burst +into Mr. Clarkson's room like the proverbial hurricane, and, gasping for +breath, leaned against the table and pointed at him an incriminating +finger. + +“You you've been running,” said Mr. Clarkson, uneasily. + +“What--what--what do you--mean by it?” gasped Mr. Smithson. “After all +my trouble. After our--bargain.” + +“I altered my mind,” said Mr. Clarkson, with dignity. + +“Pah!” said the other. + +“Just in time,” said Mr. Clarkson, speaking rapidly. “Another day and I +believe I should ha' been too late. It took me pretty near an hour to +talk her over. Said I'd been neglecting her, and all that sort of thing; +said that she was beginning to think I didn't want her. As hard a job as +ever I had in my life.” + +“But you didn't want her,” said the amazed Mr. Smithson. “You told me +so.” + +“You misunderstood me,” said Mr. Clarkson, coughing. “You jump at +conclusions.” + +Mr. Smithson sat staring at him. “I heard,” he said at last, with an +effort... “I heard that Digson was paying her attentions.” + +Mr. Clarkson spoke without thought. “Ha, he was only after her money,” + he said, severely. “Good heavens! What's the matter?” + +Mr. Smithson, who had sprung to his feet, made no reply, but stood for +some time incapable of speech. + +“What--is--the--matter?” repeated Mr. Clarkson. “Ain't you well?” + +Mr. Smithson swayed a little, and sank slowly back into his chair again. + +“Room's too hot,” said his astonished host. + +Mr. Smithson, staring straight before him, nodded. + +“As I was saying,” resumed Mr. Clarkson, in the low tones of confidence, +“Digson was after her money. Of course her money don't make any +difference to me, although, perhaps, I may be able to do something for +friends like you. It's from an uncle in America on her mother's--” + +Mr. Smithson made a strange moaning noise, and, snatching his hat from +the table, clapped it on his head and made for the door. Mr. Clarkson +flung his arms around him and dragged him back by main force. + +“What are you carrying on like that for?” he demanded. “What do you mean +by it?” + +“Fancy!” returned Mr. Smithson, with intense bitterness. “I thought +Digson was the biggest fool in the place, and I find I've made a +mistake. So have you. Good-night.” + +He opened the door and dashed out. Mr. Clarkson, with a strange sinking +at his heart, watched him up the road. + + + + + + +THE GUARDIAN ANGEL + +[Illustration: “The lodger was standing at the foot o' Ginger's bed, +going through 'is pockets.”] + +The night-watchman shook his head. “I never met any of these phil-- +philantherpists, as you call 'em,” he said, decidedly. “If I 'ad they +wouldn't 'ave got away from me in a hurry, I can tell you. I don't say I +don't believe in 'em; I only say I never met any of 'em. If people do +you a kindness it's generally because they want to get something out of +you; same as a man once--a perfick stranger--wot stood me eight +'arf-pints becos I reminded 'im of his dead brother, and then borrered +five bob off of me. + +“O' course, there must be some kind-'arted people in the world--all men +who get married must 'ave a soft spot somewhere, if it's only in the +'ead--but they don't often give things away. Kind-'artedness is often +only another name for artfulness, same as Sam Small's kindness to Ginger +Dick and Peter Russet. + +“It started with a row. They was just back from a v'y'ge and 'ad taken a +nice room together in Wapping, and for the fust day or two, wot with +'aving plenty o' money to spend and nothing to do, they was like three +brothers. Then, in a little, old-fashioned public-'ouse down Poplar way, +one night they fell out over a little joke Ginger played on Sam. + +“It was the fust drink that evening, and Sam 'ad just ordered a pot o' +beer and three glasses, when Ginger winked at the landlord and offered to +bet Sam a level 'arf-dollar that 'e wouldn't drink off that pot o' beer +without taking breath. The landlord held the money, and old Sam, with a +'appy smile on 'is face, 'ad just taken up the mug, when he noticed the +odd way in which they was all watching him. Twice he took the mug up and +put it down agin without starting and asked 'em wot the little game was, +but they on'y laughed. He took it up the third time and started, and he +'ad just got about 'arf-way through when Ginger turns to the landlord and +ses-- + +“'Did you catch it in the mouse-trap,' he ses, 'or did it die of poison?' + +“Pore Sam started as though he 'ad been shot, and, arter getting rid of +the beer in 'is mouth, stood there 'olding the mug away from 'im and +making such 'orrible faces that they was a'most frightened. + +“'Wot's the matter with him? I've never seen 'im carry on like that over +a drop of beer before,' ses Ginger, staring. + +“'He usually likes it,' ses Peter Russet. + +“'Not with a dead mouse in it,' ses Sam, trembling with passion. + +“'Mouse?' ses Ginger, innercent-like. 'Mouse? Why, I didn't say it was +in your beer, Sam. Wotever put that into your 'ead?' + +“'And made you lose your bet,' ses Peter. + +“Then old Sam see 'ow he'd been done, and the way he carried on when the +landlord gave Ginger the 'arf-dollar, and said it was won fair and +honest, was a disgrace. He 'opped about that bar 'arf crazy, until at +last the landlord and 'is brother, and a couple o' soldiers, and a +helpless cripple wot wos selling matches, put 'im outside and told 'im to +stop there. + +“He stopped there till Ginger and Peter came out, and then, drawing +'imself up in a proud way, he told 'em their characters and wot he +thought about 'em. And he said 'e never wanted to see wot they called +their faces agin as long as he lived. + +“'I've done with you,' he ses, 'both of you, for ever.' + +“'All right,' ses Ginger moving off. 'Ta-ta for the present. Let's 'ope +he'll come 'ome in a better temper, Peter.' + +“'Ome?' ses Sam, with a nasty laugh, “'ome? D'ye think I'm coming back to +breathe the same air as you, Ginger? D'ye think I want to be +suffocated?' + +“He held his 'ead up very 'igh, and, arter looking at them as if they was +dirt, he turned round and walked off with his nose in the air to spend +the evening by 'imself. + +“His temper kept him up for a time, but arter a while he 'ad to own up to +'imself that it was very dull, and the later it got the more he thought +of 'is nice warm bed. The more 'e thought of it the nicer and warmer it +seemed, and, arter a struggle between his pride and a few 'arf-pints, he +got 'is good temper back agin and went off 'ome smiling. + +“The room was dark when 'e got there, and, arter standing listening a +moment to Ginger and Peter snoring, he took off 'is coat and sat down on +'is bed to take 'is boots off. He only sat down for a flash, and then he +bent down and hit his 'ead an awful smack against another 'ead wot 'ad +just started up to see wot it was sitting on its legs. + +“He thought it was Peter or Ginger in the wrong bed at fust, but afore he +could make it out Ginger 'ad got out of 'is own bed and lit the candle. +Then 'e saw it was a stranger in 'is bed, and without saying a word he +laid 'old of him by the 'air and began dragging him out. + +“'Here, stop that!' ses Ginger catching hold of 'im. 'Lend a hand 'ere, +Peter.' + +“Peter lent a hand and screwed it into the back o' Sam's neck till he +made 'im leave go, and then the stranger, a nasty-looking little chap +with a yellow face and a little dark moustache, told Sam wot he'd like to +do to him. + +“'Who are you?' ses Sam, 'and wot are you a-doing of in my bed?' + +“'It's our lodger,' ses Ginger. + +“'Your wot?' ses Sam, 'ardly able to believe his ears. + +“'Our lodger,' ses Peter Russet. 'We've let 'im the bed you said you +didn't want for sixpence a night. Now you take yourself off.' + +“Old Sam couldn't speak for a minute; there was no words that he knew bad +enough, but at last he licks 'is lips and he ses, 'I've paid for that bed +up to Saturday, and I'm going to have it.' + +“He rushed at the lodger, but Peter and Ginger got hold of 'im agin and +put 'im down on the floor and sat on 'im till he promised to be'ave +himself. They let 'im get up at last, and then, arter calling themselves +names for their kind-'artedness, they said if he was very good he might +sleep on the floor. + +“Sam looked at 'em for a moment, and then, without a word, he took off +'is boots and put on 'is coat and went up in a corner to be out of the +draught, but, wot with the cold and 'is temper, and the hardness of the +floor, it was a long time afore 'e could get to sleep. He dropped off at +last, and it seemed to 'im that he 'ad only just closed 'is eyes when it +was daylight. He opened one eye and was just going to open the other +when he saw something as made 'im screw 'em both up sharp and peep +through 'is eyelashes. The lodger was standing at the foot o' Ginger's +bed, going through 'is pockets, and then, arter waiting a moment and +'aving a look round, he went through Peter Russet's. Sam lay still mouse +while the lodger tip-toed out o' the room with 'is boots in his 'and, and +then, springing up, follered him downstairs. + +“He caught 'im up just as he 'ad undone the front door, and, catching +hold of 'im by the back o' the neck, shook 'im till 'e was tired. Then +he let go of 'im and, holding his fist under 'is nose, told 'im to hand +over the money, and look sharp about it. + +“'Ye--ye--yes, sir,' ses the lodger, who was 'arf choked. + +“Sam held out his 'and, and the lodger, arter saying it was only a little +bit o' fun on 'is part, and telling 'im wot a fancy he 'ad taken to 'im +from the fust, put Ginger's watch and chain into his 'ands and eighteen +pounds four shillings and sevenpence. Sam put it into his pocket, and, +arter going through the lodger's pockets to make sure he 'adn't forgot +anything, opened the door and flung 'im into the street. He stopped on +the landing to put the money in a belt he was wearing under 'is clothes, +and then 'e went back on tip-toe to 'is corner and went to sleep with one +eye open and the 'appiest smile that had been on his face for years. + +“He shut both eyes when he 'eard Ginger wake up, and he slept like a +child through the 'orrible noise that Peter and Ginger see fit to make +when they started to put their clothes on. He got tired of it afore they +did, and, arter opening 'is eyes slowly and yawning, he asked Ginger wot +he meant by it. + +“'You'll wake your lodger up if you ain't careful, making that noise,' he +ses. 'Wot's the matter?' + +“'Sam,' ses Ginger, in a very different voice to wot he 'ad used the +night before, 'Sam, old pal, he's taken all our money and bolted.' + +“'Wot?' ses Sam, sitting up on the floor and blinking, 'Nonsense!' + +“'Robbed me and Peter,' ses Ginger, in a trembling voice; 'taken every +penny we've got, and my watch and chain.' + +“'You're dreaming,' ses Sam. + +“'I wish I was,' ses Ginger. + +“'But surely, Ginger,' ses Sam, standing up, 'surely you didn't take a +lodger without a character?' + +“'He seemed such a nice chap,' ses Peter. 'We was only saying wot a much +nicer chap he was than--than----' + +“'Go on, Peter,' ses Sam, very perlite. + +“'Than he might ha' been,' ses Ginger, very quick. + +“'Well, I've 'ad a wonderful escape,' ses Sam. 'If it hadn't ha' been +for sleeping in my clothes I suppose he'd ha' 'ad my money as well.' + +“He felt in 'is pockets anxious-like, then he smiled, and stood there +letting 'is money fall through 'is fingers into his pocket over and over +agin. + +“'Pore chap,' he ses; 'pore chap; p'r'aps he'd got a starving wife and +family. Who knows? It ain't for us to judge 'im, Ginger.' + +“He stood a little while longer chinking 'is money, and when he took off +his coat to wash Ginger Dick poured the water out for im and Peter Russet +picked up the soap, which 'ad fallen on the floor. Then they started +pitying themselves, looking very 'ard at the back of old Sam while they +did it. + +“'I s'pose we've got to starve, Peter,' ses Ginger, in, a sad voice. + +“'Looks like it,' ses Peter, dressing hisself very slowly. + +“'There's nobody'll mourn for me, that's one comfort,' ses Ginger. + +“'Or me,' ses Peter. + +“'P'r'aps Sam'll miss us a bit,' ses Ginger, grinding 'is teeth as old +Sam went on washing as if he was deaf. 'He'ss the only real pal we ever +'ad.' + +“'Wot are you talking about?' ses Sam, turning round with the soap in +his eyes, and feeling for the towel. 'Wot d'ye want to starve for? Why +don't you get a ship?' + +“'I thought we was all going to sign on in the Cheaspeake agin, Sam,' ses +Ginger, very mild. + +“'She won't be ready for sea for pretty near three weeks,' ses Sam. 'You +know that.' + +“'P'r'aps Sam would lend us a trifle to go on with, Ginger,' ses Peter +Russet. 'Just enough to keep body and soul together, so as we can hold +out and 'ave the pleasure of sailing with 'im agin.' + +“'P'r'aps he wouldn't,' ses Sam, afore Ginger could open his mouth. +'I've just got about enough to last myself; I 'aven't got any to lend. +Sailormen wot turns on their best friends and makes them sleep on the +cold 'ard floor while their new pal is in his bed don't get money lent to +'em. My neck is so stiff it creaks every time I move it, and I've got +the rheumatics in my legs something cruel.' + +“He began to 'um a song, and putting on 'is cap went out to get some +brekfuss. He went to a little eating-'ouse near by, where they was in +the 'abit of going, and 'ad just started on a plate of eggs and bacon +when Ginger Dick and Peter came into the place with a pocket-'ankercher +of 'is wot they 'ad found in the fender. + +“'We thought you might want it, Sam,' ses Peter. + +“'So we brought it along,' ses Ginger. 'I 'ope you're enjoying of your +brekfuss, Sam.' + +“Sam took the 'ankercher and thanked 'em very perlite, and arter standing +there for a minute or two as if they wanted to say something they +couldn't remember, they sheered off. When Sam left the place +'arf-an-hour afterwards they was still hanging about, and as Sam passed +Ginger asked 'im if he was going for a walk. + +“'Walk?' ses Sam. 'Cert'nly not. I'm going to bed; I didn't 'ave a good +night's rest like you and your lodger.' + +“He went back 'ome, and arter taking off 'is coat and boots got into bed +and slept like a top till one o'clock, when he woke up to find Ginger +shaking 'im by the shoulders. + +“'Wot's the matter?' he ses. 'Wot are you up to?' + +“'It's dinner-time,' ses Ginger. 'I thought p'r'aps you'd like to know, +in case you missed it.' + +“'You leave me alone,' ses Sam, cuddling into the clothes agin. 'I don't +want no dinner. You go and look arter your own dinners.' + +“He stayed in bed for another 'arf-hour, listening to Peter and Ginger +telling each other in loud whispers 'ow hungry they was, and then he got +up and put 'is things on and went to the door. + +“'I'm going to get a bit o' dinner,' he ses. 'And mind, I've got my +pocket 'ankercher.' + +“He went out and 'ad a steak and onions and a pint o' beer, but, although +he kept looking up sudden from 'is plate, he didn't see Peter or Ginger. +It spoilt 'is dinner a bit, but arter he got outside 'e saw them standing +at the corner, and, pretending not to see them, he went off for a walk +down the Mile End Road. + +[Illustration: “'We thought you might want it, Sam,' ses Peter”] + +“He walked as far as Bow with them follering'im, and then he jumped on a +bus and rode back as far as Whitechapel. There was no sign of 'em when +he got off, and, feeling a bit lonesome, he stood about looking in +shop-windows until 'e see them coming along as hard as they could come. + +“'Why, halloa!' he ses. 'Where did you spring from?' + +“'We--we--we've been--for a bit of a walk,' ses Ginger Dick, puffing and +blowing like a grampus. + +“'To-keep down the 'unger,' ses Peter Russet. + +“Old Sam looked at 'em very stern for a moment, then he beckoned 'em to +foller 'im, and, stopping at a little public-'ouse, he went in and +ordered a pint o' bitter. + +“'And give them two pore fellers a crust o' bread and cheese and +'arf-a-pint of four ale each,' he ses to the barmaid. + +“Ginger and Peter looked at each other, but they was so hungry they +didn't say a word; they just stood waiting. + +“'Put that inside you my pore fellers,' ses Sam, with a oily smile. 'I +can't bear to see people suffering for want o' food,' he ses to the +barmaid, as he chucked down a sovereign on the counter. + +“The barmaid, a very nice gal with black 'air and her fingers covered all +over with rings, said that it did 'im credit, and they stood there +talking about tramps and beggars and such-like till Peter and Ginger +nearly choked. He stood there watching 'em and smoking a threepenny +cigar, and when they 'ad finished he told the barmaid to give 'em a +sausage-roll each, and went off. + +“Peter and Ginger snatched up their sausage-rolls and follered 'im, and +at last Ginger swallowed his pride and walked up to 'im and asked 'im to +lend them some money. + +“'You'll get it back agin,' he ses. 'You know that well enough.' + +“'Cert'nly not,' ses Sam; 'and I'm surprised at you asking. Why, a child +could rob you. It's 'ard enough as it is for a pore man like me to 'ave +to keep a couple o' hulking sailormen, but I'm not going to give you +money to chuck away on lodgers. No more sleeping on the floor for me! +Now I don't want none o' your langwidge, and I don't want you follering +me like a couple o' cats arter a meat-barrer. I shall be 'aving a cup o' +tea at Brown's coffee-shop by and by, and if you're there at five sharp +I'll see wot I can do for you. Wot did you call me?' + +“Ginger told 'im three times, and then Peter Russet dragged 'im away. +They turned up outside Brown's at a quarter to five, and at ten past six +Sam Small strolled up smoking a cigar, and, arter telling them that he +'ad forgot all about 'em, took 'em inside and paid for their teas. He +told Mr. Brown 'e was paying for 'em, and 'e told the gal wot served 'em +'e was paying for 'em, and it was all pore Ginger could do to stop +'imself from throwing his plate in 'is face. + +“Sam went off by 'imself, and arter walking about all the evening without +a ha'penny in their pockets, Ginger Dick and Peter went off 'ome to bed +and went to sleep till twelve o'clock, when Sam came in and woke 'em up +to tell 'em about a music-'all he 'ad been to, and 'ow many pints he had +'ad. He sat up in bed till past one o'clock talking about 'imself, and +twice Peter Russet woke Ginger up to listen and got punched for 'is +trouble. + +“They both said they'd get a ship next morning, and then old Sam turned +round and wouldn't 'ear of it. The airs he gave 'imself was awful. He +said he'd tell 'em when they was to get a ship, and if they went and did +things without asking 'im he'd let 'em starve. + +“He kept 'em with 'im all that day for fear of losing 'em and having to +give 'em their money when 'e met 'em agin instead of spending it on 'em +and getting praised for it. They 'ad their dinner with 'im at Brown's, +and nothing they could do pleased him. He spoke to Peter Russet out loud +about making a noise while he was eating, and directly arterwards he told +Ginger to use his pocket 'ankercher. Pore Ginger sat there looking at +'im and swelling and swelling until he nearly bust, and Sam told 'im if +he couldn't keep 'is temper when people was trying to do 'im a kindness +he'd better go and get somebody else to keep him. + +“He took 'em to a music-'all that night, but he spoilt it all for 'em by +taking 'em into the little public-'ouse in Whitechapel Road fust and +standing 'em a drink. He told the barmaid 'e was keeping 'em till they +could find a job, and arter she 'ad told him he was too soft-'arted and +would only be took advantage of, she brought another barmaid up to look +at 'em and ask 'em wot they could do, and why they didn't do it. + +“Sam served 'em like that for over a week, and he 'ad so much praise from +Mr. Brown and other people that it nearly turned his 'ead. For once in +his life he 'ad it pretty near all 'is own way. Twice Ginger Dick +slipped off and tried to get a ship and came back sulky and hungry, and +once Peter Russet sprained his thumb trying to get a job at the docks. + +“They gave it up then and kept to Sam like a couple o' shadders, only +giving 'im back-answers when they felt as if something 'ud give way +inside if they didn't. For the fust time in their lives they began to +count the days till their boat was ready for sea. Then something +happened. + +“They was all coming 'ome late one night along the Minories, when Ginger +Dick gave a shout and, suddenly bolting up a little street arter a man +that 'ad turned up there, fust of all sent 'im flying with a heavy punch +of 'is fist, and then knelt on 'im. + +“'Now then Ginger,' ses Sam bustling up with Peter Russet, 'wot's all +this? Wot yer doing?' + +“'It's the thief,' ses Ginger. 'It's our lodger. You keep still!' he +ses shaking the man. 'D'ye hear?' + +“Peter gave a shout of joy, and stood by to help. + +“'Nonsense!' ses old Sam, turning pale. 'You've been drinking, Ginger. +This comes of standing you 'arf-pints.' + +“'It's him right enough,' ses Ginger. 'I'd know 'is ugly face anywhere.' + +“'You come off 'ome at once,' ses Sam, very sharp, but his voice +trembling. 'At once. D'ye hear me?' + +“'Fetch a policeman, Peter,' ses Ginger. + +“'Let the pore feller go, I tell you,' ses Sam, stamping his foot. ''Ow +would you like to be locked up? 'Ow would you like to be torn away from +your wife and little ones? 'Ow would you--' + +“'Fetch a policeman, Peter,' ses Ginger agin. 'D'ye hear?' + +“'Don't do that, guv'nor,' ses the lodger. 'You got your money back. +Wot's the good o' putting me away?' + +“'Got our wot back?' ses Ginger, shaking 'im agin. 'Don't you try and be +funny with me, else I'll tear you into little pieces.' + +“'But he took it back,' ses the man, trying to sit up and pointing at +Sam. 'He follered me downstairs and took it all away from me. Your +ticker as well.' + +“'Wot?' ses Ginger and Peter both together. + +“Strue as I'm 'ere,' ses the lodger. 'You turn 'is pockets out and see. +Look out! He's going off!' + +“Ginger turned his 'ead just in time to see old Sam nipping round the +corner. He pulled the lodger up like a flash, and, telling Peter to take +hold of the other side of him, they set off arter Sam. + +“'Little-joke-o' mine-Ginger,' ses Sam, when they caught 'im. 'I was +going to tell you about it to-night. It ain't often I get the chance of +a joke agin you Ginger; you're too sharp for a old man like me.' + +“Ginger Dick didn't say anything. He kept 'old o' Sam's arm with one +hand and the lodger's neck with the other, and marched 'em off to his +lodgings. + +“He shut the door when 'e got in, and arter Peter 'ad lit the candle they +took hold o' Sam and went through 'im, and arter trying to find pockets +where he 'adn't got any, they took off 'is belt and found Ginger's watch, +seventeen pounds five shillings, and a few coppers. + +“'We 'ad over nine quid each, me and Peter,' ses Ginger. 'Where's the +rest?' + +“'It's all I've got left,' ses Sam; 'every ha'penny.' + +“He 'ad to undress and even take 'is boots off afore they'd believe 'im, +and then Ginger took 'is watch and he ses to Peter, 'Lemme see; 'arf of +seventeen pounds is eight pounds ten; 'arf of five shillings is +'arf-a-crown; and 'arf of fourpence is twopence.' + +“'What about me Ginger old pal?' ses Sam, in a kind voice. 'We must +divide it into threes.' + +“'Threes?' ses Ginger, staring at'im. 'Whaffor?' + +“''Cos part of it's mine,' ses Sam, struggling 'ard to be perlite. 'I've +paid for everything for the last ten days, ain't I?' + +“'Yes,' ses Ginger. 'You 'ave, and I thank you for it.' + +“'So do I,' ses Peter Russet. 'Hearty I do.' + +“'It was your kind-'artedness,' ses Ginger, grinning like mad. 'You gave +it to us, and we wouldn't dream of giving it to you back.' + +“'Nothin' o' the kind,' ses Sam, choking. + +“'Oh, yes you did,' ses Ginger, 'and you didn't forget to tell people +neither. You told everybody. Now it's our turn.' + +“He opened the door and kicked the lodger out. Leastways, he would 'ave +kicked 'im, but the chap was too quick for 'im. And then 'e came back, +and, putting his arm round Peter's waist, danced a waltz round the room +with 'im, while pore old Sam got on to his bed to be out of the way. +They danced for nearly 'arf-an-hour, and then they undressed and sat on +Peter's bed and talked. They talked in whispers at fust, but at last Sam +'eard Peter say:-- + +“'Threepence for 'is brekfuss; sevenpence for 'is dinner; threepence for +'is tea; penny for beer and a penny for bacca. 'Ow much is that, +Ginger?' + +“'One bob,' ses Ginger. + +“Peter counted up to 'imself. 'I make it more than that, old pal,' he +ses, when he 'ad finished. + +“'Do you?' ses Ginger, getting up. 'Well, he won't; not if he counts it +twenty times over he won't. Good-night, Peter. 'Appy dreams.'” + + + + +DUAL CONTROL + +“Never say 'die,' Bert,” said Mr. Culpepper, kindly; “I like you, and so +do most other people who know what's good for 'em; and if Florrie don't +like you she can keep single till she does.” + +Mr. Albert Sharp thanked him. + +“Come in more oftener,” said Mr. Culpepper. “If she don't know a steady +young man when she sees him, it's her mistake.” + +“Nobody could be steadier than what I am,” sighed Mr. Sharp. + +Mr. Culpepper nodded. “The worst of it is, girls don't like steady young +men,” he said, rumpling his thin grey hair; “that's the silly part of +it.” + +“But you was always steady, and Mrs. Culpepper married you,” said the +young man. + +Mr. Culpepper nodded again. “She thought I was, and that came to the +same thing,” he said, composedly. “And it ain't for me to say, but she +had an idea that I was very good-looking in them days. I had chestnutty +hair. She burnt a piece of it only the other day she'd kept for thirty +years.” + +[Illustration: A very faint squeeze in return decided him] + +“Burnt it? What for?” inquired Mr. Sharp. + +“Words,” said the other, lowering his voice. “When I want one thing +nowadays she generally wants another; and the things she wants ain't the +things I want.” + +Mr. Sharp shook his head and sighed again. + +“You ain't talkative enough for Florrie, you know,” said Mr. Culpepper, +regarding him. + +“I can talk all right as a rule,” retorted Mr. Sharp. “You ought to hear +me at the debating society; but you can't talk to a girl who doesn't talk +back.” + +“You're far too humble,” continued the other. “You should cheek her a +bit now and then. Let 'er see you've got some spirit. Chaff 'er.” + +“That's no good,” said the young man, restlessly. “I've tried it. Only +the other day I called her 'a saucy little kipper,' and the way she went +on, anybody would have thought I'd insulted her. Can't see a joke, I +s'pose. Where is she now?” + +“Upstairs,” was the reply. + +“That's because I'm here,” said Mr. Sharp. “If it had been Jack Butler +she'd have been down fast enough.” + +“It couldn't be him,” said Mr. Culpepper, “because I won't have 'im in +the house. I've told him so; I've told her so, and I've told 'er aunt +so. And if she marries without my leave afore she's thirty she loses the +seven hundred pounds 'er father left her. You've got plenty of time--ten +years.” + +Mr. Sharp, sitting with his hands between his knees, gazed despondently +at the floor. “There's a lot o' girls would jump at me,” he remarked. +“I've only got to hold up my little finger and they'd jump.” + +“That's because they've got sense,” said Mr. Culpepper. “They've got the +sense to prefer steadiness and humdrumness to good looks and dash. A +young fellow like you earning thirty-two-and-six a week can do without +good looks, and if I've told Florrie so once I have told her fifty +times.” + +“Looks are a matter of taste,” said Mr. Sharp, morosely. “Some of them +girls I was speaking about just now--” + +“Yes, yes,” said Mr. Culpepper, hastily. “Now, look here; you go on a +different tack. Take a glass of ale like a man or a couple o' glasses; +smoke a cigarette or a pipe. Be like other young men. Cut a dash, and +don't be a namby-pamby. After you're married you can be as miserable as +you like.” + +Mr. Sharp, after a somewhat lengthy interval, thanked him. + +“It's my birthday next Wednesday,” continued Mr. Culpepper, regarding him +benevolently; “come round about seven, and I'll ask you to stay to +supper. That'll give you a chance. Anybody's allowed to step a bit over +the mark on birthdays, and you might take a glass or two and make a +speech, and be so happy and bright that they'd 'ardly know you. If you +want an excuse for calling, you could bring me a box of cigars for my +birthday.” + +“Or come in to wish you 'Many Happy Returns of the Day,'” said the +thrifty Mr. Sharp. + +“And don't forget to get above yourself,” said Mr. Culpepper, regarding +him sternly; “in a gentlemanly way, of course. Have as many glasses as +you like--there's no stint about me.” + +“If it ever comes off,” said Mr. Sharp, rising--“if I get her through +you, you shan't have reason to repent it. I'll look after that.” + +Mr. Culpepper, whose feelings were a trifle ruffled, said that he would +“look after it too.” He had a faint idea that, even from his own point +of view, he might have made a better selection for his niece's hand. + +Mr. Sharp smoked his first cigarette the following morning, and, +encouraged by the entire absence of any after-effects, purchased a pipe, +which was taken up by a policeman the same evening for obstructing the +public footpath in company with a metal tobacco-box three parts full. + +In the matter of ale he found less difficulty. Certainly the taste was +unpleasant, but, treated as medicine and gulped down quickly, it was +endurable. After a day or two he even began to be critical, and on +Monday evening went so far as to complain of its flatness to the +wide-eyed landlord of the “Royal George.” + +“Too much cellar-work,” he said, as he finished his glass and made for +the door. + +“Too much! 'Ere, come 'ere,” said the landlord, thickly. “I want to +speak to you.” + +The expert shook his head, and, passing out into, the street, changed +colour as he saw Miss Garland approaching. In a blundering fashion he +clutched at his hat and stammered out a “Good evening.” + +Miss Garland returned the greeting and, instead of passing on, stopped +and, with a friendly smile, held out her hand. Mr. Sharp shook it +convulsively. + +“You are just the man I want to see,” she exclaimed. “Aunt and I have +been talking about you all the afternoon.” + +Mr. Sharp said “Really!” + +“But I don't want uncle to see us,” pursued Miss Garland, in the low +tones of confidence. “Which way shall we go?” + +Mr. Sharp's brain reeled. All ways were alike to him in such company. +He walked beside her like a man in a dream. + +“We want to give him a lesson,” said the girl, presently. “A lesson that +he will remember.” + +“Him?” said the young man. + +“Uncle,” explained the girl. “It's a shocking thing, a wicked thing, to +try and upset a steady young man like you. Aunt is quite put out about +it, and I feel the same as she does.” + +“But,” gasped the astonished Mr. Sharp, “how did you?” + +“Aunt heard him,” said Miss Garland. “She was just going into the room +when she caught a word or two, and she stayed outside and listened. You +don't know what a lot she thinks of you.” + +Mr. Sharp's eyes opened wider than ever. “I thought she didn't like me,” + he said, slowly. + +“Good gracious!” said Miss Garland. “Whatever could have put such an +idea as that into your head? Of course, aunt isn't always going to let +uncle see that she agrees with him. Still, as if anybody could help--” + she murmured to herself. + +“Eh?” said the young man, in a trembling voice. + +“Nothing.” + +Miss Garland walked along with averted face; Mr. Sharp, his pulses +bounding, trod on air beside her. + +“I thought,” he said, at last “I thought that Jack Butler was a favourite +of hers?” + +“Jack Butler!” said the girl, in tones of scornful surprise. “The idea! +How blind men are; you're all alike, I think. You can't see two inches +in front of you. She's as pleased as possible that you are coming on +Wednesday; and so am--” + +Mr. Sharp caught his breath. “Yes?” he murmured. + +“Let's go down here,” said Miss Garland quickly; “down by the river. And +I'll tell you what we want you to do.” + +She placed her hand lightly on his arm, and Mr. Sharp, with a tremulous +smile, obeyed. The smile faded gradually as he listened, and an +expression of anxious astonishment took its place. He shook his head as +she proceeded, and twice ventured a faint suggestion that she was only +speaking in jest. Convinced at last, against his will, he walked on in +silent consternation. + +“But,” he said at last, as Miss Garland paused for breath, “your uncle +would never forgive me. He'd never let me come near the house again.” + +“Aunt will see to that,” said the girl, confidently. “But, of course, if +you don't wish to please me--” + +She turned away, and Mr. Sharp, plucking up spirit, ventured to take her +hand and squeeze it. A faint, a very faint, squeeze in return decided +him. + +“It will come all right afterwards,” said Miss Garland, “especially with +the hold it will give aunt over him.” + +“I hope so,” said the young man. “If not, I shall be far--farther off +than ever.” + +Miss Garland blushed and, turning her head, gazed steadily at the river. + +“Trust me,” she said at last. “Me and auntie.” + +Mr. Sharp said that so long as he pleased her nothing else mattered, and, +in the seventh heaven of delight, paced slowly along the towpath by her +side. + +“And you mustn't mind what auntie and I say to you,” said the girl, +continuing her instructions. “We must keep up appearances, you know; and +if we seem to be angry, you must remember we are only pretending.” + +Mr. Sharp, with a tender smile, said that he understood perfectly. + +“And now I had better go,” said Florrie, returning the smile. “Uncle +might see us together, or somebody else might see us and tell him. +Good-bye.” + +She shook hands and went off, stopping three times to turn and wave her +hand. In a state of bewildered delight Mr. Sharp continued his stroll, +rehearsing, as he went, the somewhat complicated and voluminous +instructions she had given him. + +By Wednesday evening he was part-perfect, and, in a state of mind divided +between nervousness and exaltation, set out for Mr. Culpepper's. He +found that gentleman, dressed in his best, sitting in an easy-chair with +his hands folded over a fancy waistcoat of startling design, and, placing +a small box of small cigars on his knees, wished him the usual “Happy +Returns.” The entrance of the ladies, who seemed as though they had just +come off the ice, interrupted Mr. Culpepper's thanks. + +“Getting spoiled, that's what I am,” he remarked, playfully. “See this +waistcoat? My old Aunt Elizabeth sent it this morning.” + +He leaned back in his chair and glanced down in warm approval. “The +missis gave me a pipe, and Florrie gave me half a pound of tobacco. And +I bought a bottle of port wine myself, for all of us.” + +He pointed to a bottle that stood on the supper-table, and, the ladies +retiring to the kitchen to bring in the supper, rose and placed chairs. +A piece of roast beef was placed before him, and, motioning Mr. Sharp to +a seat opposite Florrie, he began to carve. + +“Just a nice comfortable party,” he said, genially, as he finished. +“Help yourself to the ale, Bert.” + +Mr. Sharp, ignoring the surprise on the faces of the ladies, complied, +and passed the bottle to Mr. Culpepper. They drank to each other, and +again a flicker of surprise appeared on the faces of Mrs. Culpepper and +her niece. Mr. Culpepper, noticing it, shook his head waggishly at Mr. +Sharp. + +“He drinks it as if he likes it,” he remarked. + +“I do,” asserted Mr. Sharp, and, raising his glass, emptied it, and +resumed the attack on his plate. Mr. Culpepper unscrewed the top of +another bottle, and the reckless Mr. Sharp, after helping himself, made a +short and feeling speech, in which he wished Mr. Culpepper long life and +happiness. “If you ain't happy with Mrs. Culpepper,” he concluded, +gallantly, “you ought to be.” + +Mr. Culpepper nodded and went on eating in silence until, the keen edge +of his appetite having been taken off, he put down his knife and fork and +waxed sentimental. + +“Been married over thirty years,” he said, slowly, with a glance at his +wife, “and never regretted it.” + +“Who hasn't?” inquired Mr. Sharp. + +“Why, me,” returned the surprised Mr. Culpepper. + +Mr. Sharp, who had just raised his glass, put it down again and smiled. +It was a faint smile, but it seemed to affect his host unfavourably. + +“What are you smiling at?” he demanded. + +“Thoughts,” said Mr. Sharp, exchanging a covert glance with Florrie. +“Something you told me the other day.” + +Mr. Culpepper looked bewildered. “I'll give you a penny for them +thoughts,” he said, with an air of jocosity. + +Mr. Sharp shook his head. “Money couldn't buy 'em,” he said, with owlish +solemnity, “espec--especially after the good supper you're giving me.” + +“Bert,” said Mr. Culpepper, uneasily, as his wife sat somewhat erect +“Bert, it's my birthday, and I don't grudge nothing to nobody; but go +easy with the beer. You ain't used to it, you know.” + +“What's the matter with the beer?” inquired Mr. Sharp. “It tastes all +right--what there is of it.” + +“It ain't the beer; it's you,” explained Mr. Culpepper. + +Mr. Sharp stared at him. “Have I said anything I oughtn't to?” he +inquired. + +Mr. Culpepper shook his head, and, taking up a fork and spoon, began to +serve a plum-pudding that Miss Garland had just placed on the table. + +“What was it you said I was to be sure and not tell Mrs. Culpepper?” + inquired Mr. Sharp, dreamily. “I haven't said that, have I?” + +“No!” snapped the harassed Mr. Culpepper, laying down the fork and spoon +and regarding him ferociously. “I mean, there wasn't anything. I mean, +I didn't say so. You're raving.” + +“If I did say it, I'm sorry,” persisted Mr. Sharp. “I can't say fairer +than that, can I?” + +“You're all right,” said Mr. Culpepper, trying, but in vain, to exchange +a waggish glance with his wife. + +“I didn't say it?” inquired Mr. Sharp. + +“No,” said Mr. Culpepper, still smiling in a wooden fashion. + +“I mean the other thing?” said Mr. Sharp, in a thrilling whisper. + +“Look here,” exclaimed the overwrought Mr. Culpepper; “why not eat your +pudding, and leave off talking nonsense? Nobody's listening to you.” + +“Speak for yourself,” said his wife, tartly. “I like to hear Mr. Sharp +talk. What was it he told you not to tell me?” + +Mr. Sharp eyed her mistily. “I--I can't tell you,” he said, slowly. + +“Why not?” asked Mrs. Culpepper, coaxingly. + +“Because it--it would make your hair stand on end,” said the industrious +Mr. Sharp. + +“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Culpepper, sharply. + +“He said it would,” said Mr. Sharp, indicating his host with his spoon, +“and he ought--to know-- Who's that kicking me under the table?” + +Mr. Culpepper, shivering with wrath and dread, struggled for speech. +“You'd better get home, Bert,” he said at last. “You're not yourself. +There's nobody kicking you under the table. You don't know what you are +saying. You've been dreaming things. I never said anything of the +kind.” + +“Memory's gone,” said Mr. Sharp, shaking his head at him. “Clean gone. +Don't you remember--” + +“NO!” roared Mr. Culpepper. + +Mr. Sharp sat blinking at him, but his misgivings vanished before the +glances of admiring devotion which Miss Garland was sending in his +direction. He construed them rightly not only as a reward, but as an +incentive to further efforts. In the midst of an impressive silence Mrs. +Culpepper collected the plates and, producing a dish of fruit from the +sideboard, placed it upon the table. + +“Help yourself, Mr. Sharp,” she said, pushing the bottle of port towards +him. + +Mr. Sharp complied, having first, after several refusals, put a little +into the ladies' glasses, and a lot on the tablecloth near Mr. Culpepper. +Then, after a satisfying sip or two, he rose with a bland smile and +announced his intention of making a speech. + +“But you've made one,” said his host, in tones of fierce expostulation. + +“That--that was las' night,” said Mr. Sharp. “This is to-night--your +birthday.” + +“Well, we don't want any more,” said Mr. Culpepper. + +Mr. Sharp hesitated. “It's only his fun,” he said, looking round and +raising his glass. “He's afraid I'm going to praise him up--praise him +up. Here's to my old friend, Mr. Culpepper: one of the best. We all +have our--faults, and he has his--has his. Where was I?” + +“Sit down,” growled Mr. Culpepper. + +“Talking about my husband's faults,” said his wife. + +“So I was,” said Mr. Sharp, putting his hand to his brow. “Don't be +alarm',” he continued, turning to his host; “nothing to be alarm' about. +I'm not going to talk about 'em. Not so silly as that, I hope. I don't +want spoil your life.” + +“Sit down,” repeated Mr. Culpepper. + +“You're very anxious he should sit down,” said his wife, sharply. + +“No, I'm not,” said Mr. Culpepper; “only he's talking nonsense.” + +Mr. Sharp, still on his legs, took another sip of port and, avoiding the +eye of Mr. Culpepper, which was showing signs of incipient inflammation, +looked for encouragement to Miss Garland. + +“He's a man we all look up to and respect,” he continued. “If he does go +off to London every now and then on business, that's his lookout. My +idea is he always ought to take Mrs. Culpepper with him. + +“He'd have pleasure of her company and, same time, he'd be money in pocket +by it. And why shouldn't she go to music-halls sometimes? Why shouldn't +she--” + +“You get off home,” said the purple Mr. Culpepper, rising and hammering +the table with his fist. “Get off home; and if you so much as show your +face inside this 'ouse again there'll be trouble. Go on. Out you go!” + +“Home?” repeated Mr. Sharp, sitting down suddenly. “Won't go home till +morning.” + +“Oh, we'll soon see about that,” said Mr. Culpepper, taking him by the +shoulders. “Come on, now.” + +Mr. Sharp subsided lumpishly into his chair, and Mr. Culpepper, despite +his utmost efforts, failed to move him. The two ladies exchanged a +glance, and then, with their heads in the air, sailed out of the room, +the younger pausing at the door to bestow a mirthful glance upon Mr. +Sharp ere she disappeared. + +“Come--out,” said Mr. Culpepper, panting. + +“You trying to tickle me?” inquired Mr. Sharp. + +“You get off home,” said the other. “You've been doing nothing but make +mischief ever since you came in. What put such things into your silly +head I don't know. I shall never hear the end of 'em as long as I live.” + +“Silly head?” repeated Mr. Sharp, with an alarming change of manner. +“Say it again.” + +Mr. Culpepper repeated it with gusto. + +“Very good,” said Mr. Sharp. He seized him suddenly and, pushing him +backwards into his easychair, stood over him with such hideous +contortions of visage that Mr. Culpepper was horrified. “Now you sit +there and keep quite still,” he said, with smouldering ferocity. “Where +did you put carving-knife? Eh? Where's carving-knife?” + +“No, no, Bert,” said Mr. Culpepper, clutching at his sleeve. “I--I was +only joking. You--you ain't quite yourself, Bert.” + +“What?” demanded the other, rolling his eyes, and clenching his fists. + +“I--I mean you've improved,” said Mr. Culpepper, hurriedly. “Wonderful, +you have.” + +Mr. Sharp's countenance cleared a little. “Let's make a night of it,” he +said. “Don't move, whatever you do.” + +[Illustration: He felt the large and clumsy hand of Mr. Butler take him +by the collar] + +He closed the door and, putting the wine and a couple of glasses on the +mantelpiece, took a chair by Mr. Culpepper and prepared to spend the +evening. His instructions were too specific to be disregarded, and three +times he placed his arm about the waist of the frenzied Mr. Culpepper and +took him for a lumbering dance up and down the room. In the intervals +between dances he regaled him with interminable extracts from speeches +made at the debating society and recitations learned at school. +Suggestions relating to bed, thrown out by Mr. Culpepper from time to +time, were repelled with scorn. And twice, in deference to Mr. Sharp's +desires, he had to join in the chorus of a song. + +Ten o'clock passed, and the hands of the clock crawled round to eleven. +The hour struck, and, as though in answer, the door opened and the +agreeable face of Florrie Garland appeared. Behind her, to the intense +surprise of both gentlemen, loomed the stalwart figure of Mr. Jack +Butler. + +“I thought he might be useful, uncle,” said Miss Garland, coming into the +room. “Auntie wouldn't let me come down before.” + +Mr. Sharp rose in a dazed fashion and saw Mr. Culpepper grasp Mr. Butler +by the hand. More dazed still, he felt the large and clumsy hand of Mr. +Butler take him by the collar and propel him with some violence along the +small passage, while another hand, which he dimly recognized as belonging +to Mr. Culpepper, was inserted in the small of his back. Then the front +door opened and he was thrust out into the night. The door closed, and a +low feminine laugh sounded from a window above. + + + + +[Illustration: 'I tell you, I am as innercent as a new-born babe'.] + + + +SKILLED ASSISTANCE + +The night-watchman, who had left his seat on the jetty to answer the +gate-bell, came back with disgust written on a countenance only too well +designed to express it. + +“If she's been up 'ere once in the last week to, know whether the +_Silvia_ is up she's been four or five times,” he growled. “He's +forty-seven if he's a day; 'is left leg is shorter than 'is right, and +he talks with a stutter. When she's with 'im you'd think as butter +wouldn't melt in 'er mouth; but the way she talked to me just now you'd +think I was paid a-purpose to wait on her. I asked 'er at last wot she +thought I was here for, and she said she didn't know, and nobody else +neither. And afore she went off she told the potman from the 'Albion,' +wot was listening, that I was known all over Wapping as the Sleeping +Beauty. + +“She ain't the fust I've 'ad words with, not by a lot. They're all the +same; they all start in a nice, kind, soapy sort o' way, and, as soon as +they don't get wot they want, fly into a temper and ask me who, I think I +am. I told one woman once not to be silly, and I shall never forget it +as long as I live-never. For all I know, she's wearing a bit o' my 'air +in a locket to this day, and very likely boasting that I gave it to her. + +“Talking of her reminds me of another woman. There was a Cap'n Pinner, +used to trade between 'ere and Hull on a schooner named the Snipe. Nice +little craft she was, and 'e was a very nice feller. Many and many's the +pint we've 'ad together, turn and turn-about, and the on'y time we ever +'ad a cross word was when somebody hid his clay pipe in my beer and 'e +was foolish enough to think I'd done it. + +“He 'ad a nice little cottage, 'e told me about, near Hull, and 'is +wife's father, a man of pretty near seventy, lived with 'em. Well-off +the old man was, and, as she was his only daughter, they looked to 'ave +all his money when he'd gorn. Their only fear was that 'e might marry +agin, and, judging from wot 'e used to tell me about the old man, I +thought it more than likely. + +“'If it wasn't for my missis he'd ha' been married over and over agin,' +he ses one day. 'He's like a child playing with gunpowder.' + +“''Ow would it be to let 'im burn hisself a bit?' I ses. + +“'If you was to see some o' the gunpowder he wants to play with, you +wouldn't talk like that,' ses the cap'n. 'You'd know better. The on'y +thing is to keep 'em apart, and my pore missis is wore to a shadder +a-doing of it.' + +“It was just about a month arter that that he brought the old man up to +London with 'im. They 'ad some stuff to put out at Smith's Wharf, +t'other side of the river, afore they came to us, and though they was +on'y there four or five days, it was long enough for that old man to get +into trouble. + +“The skipper told me about it ten minutes arter they was made snug in the +inner berth 'ere. He walked up and down like a man with a raging +toothache, and arter follering 'im up and down the wharf till I was tired +out, I discovered that 'is father-in-law 'ad got 'imself mixed up with a +widder-woman ninety years old and weighing twenty stun. Arter he 'ad +cooled down a bit, and I 'ad given 'im a few little pats on the shoulder, +'e made it forty-eight years old and fourteen stun. + +“'He's getting ready to go and meet her now,' he ses, 'and wot my +missis'll say to me, I don't know.' + +“His father-in-law came up on deck as 'e spoke, and began to brush +'imself all over with a clothesbrush. Nice-looking little man 'e was, +with blue eyes, and a little white beard, cut to a point, and dressed up +in a serge suit with brass buttons, and a white yachting cap. His real +name was Mr. Finch, but the skipper called 'im Uncle Dick, and he took +such a fancy to me that in five minutes I was calling 'im Uncle Dick too. + +“'Time I was moving,' he ses, by and by. 'I've got an app'intment.' + +“'Oh! who with?' ses the skipper, pretending not to know. + +“'Friend o' mine, in the army,' ses the old man, with a wink at me. 'So +long.' + +“He went off as spry as a boy, and as soon as he'd gorn the skipper +started walking back'ards and for'ards agin, and raving. + +“'Let's 'ope as he's on'y amusing 'imself,' I ses. + +“'Wait till you see 'er,' ses the skipper; 'then you won't talk +foolishness.' + +“As it 'appened she came back with Uncle Dick that evening, to see 'im +safe, and I see at once wot sort of a woman it was. She 'adn't been on +the wharf five minutes afore you'd ha' thought it belonged to 'er, and +when she went and sat on the schooner it seemed to be about 'arf its +size. She called the skipper Tom, and sat there as cool as you please +holding Uncle Dick's 'and, and patting it. + +“I took the skipper round to the 'Bull's Head' arter she 'ad gorn, and I +wouldn't let 'im say a word until he had 'ad two pints. He felt better +then, and some o' the words 'e used surprised me. + +“'Wot's to be done?' he ses at last. 'You see 'ow it is, Bill.' + +“'Can't you get 'im away?' I ses. 'Who is she, and wot's 'er name?' + +“'Her name,' ses the skipper, 'her name is Jane Maria Elizabeth Muffit, +and she lives over at Rotherhithe.' + +“'She's very likely married already,' I ses. + +“'Her 'usband died ten years ago,' ses the skipper; 'passed away in 'is +sleep. Overlaid, I should say.' + +“He sat there smoking, and I sat there thinking. Twice 'e spoke to me, +and I held my 'and up and said 'H'sh.' Then I turned to 'im all of a +sudden and pinched his arm so hard he nearly dropped 'is beer. + +“'Is Uncle Dick a nervous man?' I ses. + +“'Nervous is no name for it,' he ses, staring. + +“'Very good, then,' I ses. 'I'll send 'er husband to frighten 'im.' + +“The skipper looked at me very strange. 'Yes,' he ses. 'Yes. Yes.' + +“'Frighten 'im out of 'is boots, and make him give 'er up,' I ses. 'Or +better still, get 'im to run away and go into hiding for a time. That +'ud be best, in case 'e found out.' + +“'Found out wot?' ses the skipper. + +“'Found out it wasn't 'er husband,' I ses. + +“'Bill,' ses the skipper, very earnest, 'this is the fust beer I've 'ad +to-day, and I wish I could say the same for you.' + +“I didn't take 'im at fast, but when I did I gave a laugh that brought in +two more customers to see wot was the matter. Then I took 'im by the +arm--arter a little trouble--and, taking 'im back to the wharf, explained +my meaning to 'im. + +“'I know the very man,' I ses. 'He comes into a public-'ouse down my way +sometimes. Artful 'Arry, he's called, and, for 'arf-a-quid, say, he'd +frighten Uncle Dick 'arf to death. He's big and ugly, and picks up a +living by selling meerschaum pipes he's found to small men wot don't want +'em. Wonderful gift o' the gab he's got.' + +“We went acrost to the 'Albion' to talk it over. There's several bars +there, and the landlady always keeps cotton-wool in 'er ears, not 'aving +been brought up to the public line. The skipper told me all 'e knew +about Mrs. Muffit, and we arranged that Artful 'Arry should come down at +seven o'clock next night, if so be as I could find 'im in time. + +“I got up early the next arternoon, and as it 'appened, he came into the +'Duke of Edinburgh' five minutes arter I got there. Nasty temper 'e was +in, too. He'd just found a meerschaum pipe, as usual, and the very fust +man 'e tried to sell it to said that it was the one 'e lost last +Christmas, and gave 'im a punch in the jaw for it. + +“'He's a thief, that's wot he is,' ses 'Arry; 'and I 'ate thiefs. 'Ow's +a honest tradesman to make a living when there's people like that about?' + +“I stood 'im 'arf a pint, and though it hurt 'im awful to drink it, he +said 'ed 'ave another just to see if he could bear the pain. Arter he +had 'ad three 'e began for to take a more cheerful view o' life, and told +me about a chap that spent three weeks in the London 'Orsepittle for +calling 'im a liar. + +“'Treat me fair,' he ses, 'and I'll treat other people fair. I never +broke my word without a good reason for it, and that's more than +everybody can say. If I told you the praise I've 'ad from some people +you wouldn't believe it.' + +“I let 'im go on till he 'ad talked 'imself into a good temper, and then I +told 'im of the little job I 'ad got for 'im. He listened quiet till I +'ad finished, and then he shook 'is 'ead. + +“'It ain't in my line,' he ses. + +“'There's 'arf a quid 'anging to it,' I ses. + +“'Arry shook his 'ead agin. 'Tain't enough, mate,' he ses. 'If you was +to make it a quid I won't say as I mightn't think of it.' + +“I 'ad told the skipper that it might cost 'im a quid, so I knew 'ow far +I could go; and at last, arter 'Arry 'ad got as far as the door three +times, I gave way. + +“'And I'll 'ave it now,' he ses, 'to prevent mistakes.' + +“'No, 'Arry,' I ses, very firm. 'Besides, it ain't my money, you see.' + +“'You mean to say you don't trust me,' 'e ses, firing up. + +“'I'd trust you with untold gold,' I ses, 'but not with a real quid; +you're too fond of a joke, 'Arry.' + +“We 'ad another long argyment about it, and I had to tell 'im plain at +last that when I wanted to smell 'is fist, I'd say so. + +“'You turn up at the wharf at five minutes to seven,' I ses, 'and I'll +give you ten bob of it; arter you've done your business I'll give you the +other. Come along quiet, and you'll see me waiting at the gate for you.' + +“He gave way arter a time, and, fust going 'ome for a cup o' tea, I went +on to the wharf to tell the skipper 'ow things stood. + +“'It couldn't 'ave 'appened better,' he ses. 'Uncle Dick is sure to be +aboard at that time, 'cos 'e's going acrost the water at eight o'clock to +pay 'er a visit. And all the hands'll be away. I've made sure of that.' + +“He gave me the money for Artful 'Arry in two 'arf-suverins, and then we +went over to the 'Albion' for a quiet glass and a pipe, and to wait for +seven o'clock. + +“I left 'im there at ten minutes to, and at five minutes to, punctual to +the minute, I see 'Arry coming along swinging a thick stick with a knob +on the end of it. + +“'Where's the 'arf thick-un?' he ses, looking round to see that the coast +was clear. + +“I gave it to 'im, and arter biting it in three places and saying it was +a bit short in weight he dropped it in 'is weskit-pocket and said 'e was +ready. + +“I left 'im there for a minute while I went and 'ad a look round. The +deck of the Snipe was empty, but I could 'ear Uncle Dick down in the +cabin singing; and, arter listening for a few seconds to make sure that +it was singing, I went back and beckoned to 'Arry. + +“'He's down in the cabin,' I ses, pointing. 'Don't overdo it, 'Arry, and +at the same time don't underdo it, as you might say.' + +“'I know just wot you want,' ses 'Arry, 'and if you'd got the 'art of a +man in you, you'd make it two quids.' + +“He climbed on board and stood listening for a moment at the companion, +and then 'e went down, while I went off outside the gate, so as to be out +of earshot in case Uncle Dick called for me. I knew that I should 'ear +all about wot went on arterwards--and I did. + +“Artful 'Arry went down the companion-ladder very quiet, and then stood +at the foot of it looking at Uncle Dick. He looked 'im up and down and +all over, and then 'e gave a fierce, loud cough. + +“'Good-evening,' he ses. + +“'Good-evening,' ses Uncle Dick, staring at 'im. 'Did you want to see +anybody?' + +“'I did,' ses 'Arry. 'I do. And when I see 'im I'm going to put my arms +round 'im and twist 'is neck; then I'm going to break every bone in 'is +body, and arter that I'm going to shy 'im overboard to pison the fishes +with.' + +“'Dear me!' ses Uncle Dick, shifting away as far as 'e could. + +“'I ain't 'ad a wink o' sleep for two nights,' ses 'Arry--'not ever since +I 'eard of it. When I think of all I've done for that woman-working for +'er, and such-like-my blood boils. When I think of her passing 'erself +off as a widder--my widder--and going out with another man, I don't know +wot to do with myself.' + +“Uncle Dick started and turned pale. Fust 'e seemed as if 'e was going +to speak, and then 'e thought better of it. He sat staring at 'Arry as +if 'e couldn't believe his eyes. + +“'Wot would you do with a man like that?' ses 'Arry. 'I ask you, as man +to man, wot would you do to 'im?' + +“'P'r'aps-p'r'aps 'e didn't know,' ses Uncle Dick, stammering. + +“'Didn't know!' ses 'Arry. 'Don't care, you mean. We've got a nice +little 'ome, and, just because I've 'ad to leave it and lay low for a bit +for knifing a man, she takes advantage of it. And it ain't the fust +time, neither. Wot's the matter?' + +“'Touch-touch of ague; I get it sometimes,' ses Uncle Dick. + +“'I want to see this man Finch,' ses 'Arry, shaking 'is knobby stick. +'Muffit, my name is, and I want to tell 'im so.' + +“Uncle Dick nearly shook 'imself on to the floor. + +“'I--I'll go and see if 'e's in the fo'c'sle,' he ses at last. + +“'He ain't there, 'cos I've looked,' ses 'Arry, 'arf shutting 'is eyes and +looking at 'im hard. 'Wot might your name be?' + +“'My name's Finch,' ses Uncle Dick, putting out his 'ands to keep him +off; 'but I thought she was a widder. She told me her 'usband died ten +years ago; she's deceived me as well as you. I wouldn't ha' dreamt of +taking any notice of 'er if I'd known. Truth, I wouldn't. I should'nt +ha' dreamt of such a thing.' + +“Artful 'Arry played with 'is stick a little, and stood looking at 'im +with a horrible look on 'is face. + +“''Ow am I to know you're speaking the truth?' he ses, very slow. 'Eh? +'Ow can you prove it?' + +“'If it was the last word I was to speak I'd say the same,' ses Uncle +Dick. 'I tell you, I am as innercent as a new-born babe.' + +“'If that's true,' ses 'Arry, 'she's deceived both of us. Now, if I let +you go will you go straight off and bring her 'ere to me?' + +“'I will,' ses Uncle Dick, jumping up. + +“''Arf a mo,' ses 'Arry, holding up 'is stick very quick. 'One thing is, +if you don't come back, I'll 'ave you another day. I can't make up my +mind wot to do. I can't think--I ain't tasted food for two days. If I +'ad any money in my pocket I'd 'ave a bite while you're gone.' + +“'Why not get something?' ses Uncle Dick, putting his 'and in his pocket, +in a great 'urry to please him, and pulling out some silver. + +“'Arry said 'e would, and then he stood on one side to let 'im pass, and +even put the knobby stick under 'im to help 'im up the companion-ladder. + +“Uncle Dick passed me two minutes arterwards without a word, and set off +down the road as fast as 'is little legs 'ud carry 'im. I watched 'im +out o' sight, and then I went on board the schooner to see how 'Arry 'ad +got on. + +“Arry,' I ses, when he 'ad finished, 'you're a masterpiece!' + +“'I know I am,' he ses. 'Wot about that other 'arf-quid?' + +“'Here it is,' I ses, giving it to 'im. 'Fair masterpiece, that's wot +you are. They may well call you Artful. Shake 'ands.' + +“I patted 'im on the shoulder arter we 'ad shook 'ands, and we stood +there smiling at each other and paying each other compliments. + +“'Fancy 'em sitting 'ere and waiting for you to come back from that +bite,' I ses. + +“'I ought to 'ave 'ad more off of him,' ses 'Arry. ''Owever, it can't be +helped. I think I'll 'ave a lay down for a bit; I'm tired.' + +“'Better be off,' I ses, shaking my 'ead. 'Time passes, and they might +come back afore you think.' + +“'Well, wot of it?' ses 'Arry. + +“'Wot of it?' I ses. 'Why, it'ud spoil everything. It 'ud be blue +ruin.' + +“'Are you sure?' ses 'Arry'. + +“'Sartin,' I ses. + +“'Well, make it five quid, and I'll go, then,' he ses, sitting down agin. + +“I couldn't believe my ears at fust, but when I could I drew myself up +and told 'im wot I thought of 'im; and he sat there and laughed at me. + +“'Why, you called me a masterpiece just now,' he ses. 'I shouldn't be +much of a masterpiece if I let a chance like this slip. Why, I shouldn't +be able to look myself in the face. Where's the skipper?' + +“'Sitting in the “Albion”,' I ses, 'arf choking. + +“'Go and tell 'im it's five quid,' ses 'Arry. 'I don't mean five more, +on'y four. Some people would ha' made it five, but I like to deal square +and honest.' + +“I run over for the skipper in a state of mind that don't bear thinking +of, and he came back with me, 'arf crazy. When we got to the cabin we +found the door was locked, and, arter the skipper 'ad told Artful wot +he'd do to 'im if he didn't open it, he 'ad to go on deck and talk to 'im +through the skylight. + +“'If you ain't off of my ship in two twos,' he ses, 'I'll fetch a +policeman.' + +“'You go and fetch four pounds,' ses 'Arry; 'that's wot I'm waiting for, +not a policeman. Didn't the watchman tell you?' + +“'The bargain was for one pound,' ses the skipper, 'ardly able to speak. + +“'Well, you tell that to the policeman,' ses Artful 'Arry. + +“It was no use, he'd got us every way; and at last the skipper turns out +'is pockets, and he ses, 'Look 'ere,' he ses, 'I've got seventeen and +tenpence ha' penny. Will you go if I give you that?' + +“''Ow much has the watchman got?' ses 'Arry. 'His lodger lost 'is purse +the other day.' + +“I'd got two and ninepence, as it 'appened, and then there was more +trouble because the skipper wouldn't give 'im the money till he 'ad gone, +and 'e wouldn't go till he 'ad got it. The skipper gave way at last, and +as soon as he 'ad got it 'Arry ses, 'Now 'op off and borrer the rest, and +look slippy about it.' + +“I put one hand over the skipper's mouth fust, and then, finding that was +no good, I put the other. It was no good wasting bad langwidge on 'Arry. + +“I pacified the skipper at last, and arter 'Arry 'ad swore true 'e'd go +when 'e'd got the money, the skipper rushed round to try and raise it. +It's a difficult job at the best o' times, and I sat there on the +skylight shivering and wondering whether the skipper or Mrs. Muffit would +turn up fust. + +“Hours seemed to pass away, and then I see the wicket in the gate open, +and the skipper come through. He jumped on deck without a word, and +then, going over to the skylight, 'anded down the money to 'Arry. + +“'Right-o,' ses 'Arry. 'It on'y shows you wot you can do by trying.' + +“He unlocked the door and came up on deck, looking at us very careful, +and playing with 'is stick. + +“'You've got your money,' ses the skipper; 'now go as quick as you can.' + +“'Arry smiled and nodded at him. Then he stepped on to the wharf and was +just moving to the gate, with us follering, when the wicket opened and in +came Mrs. Muffit and Uncle Dick. + +“'There he is,' ses Uncle Dick. 'That's the man!' + +“Mrs. Muffit walked up to 'im, and my 'art a'most stopped beating. Her +face was the colour of beetroot with temper, and you could 'ave heard her +breath fifty yards away. + +“'Ho!' she says, planting 'erself in front of Artful 'Arry, 'so you're +the man that ses you're my 'usband, are you?' + +“'That's all right,' ses 'Arry, 'it's all a mistake.' + +“'MISTAKE?' ses Mrs. Muffit. + +“'Mistake o' Bill's,' ses 'Arry, pointing to me. 'I told 'im I thought +'e was wrong, but 'e would 'ave it. I've got a bad memory, so I left it +to 'im.' + +“'Ho!' ses Mrs. Muffit, taking a deep breath. 'Ho! I thought as much. +Wot 'ave you got to say for yourself--eh?' + +“She turned on me like a wild cat, with her 'ands in front of her. I've +been scratched once in my life, and I wasn't going to be agin, so, fixing +my eyes on 'er, I just stepped back a bit, ready for 'er. So long as I +kept my eye fixed on 'ers she couldn't do anything. I knew that. +Unfortunately I stepped back just a inch too far, and next moment I went +over back'ards in twelve foot of water. + +“Arter all, p'r'aps it was the best thing that could have 'appened to me; +it stopped her talking. It ain't the fust time I've 'ad a wet jacket; +but as for the skipper, and pore Uncle Dick--wot married her--they've +been in hot water ever since.” + + + + + + + + +FOR BETTER OR WORSE + + +Mr. George Wotton, gently pushing the swing doors of the public bar of +the “King's Head” an inch apart, applied an eye to the aperture, in the +hope of discovering a moneyed friend. His gaze fell on the only man in +the bar a greybeard of sixty whose weather-beaten face and rough clothing +spoke of the sea. With a faint sigh he widened the opening and passed +through. + +“Mornin', Ben,” he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness. + +“Have a drop with me,” said the other, heartily. “Got any money about +you?” + +Mr. Wotton shook his head and his face fell, clearing somewhat as the +other handed him his mug. “Drink it all up, George,” he said. + +His friend complied. A more tactful man might have taken longer over the +job, but Mr. Benjamin Davis, who appeared to be labouring under some +strong excitement, took no notice. + +“I've had a shock, George,” he said, regarding the other steadily. “I've +heard news of my old woman.” + +“Didn't know you 'ad one,” said Mr. Wotton calmly. “Wot's she done?” + +“She left me,” said Mr. Davis, solemnly--“she left me thirty-five years +ago. I went off to sea one fine morning, and that was the last I ever +see of er. + +“Why, did she bolt?” inquired Mr. Wotton, with mild interest. + +“No,” said his friend, “but I did. We'd been married three years--three +long years--and I had 'ad enough of it. Awful temper she had. The last +words I ever heard 'er say was: 'Take that!'” + +Mr. Wotton took up the mug and, after satisfying himself as to the +absence of contents, put it down again and yawned. + +“I shouldn't worry about it if I was you,” he remarked. “She's hardly +likely to find you now. And if she does she won't get much.” + +Mr. Davis gave vent to a contemptuous laugh. “Get much!” he repeated. +“It's her what's got it. I met a old shipmate of mine this morning what +I 'adn't seen for ten years, and he told me he run acrost 'er only a +month ago. After she left me--” + +“But you said you left her!” exclaimed his listening friend. + +“Same thing,” said Mr. Davis, impatiently. “After she left me to work +myself to death at sea, running here and there at the orders of a pack +o'lazy scuts aft, she went into service and stayed in one place for +fifteen years. Then 'er missis died and left her all 'er money. For +twenty years, while I've been working myself to skin and bone, she's been +living in comfort and idleness.” + +“'Ard lines,” said Mr. Wotton, shaking his head. “It don't bear thinking +of.” + +“Why didn't she advertise for me?” said Mr. Davis, raising his voice. +“That's what I want to know. Advertisements is cheap enough; why didn't +she advertise? I should 'ave come at once if she'd said anything about +money.” + +Mr. Wotton shook his head again. “P'r'aps she didn't want you,” he said, +slowly. + +“What's that got to do with it?” demanded the other. “It was 'er dooty. +She'd got money, and I ought to have 'ad my 'arf of it. Nothing can make +up for that wasted twenty years--nothing.” + +“P'r'aps she'll take you back,” said Mr. Wotton. + +“Take me back?” repeated Mr. Davis. “O' course she'll take me back. +She'll have to. There's a law in the land, ain't there? What I'm +thinking of is: Can I get back my share what I ought to have 'ad for the +last twenty years?” + +“Get 'er to take you back first,” counselled his friend. “Thirty-five +years is along time, and p'r'aps she has lost 'er love for you. Was you +good-looking in those days?” + +“Yes,” snapped Mr. Davis; “I ain't altered much--. 'Sides, what about +her?” + +“That ain't the question,” said the other. “She's got a home and money. +It don't matter about looks; and, wot's more, she ain't bound to keep +you. If you take my advice, you won't dream of letting her know you run +away from her. Say you was cast away at sea, and when you came back +years afterwards you couldn't find her.” + +Mr. Davis pondered for some time in sulky silence. + +“P'r'aps it would be as well,” he said at last; “but I sha'n't stand no +nonsense, mind.” + +“If you like I'll come with you,” said Mr. Wotton. “I ain't got nothing +to do. I could tell 'er I was cast away with you if you liked. Anything +to help a pal.” + +Mr. Davis took two inches of soiled clay pipe from his pocket and puffed +thoughtfully. + +“You can come,” he said at last. “If you'd only got a copper or two we +could ride; it's down Clapham way.” + +Mr. Wotton smiled feebly, and after going carefully through his pockets +shook his head and followed his friend outside. + +“I wonder whether she'll be pleased?” he remarked, as they walked slowly +along. “She might be--women are funny creatures--so faithful. I knew +one whose husband used to knock 'er about dreadful, and after he died she +was so true to his memory she wouldn't marry again.” + +Mr. Davis grunted, and, with a longing eye at the omnibuses passing over +London Bridge, asked a policeman the distance to Clapham. + +“Never mind,” said Mr. Wotton, as his friend uttered an exclamation. +“You'll have money in your pocket soon.” + +Mr. Davis's face brightened. “And a watch and chain too,” he said. + +“And smoke your cigar of a Sunday,” said Mr. Wotton, “and have a +easy-chair and a glass for a friend.” + +Mr. Davis almost smiled, and then, suddenly remembering his wasted twenty +years, shook his head grimly over the friendship that attached itself to +easy-chairs and glasses of ale, and said that there was plenty of it +about. More friendship than glasses of ale and easy-chairs, perhaps. + +At Clapham, they inquired the way of a small boy, and, after following +the road indicated, retraced their steps, cheered by a faint but +bloodthirsty hope of meeting him again. + +A friendly baker put them on the right track at last, both gentlemen +eyeing the road with a mixture of concern and delight. It was a road of +trim semi-detached villas, each with a well-kept front garden and +neatly-curtained windows. At the gate of a house with the word +“Blairgowrie” inscribed in huge gilt letters on the fanlight Mr. Davis +paused for a moment uneasily, and then, walking up the path, followed by +Mr. Wotton, knocked at the door. + +He retired a step in disorder before the apparition of a maid in cap and +apron. A sharp “Not to-day!” sounded in his ears and the door closed +again. He faced his friend gasping. + +“I should give her the sack first thing,” said Mr. Wotton. + +Mr. Davis knocked again, and again. The maid reappeared, and after +surveying them through the glass opened the door a little way and +parleyed. + +“I want to see your missis,” said Mr. Davis, fiercely. + +“What for?” demanded the girl. + +“You tell 'er,” said Mr. Davis, inserting his foot just in time, “you +tell 'er that there's two gentlemen here what have brought 'er news of +her husband, and look sharp about it.” + +“They was cast away with 'im,” said Mr. Wotton. + +“On a desert island,” said Mr. Davis. He pushed his way in, followed by +his friend, and a head that had been leaning over the banisters was +suddenly withdrawn. For a moment he stood irresolute in the tiny +passage, and then, with a husband's boldness, he entered the front room +and threw himself into an easy-chair. Mr. Wotton, after a scared glance +around the well-furnished room, seated himself on the extreme edge of the +most uncomfortable chair he could find and coughed nervously. + +[Illustration: “You tell 'er that there's two gentlemen here what have +brought 'er news of her husband”] + +“Better not be too sudden with her,” he whispered. “You don't want her +to faint, or anything of that sort. Don't let 'er know who you are at +first; let her find it out for herself.” + +Mr. Davis, who was also suffering from the stiff grandeur of his +surroundings, nodded. + +“P'r'aps you'd better start, in case she reckernizes my voice,” he said, +slowly. “Pitch it in strong about me and 'ow I was always wondering what +had 'appened to her.” + +“You're in luck, that's wot you are,” said his friend, enviously. “I've +only seen furniture like thiss in shop windows before. H'sh! Here she +comes.” + +He started, and both men tried to look at their ease as a stiff rustling +sounded from the stairs. Then the door opened and a tall, stoutly-built +old lady with white hair swept into the room and stood regarding them. + +Mr. Davis, unprepared for the changes wrought by thirty-five years, +stared at her aghast. The black silk dress, the gold watch-chain, and +huge cameo brooch did not help to reassure him. + +“Good-good afternoon, ma'am,” said Mr. Wotton, in a thin voice. + +The old lady returned the greeting, and, crossing to a chair and seating +herself in a very upright fashion, regarded him calmly. + +“We--we called to see you about a dear old pal--friend, I mean,” + continued Mr. Wotton; “one o' the best. The best.” + +“Yes?” said the old lady. + +“He's been missing,” said Mr. Wotton, watching closely for any symptoms +of fainting, “for thir-ty-five years. Thir-ty-five years ago-very much +against his wish-he left 'is young and handsome wife to go for a sea +v'y'ge, and was shipwrecked and cast away on a desert island.” + +“Yes?” said the old lady again. + +“I was cast away with 'im,” said Mr. Wotton. “Both of us was cast away +with him.” + +He indicated Mr. Davis with his hand, and the old lady, after a glance at +that gentleman, turned to Mr. Wotton again. + +“We was on that island for longer than I like to think of,” continued Mr. +Wotton, who had a wholesome dread of dates. “But we was rescued at last, +and ever since then he has been hunting high and low for his wife.” + +“It's very interesting,” murmured the old lady; “but what has it got to +do with me?” + +Mr. Wotton gasped, and cast a helpless glance at his friend. + +“You ain't heard his name yet,” he said, impressively. “Wot would you +say if I said it was--Ben Davis?” + +“I should say it wasn't true,” said the old lady, promptly. + +“Not--true?” said Mr. Wotton, catching his breath painfully. “Wish I +may die----” + +“About the desert island,” continued the old lady, calmly. “The story +that I heard was that he went off like a cur and left his young wife to +do the best she could for herself. I suppose he's heard since that she +has come in for a bit of money.” + +“Money!” repeated Mr. Wotton, in a voice that he fondly hoped expressed +artless surprise. “Money!” + +“Money,” said the old lady; “and I suppose he sent you two gentlemen +round to see how the land lay.” + +She was looking full at Mr. Davis as she spoke, and both men began to +take a somewhat sombre view of the situation. + +“You didn't know him, else you wouldn't talk like that,” said Mr. Wotton. +“I don't suppose you'd know 'im if you was to see him now.” + +“I don't suppose I should,” said the other. + +“P'r'aps you'd reckernize his voice?” said Mr. Davis, breaking silence +at last. + +Mr. Wotton held his breath, but the old lady merely shook her head +thoughtfully. “It was a disagreeable voice when his wife used to hear +it,” she said at last. “Always fault-finding, when it wasn't swearing.” + +Mr. Wotton glanced at his friend, and, raising his eyebrows slightly, +gave up his task. “Might ha' been faults on both sides,” said Mr. Davis, +gruffly. “You weren't all that you should ha' been, you know.” + +“Me!” said his hostess, raising her voice. + +[Illustration: “Don't you know me, Mary?”] + +“Yes, you,” said Mr. Davis, rising. “Don't you know me, Mary? Why, I +knew you the moment you come into the room.” + +He moved towards her awkwardly, but she rose in her turn and drew back. + +“If you touch me I'll scream,” she said, firmly. “How dare you. Why, +I've never seen you before in my life.” + +“It's Ben Davis, ma'am; it's 'im, right enough,” said Mr. Wotton, meekly. + +“Hold your tongue,” said the old lady. + +“Look at me!” commanded Mr. Davis, sternly. “Look at me straight in the +eye.” + +“Don't talk nonsense,” said the other, sharply. “Look you in the eye, +indeed! I don't want to look in your eye. What would people think?” + +“Let 'em think wot they like,” said Mr. Davis, recklessly. “This is a +nice home-coming after being away thirty-five years.” + +“Most of it on a desert island,” put in Mr. Wotton, pathetically. + +“And now I've come back,” resumed Mr. Davis; “come back to stop.” + +He hung his cap on a vase on the mantelpiece that reeled under the shock, +and, dropping into his chair again, crossed his legs and eyed her +sternly. Her gaze was riveted on his dilapidated boots. She looked up +and spoke mildly. + +“You're not my husband,” she said. “You've made a mistake--I think you +had better go.” + +“Ho!” said Mr. Davis, with a hard laugh. “Indeed! And 'ow do you know +I'm not?” + +“For the best of reasons,” was the reply. “Besides, how can you prove +that you are? Thirty-five years is a long time.” + +“'Specially on a desert island,” said Mr. Wotton, rapidly. “You'd be +surprised 'ow slow the time passes. I was there with 'im, and I can lay +my hand on my 'art and assure you that that is your husband.” + +“Nonsense!” said the old lady, vigorously. “Rubbish!” + +“I can prove it,” said Mr. Davis, fixing her with a glittering eye. “Do +you remember the serpent I 'ad tattooed on my leg for a garter?” + +“If you don't go at once,” said the old lady, hastily, “I'll send for the +police.” + +“You used to admire it,” said Mr. Davis, reproachfully. “I remember +once----” + +“If you say another word,” said the other, in a fierce voice, “I'll send +straight off for the police. You and your serpents! I'll tell my +husband of you, that's what I'll do.” + +“Your WHAT?” roared Mr. Davis, springing to his feet. + +“My husband. He won't stand any of your nonsense, I can tell you. You'd +better go before he comes in.” + +“O-oh,” said Mr. Davis, taking a long breath. “Oh, so you been and got +married again, 'ave you? That's your love for your husband as was cast +away while trying to earn a living for you. That's why you don't want +me, is it? We'll see. I'll wait for him.” + +“You don't know what you're talking about,” said the other, with great +dignity. “I've only been married once.” + +Mr. Davis passed the back of his hand across his eyes in a dazed fashion +and stared at her. + +“Is--is somebody passing himself off as me?” he demanded. “'Cos if he +is I'll 'ave you both up for bigamy.” + +“Certainly not.” + +“But--but--” + +Mr. Davis turned and looked blankly at his friend. Mr. Wotton met his +gaze with dilated eyes. + +“You say you recognize me as your wife?” said the old lady. + +“Certainly,” said Mr. Davis, hotly. + +“It's very curious,” said the other--“very. But are you sure? Look +again.” + +Mr. Davis thrust his face close to hers and stared hard. She bore his +scrutiny without flinching. + +“I'm positive certain,” said Mr. Davis, taking a breath. + +“That's very curious,” said the old lady; “but, then, I suppose we are a +bit alike. You see, Mrs. Davis being away, I'm looking after her house +for a bit. My name happens to be Smith.” + +Mr. Davis uttered a sharp exclamation, and, falling back a step, stared +at her open-mouthed. + +“We all make mistakes,” urged Mr. Wotton, after a long silence, “and +Ben's sight ain't wot it used to be. He strained it looking out for a +sail when we was on that desert----” + +“When--when'll she be back?” inquired Mr. Davis, finding his voice at +last. + +The old lady affected to look puzzled. “But I thought you were certain +that I was your wife?” she said, smoothly. + +“My mistake,” said Mr. Davis, ruefully. “Thirty-five years is a long +time and people change a bit; I have myself. For one thing, I must say +I didn't expect to find 'er so stout.” + +“Stout!” repeated the other, quickly. + +“Not that I mean you're too stout,” said Mr. Davis, hurriedly--“for +people that like stoutness, that is. My wife used to 'ave a very good +figger.” + +Mr. Wotton nodded. “He used to rave about it on that des----” + +“When will she be back?” inquired Mr. Davis, interrupting him. + +Mrs. Smith shook her head. “I can't say,” she replied, moving towards +the door. “When she's off holidaying, I never know when she'll return. +Shall I tell her you called?” + +“Tell her I----certainly,” said Mr. Davis, with great vehemence. “I'll +come in a week's time and see if she's back.” + +“She might be away for months,” said the old lady, moving slowly to the +passage and opening the street door. “Good-afternoon.” + +She closed the door behind them and stood watching them through the glass +as they passed disconsolately into the street. Then she went back into +the parlour, and standing before the mantelpiece, looked long and +earnestly into the mirror. + +Mr. Davis returned a week later--alone, and, pausing at the gate, glanced +in dismay at a bill in the window announcing that the house was to be +sold. He walked up the path still looking at it, and being admitted by +the trim servant was shown into the parlour, and stood in a dispirited +fashion before Mrs. Smith. + +“Not back yet?” he inquired, gruffly. + +The old lady shook her head. + +“What--what--is that bill for?” demanded Mr. Davis, jerking his thumb +towards it. + +“She is thinking of selling the house,” said Mrs. Smith. “I let her know +you had been, and that is, the result. She won't comeback. You won't +see her again.” + +“Where is she?” inquired Mr. Davis, frowning. + +Mrs. Smith shook her head again. “And it would be no use my telling +you,” she said. “What she has got is her own, and the law won't let you +touch a penny of it without her consent. You must have treated her +badly; why did you leave her?” + +“Why?” repeated Mr. Davis. “Why? Why, because she hit me over the 'ead +with a broom-handle.” + +Mrs. Smith tossed her head. + +“Fancy you remembering that for thirty-five years!” she said. + +“Fancy forgetting it!” retorted Mr. Davis. + +“I suppose she had a hot temper,” said the old lady. + +“'Ot temper?” said the other. “Yes.” He leaned forward, and holding +his chilled hands over the fire stood for some time deep in thought. + +“I don't know what it is,” he said at last, “but there's a something +about you that reminds me of her. It ain't your voice, 'cos she had a +very nice voice--when she wasn't in a temper--and it ain't your face, +because--” + +“Yes?” said Mrs. Smith, sharply. “Because it don't remind me of her.” + +“And yet the other day you said you recognized me at once,” said the old +lady. + +“I thought I did,” said Mr. Davis. “One thing is, I was expecting to see +her, I s'pose.” + +There was a long silence. + +“Well, I won't keep you,” said Mrs. Smith at last, “and it's no good for +you to keep coming here to see her. She will never come here again. +I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you don't look over and above +respectable. Your coat is torn, your trousers are patched in a dozen +places, and your boots are half off your feet--I don't know what the +servant must think.” + +“I--I only came to look for my wife,” said Mr. Davis, in a startled +voice. “I won't come again.” + +“That's right,” said the old lady. “That'll please her, I know. And if +she should happen to ask what sort of a living you are making, what shall +I tell her?” + +“Tell her what you said about my clothes, ma'am,” said Mr. Davis, with +his hand on the door-knob. “She'll understand then. She's known wot it +is to be poor herself. She'd got a bad temper, but she'd have cut her +tongue out afore she'd 'ave thrown a poor devil's rags in his face. +Good-afternoon.” + +“Good-afternoon, Ben,” said the old woman, in a changed voice. + +Mr. Davis, half-way through the door, started as though he had been shot, +and, facing about, stood eyeing her in dumb bewilderment. + +“If I take you back again,” repeated his wife, “are you going to behave +yourself?” + +“It isn't the same voice and it isn't the same face,” said the old woman; +“but if I'd only got a broomhandle handy----” + +Mr. Davis made an odd noise in his throat. + +“If you hadn't been so down on your luck,” said his wife, blinking her +eyes rapidly, “I'd have let you go. If you hadn't looked 'so miserable I +could have stood it. If I take you back, are you going to behave +yourself?” + +Mr. Davis stood gaping at her. + +“If I take you back again,” repeated his wife, speaking very slowly, “are +you going to behave yourself?” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Davis, finding his voice at last. “Yes, if you are.” + + + + + + + +THE OLD MAN OF THE SEA + +“What I want you to do,” said Mr. George Wright, as he leaned towards the +old sailor, “is to be an uncle to me.” + +“Aye, aye,” said the mystified Mr. Kemp, pausing with a mug of beer +midway to his lips. + +“A rich uncle,” continued the young man, lowering his voice to prevent +any keen ears in the next bar from acquiring useless knowledge. “An +uncle from New Zealand, who is going to leave me all 'is money.” + +“Where's it coming from?” demanded Mr. Kemp, with a little excitement. + +“It ain't coming,” was the reply. “You've only got to say you've got it. +Fact of the matter is, I've got my eye on a young lady; there's another +chap after 'er too, and if she thought I'd got a rich uncle it might make +all the difference. She knows I 'ad an uncle that went to New Zealand +and was never heard of since. That's what made me think of it.” + +Mr. Kemp drank his beer in thoughtful silence. “How can I be a rich +uncle without any brass?” he inquired at length. + +“I should 'ave to lend you some--a little,” said Mr. Wright. + +[Illustration: “What I want you to do,” said Mr. George Wright, “is to +be an uncle to me.”] + +The old man pondered. “I've had money lent me before,” he said, +candidly, “but I can't call to mind ever paying it back. I always meant +to, but that's as far as it got.” + +“It don't matter,” said the other. “It'll only be for a little while, +and then you'll 'ave a letter calling you back to New Zealand. See? And +you'll go back, promising to come home in a year's time, after you've +wound up your business, and leave us all your money. See?” + +Mr. Kemp scratched the back of his neck. “But she's sure to find it out +in time,” he objected. + +“P'r'aps,” said Mr. Wright. “And p'r'aps not. There'll be plenty of +time for me to get married before she does, and you could write back and +say you had got married yourself, or given your money to a hospital.” + +He ordered some more beer for Mr. Kemp, and in a low voice gave him as +much of the family history as he considered necessary. + +“I've only known you for about ten days,” he concluded, “but I'd sooner +trust you than people I've known for years.” + +“I took a fancy to you the moment I set eyes on you,” rejoined Mr. Kemp. +“You're the living image of a young fellow that lent me five pounds once, +and was drowned afore my eyes the week after. He 'ad a bit of a squint, +and I s'pose that's how he came to fall overboard.” + +He emptied his mug, and then, accompanied by Mr. Wright, fetched his +sea-chest from the boarding-house where he was staying, and took it to +the young man's lodgings. Fortunately for the latter's pocket the chest +contained a good best suit and boots, and the only expenses incurred +were for a large, soft felt hat and a gilded watch and chain. Dressed +in his best, with a bulging pocket-book in his breast-pocket, he set out +with Mr. Wright on the following evening to make his first call. + +Mr. Wright, who was also in his best clothes, led the way to a small +tobacconist's in a side street off the Mile End Road, and, raising his +hat with some ceremony, shook hands with a good-looking young woman who +stood behind the counter: Mr. Kemp, adopting an air of scornful dignity +intended to indicate the possession of great wealth, waited. + +“This is my uncle,” said Mr. Wright, speaking rapidly, “from New Zealand, +the one I spoke to you about. He turned up last night, and you might +have knocked me down with a feather. The last person in the world I +expected to see.” + +Mr. Kemp, in a good rolling voice, said, “Good evening, miss; I hope you +are well,” and, subsiding into a chair, asked for a cigar. His surprise +when he found that the best cigar they stocked only cost sixpence almost +assumed the dimensions of a grievance. + +“It'll do to go on with,” he said, smelling it suspiciously. “Have you +got change for a fifty-pound note?” + +Miss Bradshaw, concealing her surprise by an effort, said that she would +see, and was scanning the contents of a drawer, when Mr. Kemp in some +haste discovered a few odd sovereigns in his waistcoat-pocket. Five +minutes later he was sitting in the little room behind the shop, holding +forth to an admiring audience. + +“So far as I know,” he said, in reply to a question of Mrs. Bradshaw's, +“George is the only relation I've got. Him and me are quite alone, and I +can tell you I was glad to find him.” + +Mrs. Bradshaw sighed. “It's a pity you are so far apart,” she said. + +“It's not for long,” said Mr. Kemp. “I'm just going back for about a +year to wind up things out there, and then I'm coming back to leave my +old bones over here. George has very kindly offered to let me live with +him.” + +“He won't suffer for it, I'll be bound,” said Mrs. Bradshaw, archly. + +“So far as money goes he won't,” said the old man. “Not that that would +make any difference to George.” + +“It would be the same to me if you hadn't got a farthing,” said Mr. +Wright, promptly. + +[Illustration: “It'll do to go on with,” he said] + +Mr. Kemp, somewhat affected, shook hands with him, and leaning back in +the most comfortable chair in the room, described his life and struggles +in New Zealand. Hard work, teetotalism, and the simple life combined +appeared to be responsible for a fortune which he affected to be too old +to enjoy. Misunderstandings of a painful nature were avoided by a timely +admission that under medical advice he was now taking a fair amount of +stimulant. + +[Illustration: “'Ow much did you say you'd got in the bank?”] + +“Mind,” he said, as he walked home with the elated George, “it's your +game, not mine, and it's sure to come a bit expensive. I can't be a rich +uncle without spending a bit. 'Ow much did you say you'd got in the +bank?” + +“We must be as careful as we can,” said Mr. Wright, hastily. “One thing +is they can't leave the shop to go out much. It's a very good little +business, and it ought to be all right for me and Bella one of these +days, eh?” + +Mr. Kemp, prompted by a nudge in the ribs, assented. “It's wonderful how +they took it all in about me,” he said; “but I feel certain in my own +mind that I ought to chuck some money about.” + +“Tell 'em of the money you have chucked about,” said Mr. Wright. “It'll +do just as well, and come a good deal cheaper. And you had better go +round alone to-morrow evening. It'll look better. Just go in for +another one of their sixpenny cigars.” + +Mr. Kemp obeyed, and the following evening, after sitting a little while +chatting in the shop, was invited into the parlour, where, mindful of Mr. +Wright's instructions, he held his listeners enthralled by tales of past +expenditure. A tip of fifty pounds to his bedroom steward coming over +was characterized by Mrs. Bradshaw as extravagant. + +“Seems to be going all right,” said Mr. Wright, as the old man made his +report; “but be careful; don't go overdoing it.” + +Mr. Kemp nodded. “I can turn 'em round my little finger,” he said. +“You'll have Bella all to yourself to-morrow evening.” + +Mr. Wright flushed. “How did you manage that?” he inquired. “It's the +first time she has ever been out with me alone.” + +“She ain't coming out,” said Mr. Kemp. “She's going to stay at home and +mind the shop; it's the mother what's coming out. Going to spend the +evening with me!” + +Mr. Wright frowned. “What did you do that for?” he demanded, hotly. + +“I didn't do it,” said Mr. Kemp, equably; “they done it. The old lady +says that, just for once in her life, she wants to see how it feels to +spend money like water.” + +“_Money like water!_” repeated the horrified Mr. Wright. “Money like-- +I'll 'money' her--I'll----” + +“It don't matter to me,” said Mr. Kemp. “I can have a headache or a +chill, or something of that sort, if you like. I don't want to go. It's +no pleasure to me.” + +“What will it cost?” demanded Mr. Wright, pacing up and down the room. + +The rich uncle made a calculation. “She wants to go to a place called +the Empire,” he said, slowly, “and have something for supper, and there'd +be cabs and things. I dessay it would cost a couple o' pounds, and it +might be more. But I'd just as soon ave' a chill--just.” + +Mr. Wright groaned, and after talking of Mrs. Bradshaw as though she were +already his mother-in-law, produced the money. His instructions as to +economy lasted almost up to the moment when he stood with Bella outside +the shop on the following evening and watched the couple go off. + +“It's wonderful how well they get on together,” said Bella, as they +re-entered the shop and passed into the parlour. “I've never seen mother +take to anybody so quick as she has to him.” + +“I hope you like him, too,” said Mr. Wright. + +“He's a dear,” said Bella. “Fancy having all that money. I wonder what +it feels like?” + +“I suppose I shall know some day,” said the young man, slowly; “but it +won't be much good to me unless----” + +“Unless?” said Bella, after a pause. + +“Unless it gives me what I want,” replied the other. “I'd sooner be a +poor man and married to the girl I love, than a millionaire.” + +Miss Bradshaw stole an uneasy glance at his somewhat sallow features, and +became thoughtful. + +“It's no good having diamonds and motor-cars and that sort of thing +unless you have somebody to share them with,” pursued Mr. Wright. + +Miss Bradshaw's eyes sparkled, and at that moment the shop-bell tinkled +and a lively whistle sounded. She rose and went into the shop, and Mr. +Wright settled back in his chair and scowled darkly as he saw the +intruder. + +“Good evening,” said the latter. “I want a sixpenny smoke for twopence, +please. How are we this evening? Sitting up and taking nourishment?” + +Miss Bradshaw told him to behave himself. + +“Always do,” said the young man. “That's why I can never get anybody to +play with. I had such an awful dream about you last night that I +couldn't rest till I saw you. Awful it was.” + +“What was it?” inquired Miss Bradshaw. + +“Dreamt you were married,” said Mr. Hills, smiling at her. + +Miss Bradshaw tossed her head. “Who to, pray?” she inquired. + +“Me,” said Mr. Hills, simply. “I woke up in a cold perspiration. +Halloa! is that Georgie in there? How are you, George? Better?” + +“I'm all right,” said Mr. Wright, with dignity, as the other hooked the +door open with his stick and nodded at him. + +“Well, why don't you look it?” demanded the lively Mr. Hills. “Have you +got your feet wet, or what?” + +“Oh, be quiet,” said Miss Bradshaw, smiling at him. + +“Right-o,” said Mr. Hills, dropping into a chair by the counter and +caressing his moustache. “But you wouldn't speak to me like that if you +knew what a terrible day I've had.” + +“What have you been doing?” asked the girl. + +“Working,” said the other, with a huge sigh. “Where's the millionaire? +I came round on purpose to have a look at him.” + +“Him and mother have gone to the Empire?” said Miss Bradshaw. + +Mr. Hills gave three long, penetrating whistles, and then, placing his +cigar with great care on the counter, hid his face in a huge +handkerchief. Miss Bradshaw, glanced from him to the frowning Mr. +Wright, and then, entering the parlour, closed the door with a bang. Mr. +Hills took the hint, and with a somewhat thoughtful grin departed. + +He came in next evening for another cigar, and heard all that there was +to hear about the Empire. Mrs. Bradshaw would have treated him but +coldly, but the innocent Mr. Kemp, charmed by his manner, paid him great +attention. + +“He's just like what I was at his age,” he said. “Lively.” + +“I'm not a patch on you,” said Mr. Hills, edging his way by slow degrees +into the parlour. “I don't take young ladies to the Empire. Were you +telling me you came over here to get married, or did I dream it?” + +“'Ark at him,” said the blushing Mr. Kemp, as Mrs. Bradshaw shook her +head at the offender and told him to behave himself. + +“He's a man any woman might be happy with,” said Mr. Hills. “He never +knows how much there is in his trousers-pocket. Fancy sewing on buttons +for a man like that. Gold-mining ain't in it.” + +Mrs. Bradshaw shook her head at him again, and Mr. Hills, after +apologizing to her for revealing her innermost thoughts before the most +guileless of men, began to question Mr. Kemp as to the prospects of a +bright and energetic young man, with a distaste for work, in New Zealand. +The audience listened with keen attention to the replies, the only +disturbing factor being a cough of Mr. Wright's, which became more and +more troublesome as the evening wore on. By the time uncle and nephew +rose to depart the latter was so hoarse that he could scarcely speak. + +“Why didn't you tell 'em you had got a letter calling you home, as I told +you?” he vociferated, as soon as they were clear of the shop. + +“I--I forgot it,” said the old man. + +“Forgot it!” repeated the incensed Mr. Wright. + +“What did you think I was coughing like that for--fun?” + +“I forgot it,” said the old man, doggedly. “Besides, if you take my +advice, you'd better let me stay a little longer to make sure of things.” + +Mr. Wright laughed disagreeably. “I dare say,” he said; “but I am +managing this affair, not you. Now, you go round to-morrow afternoon and +tell them you're off. D'ye hear? D'ye think I'm made of money? And +what do you mean by making such a fuss of that fool, Charlie Hills? You +know he is after Bella.” + +He walked the rest of the way home in indignant silence, and, after +giving minute instructions to Mr. Kemp next morning at breakfast, went +off to work in a more cheerful frame of mind. Mr. Kemp was out when he +returned, and after making his toilet he followed him to Mrs. Bradshaw's. + +To his annoyance, he found Mr. Hills there again; and, moreover, it soon +became clear to him that Mr. Kemp had said nothing about his approaching +departure. Coughs and scowls passed unheeded, and at last in a +hesitating voice, he broached the subject himself. There was a general +chorus of lamentation. + +“I hadn't got the heart to tell you,” said Mr. Kemp. “I don't know when +I've been so happy.” + +“But you haven't got to go back immediate,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. + +“To-morrow,” said Mr. Wright, before the old man could reply. +“Business.” + +“Must you go,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. + +Mr. Kemp smiled feebly. “I suppose I ought to,” he replied, in a +hesitating voice. + +“Take my tip and give yourself a bit of a holiday before you go back,” + urged Mr. Hills. + +“Just for a few days,” pleaded Bella. + +“To please us,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. “Think 'ow George'll miss you.” + +“Lay hold of him and don't let him go,” said Mr. Hills. + +He took Mr. Kemp round the waist, and the laughing Bella and her mother +each secured an arm. An appeal to Mr. Wright to secure his legs passed +unheeded. + +“We don't let you go till you promise,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. + +Mr. Kemp smiled and shook his head. “Promise?” said Bella. + +“Well, well,” said Mr. Kemp; “p'r'aps--” + +“He must go back,” shouted the alarmed Mr. Wright. + +“Let him speak for himself,” exclaimed Bella, indignantly. + +“Just another week then,” said Mr. Kemp. “It's no good having money if I +can't please myself.” + +“A week!” shouted Mr. Wright, almost beside himself with rage and dismay. +“A week! Another week! Why, you told me----” + +“Oh, don't listen to him,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. “Croaker! It's his own +business, ain't it? And he knows best, don't he? What's it got to do +with you?” + +She patted Mr. Kemp's hand; Mr. Kemp patted back, and with his disengaged +hand helped himself to a glass of beer--the fourth--and beamed in a +friendly fashion upon the company. + +“George!” he said, suddenly. + +“Yes,” said Mr. Wright, in a harsh voice. + +“Did you think to bring my pocket-book along with you?” + +“No,” said Mr. Wright, sharply; “I didn't.” + +“Tt-tt,” said the old man, with a gesture of annoyance. “Well, lend me a +couple of pounds, then, or else run back and fetch my pocket-book,” he +added, with a sly grin. + +Mr. Wright's face worked with impotent fury. “What--what--do you--want +it for?” he gasped. + +Mrs. Bradshaw's “Well! Well!” seemed to sum up the general feeling; Mr. +Kemp, shaking his head, eyed him with gentle reproach. + +“Me and Mrs. Bradshaw are going to gave another evening out,” he said, +quietly. “I've only got a few more days, and I must make hay while the +sun shines.” + +To Mr. Wright the room seemed to revolve slowly on its axis, but, +regaining his self-possession by a supreme effort, he took out his purse +and produced the amount. Mrs. Bradshaw, after a few feminine +protestations, went upstairs to put her bonnet on. + +“And you can go and fetch a hansom-cab, George, while she's a-doing of +it,” said Mr. Kemp. “Pick out a good 'orse--spotted-grey, if you can.” + +Mr. Wright arose and, departing with a suddenness that was almost +startling, exploded harmlessly in front of the barber's, next door but +one. Then with lagging steps he went in search of the shabbiest cab and +oldest horse he could find. + +“Thankee, my boy,” said Mr. Kemp, bluffly, as he helped Mrs. Bradshaw in +and stood with his foot on the step. “By the way, you had better go back +and lock my pocket-book up. I left it on the washstand, and there's best +part of a thousand pounds in it. You can take fifty for yourself to buy +smokes with.” + +There was a murmur of admiration, and Mr. Wright, with a frantic attempt +to keep up appearances, tried to thank him, but in vain. Long after the +cab had rolled away he stood on the pavement trying to think out a +position which was rapidly becoming unendurable. Still keeping up +appearances, he had to pretend to go home to look after the pocket-book, +leaving the jubilant Mr. Hills to improve the shining hour with Miss +Bradshaw. + +Mr. Kemp, returning home at midnight--in a cab--found the young man +waiting up for him, and, taking a seat on the edge of the table, listened +unmoved to a word-picture of himself which seemed interminable. He was +only moved to speech when Mr. Wright described him as a white-whiskered +jezebel who was a disgrace to his sex, and then merely in the interests +of natural science. + +“Don't you worry,” he said, as the other paused from exhaustion. “It +won't be for long now.” + +“Long?” said Mr. Wright, panting. “First thing to-morrow morning you +have a telegram calling you back--a telegram that must be minded. D'ye +see?” + +“No, I don't,” said Mr. Kemp, plainly. “I'm not going back, never no +more--never! I'm going to stop here and court Mrs. Bradshaw.” + +Mr. Wright fought for breath. “You--you can't!” he gasped. + +“I'm going to have a try,” said the old man. “I'm sick of going to sea, +and it'll be a nice comfortable home for my old age. You marry Bella, +and I'll marry her mother. Happy family!” + +Mr. Wright, trembling with rage, sat down to recover, and, regaining his +composure after a time, pointed out almost calmly the various +difficulties in the way. + +“I've thought it all out,” said Mr. Kemp, nodding. “She mustn't know I'm +not rich till after we're married; then I 'ave a letter from New Zealand +saying I've lost all my money. It's just as easy to have that letter as +the one you spoke of.” + +“And I'm to find you money to play the rich uncle with till you're +married, I suppose,” said Mr. Wright, in a grating voice, “and then lose +Bella when Mrs. Bradshaw finds you've lost your money?” + +Mr. Kemp scratched his ear. “That's your lookout,” he said, at last. + +“Now, look here,” said Mr. Wright, with great determination. “Either you +go and tell them that you've been telegraphed for--cabled is the proper +word--or I tell them the truth.” + +“That'll settle you then,” said Mr. Kemp. + +“No more than the other would,” retorted the young man, “and it'll come +cheaper. One thing I'll take my oath of, and that is I won't give you +another farthing; but if you do as I tell you I'll give you a quid for +luck. Now, think it over.” + +Mr. Kemp thought it over, and after a vain attempt to raise the promised +reward to five pounds, finally compounded for two, and went off to bed +after a few stormy words on selfishness and ingratitude. He declined to +speak to his host at breakfast next morning, and accompanied him in the +evening with the air of a martyr going to the stake. He listened in +stony silence to the young man's instructions, and only spoke when the +latter refused to pay the two pounds in advance. + +The news, communicated in halting accents by Mr. Kemp, was received with +flattering dismay. Mrs. Bradshaw refused to believe her ears, and it was +only after the information had been repeated and confirmed by Mr. Wright +that she understood. + +“I must go,” said Mr. Kemp. “I've spent over eleven pounds cabling +to-day; but it's all no good.” + +“But you're coming back?” said Mr. Hills. + +“O' course I am,” was the reply. “George is the only relation I've got, +and I've got to look after him, I suppose. After all, blood is thicker +than water.” + +“Hear, hear!” said Mrs. Bradshaw, piously. + +“And there's you and Bella,” continued Mr. Kemp; “two of the best that +ever breathed.” + +The ladies looked down. + +“And Charlie Hills; I don't know--I don't know _when_ I've took such a +fancy to anybody as I have to 'im. If I was a young gal--a single young +gal--he's--the other half,” he said, slowly, as he paused--“just the one I +should fancy. He's a good-'arted, good-looking----” + +“Draw it mild,” interrupted the blushing Mr. Hills as Mr. Wright bestowed +a ferocious glance upon the speaker. + +“Clever, lively young fellow,” concluded Mr. Kemp. “George!” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Wright. + +“I'm going now. I've got to catch the train for Southampton, but I don't +want you to come with me. I prefer to be alone. You stay here and cheer +them up. Oh, and before I forget it, lend me a couple o' pounds out o' +that fifty I gave you last night. I've given all my small change away.” + +He looked up and met Mr. Wright's eye; the latter, too affected to speak, +took out the money and passed it over. + +“We never know what may happen to us,” said the old man, solemnly, as he +rose and buttoned his coat. “I'm an old man and I like to have things +ship-shape. I've spent nearly the whole day with my lawyer, and if +anything 'appens to my old carcass it won't make any difference. I have +left half my money to George; half of all I have is to be his.” + +In the midst of an awed silence he went round and shook hands. + +“The other half,” with his hand on the door--“the other half and my best +gold watch and chain I have left to my dear young pal, Charlie Hills. +Good-bye, Georgie!” + + + + + +“MANNERS MAKYTH MAN” + +The night-watchman appeared to be out of sorts. His movements were even +slower than usual, and, when he sat, the soap-box seemed to be unable to +give satisfaction. His face bore an expression of deep melancholy, but a +smouldering gleam in his eye betokened feelings deeply moved. + +“Play-acting I don't hold with,” he burst out, with sudden ferocity. +“Never did. I don't say I ain't been to a theayter once or twice in my +life, but I always come away with the idea that anybody could act if they +liked to try. It's a kid's game, a silly kid's game, dressing up and +pretending to be somebody else.” + +He cut off a piece of tobacco and, stowing it in his left cheek, sat +chewing, with his lack-lustre eyes fixed on the wharves across the river. +The offensive antics of a lighterman in mid-stream, who nearly fell +overboard in his efforts to attract his attention, he ignored. + +“I might ha' known it, too,” he said, after a long silence. “If I'd only +stopped to think, instead o' being in such a hurry to do good to others, +I should ha' been all right, and the pack o' monkey-faced swabs on the +_Lizzie and Annie_ wot calls themselves sailor-men would 'ave had to 'ave +got something else to laugh about. They've told it in every pub for 'arf +a mile round, and last night, when I went into the Town of Margate to get +a drink, three chaps climbed over the partition to 'ave a look at me. + +“It all began with young Ted Sawyer, the mate o' the _Lizzie and Annie_. +He calls himself a mate, but if it wasn't for 'aving the skipper for a +brother-in-law 'e'd be called something else, very quick. Two or three +times we've 'ad words over one thing and another, and the last time I +called 'im something that I can see now was a mistake. It was one o' +these 'ere clever things that a man don't forget, let alone a lop-sided +monkey like 'im. + +“That was when they was up time afore last, and when they made fast 'ere +last week I could see as he 'adn't forgotten it. For one thing he +pretended not to see me, and, arter I 'ad told him wot I'd do to him if +'e ran into me agin, he said 'e thought I was a sack o' potatoes taking a +airing on a pair of legs wot somebody 'ad throwed away. Nasty tongue +'e's got; not clever, but nasty. + +“Arter that I took no notice of 'im, and, o' course, that annoyed 'im +more than anything. All I could do I done, and 'e was ringing the +gate-bell that night from five minutes to twelve till ha'-past afore I +heard it. Many a night-watchman gets a name for going to sleep when +'e's only getting a bit of 'is own back. + +“We stood there talking for over 'arf-an-hour arter I 'ad let'im in. +Leastways, he did. And whenever I see as he was getting tired I just +said, 'H'sh!' and 'e'd start agin as fresh as ever. He tumbled to it at +last, and went aboard shaking 'is little fist at me and telling me wot +he'd do to me if it wasn't for the lor. + +“I kept by the gate as soon as I came on dooty next evening, just to give +'im a little smile as 'e went out. There is nothing more aggravating +than a smile when it is properly done; but there was no signs o' my lord, +and, arter practising it on a carman by mistake, I 'ad to go inside for a +bit and wait till he 'ad gorn. + +“The coast was clear by the time I went back, and I 'ad just stepped +outside with my back up agin the gate-post to 'ave a pipe, when I see a +boy coming along with a bag. Good-looking lad of about fifteen 'e was, +nicely dressed in a serge suit, and he no sooner gets up to me than 'e +puts down the bag and looks up at me with a timid sort o' little smile. + +“'Good evening, cap'n,' he ses. + +“He wasn't the fust that has made that mistake; older people than 'im +have done it. + +“'Good evening, my lad,' I ses. + +“'I s'pose,' he ses, in a trembling voice, 'I suppose you ain't looking +out for a cabin-boy, sir?' + +“'Cabin-boy?' I ses. 'No, I ain't.' + +“'I've run away from 'ome to go to sea,' he ses, and I'm afraid of being +pursued. Can I come inside?' + +“Afore I could say 'No' he 'ad come, bag and all; and afore I could say +anything else he 'ad nipped into the office and stood there with his 'and +on his chest panting. + +“'I know I can trust you,' he ses; 'I can see it by your face.” + +“'Wot 'ave you run away from 'ome for?' I ses. 'Have they been +ill-treating of you?' + +“'Ill-treating me?' he ses, with a laugh. 'Not much. Why, I expect my +father is running about all over the place offering rewards for me. He +wouldn't lose me for a thousand pounds.' + +“I pricked up my ears at that; I don't deny it. Anybody would. Besides, +I knew it would be doing him a kindness to hand 'im back to 'is father. +And then I did a bit o' thinking to see 'ow it was to be done. + +“'Sit down,' I ses, putting three or four ledgers on the floor behind one +of the desks. 'Sit down, and let's talk it over.' + +“We talked away for ever so long, but, do all I would, I couldn't +persuade 'im. His 'ead was stuffed full of coral islands and smugglers +and pirates and foreign ports. He said 'e wanted to see the world, and +flying-fish. + +“'I love the blue billers,' he ses; 'the heaving blue billers is wot I +want.' + +“I tried to explain to 'im who would be doing the heaving, but 'e +wouldn't listen to me. He sat on them ledgers like a little wooden +image, looking up at me and shaking his 'ead, and when I told 'im of +storms and shipwrecks he just smacked 'is lips and his blue eyes shone +with joy. Arter a time I saw it was no good trying to persuade 'im, and +I pretended to give way. + +“'I think I can get you a ship with a friend o' mine,' I ses; 'but, mind, +I've got to relieve your pore father's mind--I must let 'im know wot's +become of you.' + +“'Not before I've sailed,' he ses, very quick. + +“'Certingly not,' I ses. 'But you must give me 'is name and address, +and, arter the Blue Shark--that's the name of your ship--is clear of the +land, I'll send 'im a letter with no name to it, saying where you ave +gorn.' + +“He didn't seem to like it at fust, and said 'e would write 'imself, but +arter I 'ad pointed out that 'e might forget and that I was responsible, +'e gave way and told me that 'is father was named Mr. Watson, and he kept +a big draper's shop in the Commercial Road. + +“We talked a bit arter that, just to stop 'is suspicions, and then I told +'im to stay where 'e was on the floor, out of sight of the window, while +I went to see my friend the captain. + +“I stood outside for a moment trying to make up my mind wot to do. +O'course, I 'ad no business, strictly speaking, to leave the wharf, but, +on the other 'and, there was a father's 'art to relieve. I edged along +bit by bit while I was thinking, and then, arter looking back once or +twice to make sure that the boy wasn't watching me, I set off for the +Commercial Road as hard as I could go. + +“I'm not so young as I was. It was a warm evening, and I 'adn't got even +a bus fare on me. I 'ad to walk all the way, and, by the time I got +there, I was 'arf melted. It was a tidy-sized shop, with three or four +nice-looking gals behind the counter, and things like babies' high chairs +for the customers to sit onlong in the leg and ridikerlously small in the +seat. I went up to one of the gals and told Per I wanted to see Mr. +Watson. + +“'On private business,' I ses. 'Very important.' + +“She looked at me for a moment, and then she went away and fetched a +tall, bald-headed man with grey side-whiskers and a large nose. + +“'Wot d'you want?” he ses, coming up to me. + +I want a word with you in private,' I ses. + +“'This is private enough for me,' he ses. 'Say wot you 'ave to say, and +be quick about it.' + +“I drawed myself up a bit and looked at him. 'P'r'aps you ain't missed +'im yet,' I ses. + +“'Missed 'im?' he ses, with a growl. 'Missed who?' + +“'Your-son. Your blue-eyed son,' I ses, looking 'im straight in the eye. + +“'Look here!' he ses, spluttering. 'You be off. 'Ow dare you come here +with your games? Wot d'ye mean by it?' + +“'I mean,' I ses, getting a bit out o' temper, 'that your boy has run +away to go to sea, and I've come to take you to 'im.' + +“He seemed so upset that I thought 'e was going to 'ave a fit at fust, +and it seemed only natural, too. Then I see that the best-looking girl +and another was having a fit, although trying 'ard not to. + +“'If you don't get out o' my shop,' he ses at last, 'I'll 'ave you locked +up.' + +“'Very good!' I ses, in a quiet way. 'Very good; but, mark my words, +if he's drownded you'll never forgive yourself as long as you live for +letting your temper get the better of you--you'll never know a good +night's rest agin. Besides, wot about 'is mother?' + +“One o' them silly gals went off agin just like a damp firework, and Mr. +Watson, arter nearly choking 'imself with temper, shoved me out o' the +way and marched out o' the shop. I didn't know wot to make of 'im at +fust, and then one o' the gals told me that 'e was a bachelor and 'adn't +got no son, and that somebody 'ad been taking advantage of what she +called my innercence to pull my leg. + +“'You toddle off 'ome,' she ses, 'before Mr. Watson comes back.' + +“'It's a shame to let 'im come out alone,' ses one o' the other gals. +'Where do you live, gran'pa?' + +“I see then that I 'ad been done, and I was just walking out o' the shop, +pretending to be deaf, when Mr. Watson come back with a silly young +policeman wot asked me wot I meant by it. He told me to get off 'ome +quick, and actually put his 'and on my shoulder, but it 'ud take more +than a thing like that to push me, and, arter trying his 'ardest, he +could only rock me a bit. + +“I went at last because I wanted to see that boy agin, and the young +policeman follered me quite a long way, shaking his silly 'ead at me and +telling me to be careful. + +“I got a ride part o' the way from Commercial Road to Aldgate by getting +on the wrong bus, but it wasn't much good, and I was quite tired by the +time I got back to the wharf. I waited outside for a minute or two to +get my wind back agin, and then I went in-boiling. + +“You might ha' knocked me down with a feather, as the saying is, and I +just stood inside the office speechless. The boy 'ad disappeared and +sitting on the floor where I 'ad left 'im was a very nice-looking gal of +about eighteen, with short 'air, and a white blouse. + +“'Good evening, sir,' she ses, jumping up and giving me a pretty little +frightened look. 'I'm so sorry that my brother has been deceiving you. +He's a bad, wicked, ungrateful boy. The idea of telling you that Mr. +Watson was 'is father! Have you been there? I do 'ope you're not +tired.' + +“'Where is he?' I ses. + +“'He's gorn,' she ses, shaking her 'ead. 'I begged and prayed of 'im to +stop, but 'e wouldn't. He said 'e thought you might be offended with +'im. “Give my love to old Roley-Poley, and tell him I don't trust 'im,” + he ses.' + +“She stood there looking so scared that I didn't know wot to say. By and +by she took out 'er little pocket-'ankercher and began to cry-- + +“'Oh, get 'im back,' she ses. 'Don't let it be said I follered 'im 'ere +all the way for nothing. Have another try. For my sake!' + +“''Ow can I get 'im back when I don't know where he's gorn?' I ses. + +“'He-he's gorn to 'is godfather,' she ses, dabbing her eyes. 'I promised +'im not to tell anybody; but I don't know wot to do for the best.' + +“'Well, p'r'aps his godfather will 'old on to 'im,' I ses. + +“'He won't tell 'im anything about going to sea,' she ses, shaking 'er +little head. 'He's just gorn to try and bo--bo-borrow some money to go +away with.' + +“She bust out sobbing, and it was all I could do to get the godfather's +address out of 'er. When I think of the trouble I took to get it I come +over quite faint. At last she told me, between 'er sobs, that 'is name +was Mr. Kiddem, and that he lived at 27, Bridge Street. + +“'He's one o' the kindest-'arted and most generous men that ever lived,' +she ses; 'that's why my brother Harry 'as gone to 'im. And you needn't +mind taking anything 'e likes to give you; he's rolling in money.' + +“I took it a bit easier going to Bridge Street, but the evening seemed +'otter than ever, and by the time I got to the 'ouse I was pretty near +done up. A nice, tidy-looking woman opened the door, but she was a' most +stone deaf, and I 'ad to shout the name pretty near a dozen times afore +she 'eard it. + +“'He don't live 'ere,' she ses. + +“''As he moved?' I ses. 'Or wot?' + +“She shook her 'cad, and, arter telling me to wait, went in and fetched +her 'usband. + +“'Never 'eard of him,' he ses, 'and we've been 'ere seventeen years. Are +you sure it was twenty-seven?' + +“'Sartain,' I ses. + +“'Well, he don't live 'ere,' he ses. 'Why not try thirty-seven and +forty-seven?' + +“I tried'em: thirty-seven was empty, and a pasty-faced chap at +forty-seven nearly made 'imself ill over the name of 'Kiddem.' It +'adn't struck me before, but it's a hard matter to deceive me, and all +in a flash it come over me that I 'ad been done agin, and that the gal +was as bad as 'er brother. + +“I was so done up I could 'ardly crawl back, and my 'ead was all in a +maze. Three or four times I stopped and tried to think, but couldn't, +but at last I got back and dragged myself into the office. + +“As I 'arf expected, it was empty. There was no sign of either the gal +or the boy; and I dropped into a chair and tried to think wot it all +meant. Then, 'appening to look out of the winder, I see somebody running +up and down the jetty. + +“I couldn't see plain owing to the things in the way, but as soon as I +got outside and saw who it was I nearly dropped. It was the boy, and he +was running up and down wringing his 'ands and crying like a wild thing, +and, instead o' running away as soon as 'e saw me, he rushed right up to +me and threw 'is grubby little paws round my neck. + +“'Save her!' 'e ses. 'Save 'er! Help! Help!' + +“'Look 'ere,' I ses, shoving 'im off. + +“'She fell overboard,' he ses, dancing about. 'Oh, my pore sister! +Quick! Quick! I can't swim!' + +“He ran to the side and pointed at the water, which was just about at +'arf-tide. Then 'e caught 'old of me agin. + +“'Make 'aste,' he ses, giving me a shove behind. 'Jump in. Wot are you +waiting for?' + +“I stood there for a moment 'arf dazed, looking down at the water. Then +I pulled down a life-belt from the wall 'ere and threw it in, and, arter +another moment's thought, ran back to the _Lizzie and Annie,_ wot was in +the inside berth, and gave them a hail. I've always 'ad a good voice, +and in a flash the skipper and Ted Sawyer came tumbling up out of the +cabin and the 'ands out of the fo'c'sle. + +“'Gal overboard!' I ses, shouting. + +“The skipper just asked where, and then 'im and the mate and a couple of +'ands tumbled into their boat and pulled under the jetty for all they was +worth. Me and the boy ran back and stood with the others, watching. + +“'Point out the exact spot,' ses the skipper. + +“The boy pointed, and the skipper stood up in the boat and felt round +with a boat-hook. Twice 'e said he thought 'e touched something, but it +turned out as 'e was mistaken. His face got longer and longer and 'e +shook his 'ead, and said he was afraid it was no good. + +“'Don't stand cryin' 'ere,' he ses to the boy, kindly. 'Jem, run round +for the Thames police, and get them and the drags. Take the boy with +you. It'll occupy 'is mind.' + +“He 'ad another go with the boat-hook arter they 'ad gone; then 'e gave +it up, and sat in the boat waiting. + +“'This'll be a bad job for you, watchman,' he ses, shaking his 'ead. +'Where was you when it 'appened?' + +“'He's been missing all the evening,' ses the cook, wot was standing +beside me. 'If he'd been doing 'is dooty, the pore gal wouldn't 'ave +been drownded. Wot was she doing on the wharf?' + +“'Skylarkin', I s'pose,' ses the mate. 'It's a wonder there ain't more +drownded. Wot can you expect when the watchman is sitting in a pub all +the evening?' + +“The cook said I ought to be 'ung, and a young ordinary seaman wot was +standing beside 'im said he would sooner I was boiled. I believe they +'ad words about it, but I was feeling too upset to take much notice. + +“'Looking miserable won't bring 'er back to life agin,' ses the skipper, +looking up at me and shaking his 'ead. 'You'd better go down to my cabin +and get yourself a drop o' whisky; there's a bottle on the table. You'll +want all your wits about you when the police come. And wotever you do +don't say nothing to criminate yourself.' + +“'We'll do the criminating for 'im all right,' ses the cook. + +“'If I was the pore gal I'd haunt 'im,' ses the ordinary seaman; 'every +night of 'is life I'd stand afore 'im dripping with water and moaning.' + +“'P'r'aps she will,' ses the cook; 'let's 'ope so, at any rate.' + +“I didn't answer 'em; I was too dead-beat. Besides which, I've got a +'orror of ghosts, and the idea of being on the wharf alone of a night +arter such a thing was a'most too much for me. I went on board the +_Lizzie and Annie,_ and down in the cabin I found a bottle o' whisky, as +the skipper 'ad said. I sat down on the locker and 'ad a glass, and then +I sat worrying and wondering wot was to be the end of it all. + +“The whisky warmed me up a bit, and I 'ad just taken up the bottle to +'elp myself agin when I 'eard a faint sort o' sound in the skipper's +state-room. I put the bottle down and listened, but everything seemed +deathly still. I took it up agin, and 'ad just poured out a drop o' +whisky when I distinctly 'eard a hissing noise and then a little moan. + +“For a moment I sat turned to stone. Then I put the bottle down quiet, +and 'ad just got up to go when the door of the state-room opened, and I +saw the drownded gal, with 'er little face and hair all wet and dripping, +standing before me. + +“Ted Sawyer 'as been telling everybody that I came up the companion-way +like a fog-horn that 'ad lost its ma; I wonder how he'd 'ave come up if +he'd 'ad the evening I had 'ad? + +“They were all on the jetty as I got there and tumbled into the skipper's +arms, and all asking at once wot was the matter. When I got my breath +back a bit and told 'em, they laughed. All except the cook, and 'e said +it was only wot I might expect. Then, like a man in a dream, I see the +gal come out of the companion and walk slowly to the side. + +“'Look!' I ses. 'Look. There she is!' + +“'You're dreaming,' ses the skipper, 'there's nothing there.' + +“They all said the same, even when the gal stepped on to the side and +climbed on to the wharf. She came along towards me with 'er arms held +close to 'er sides, and making the most 'orrible faces at me, and it took +five of'em all their time to 'old me. The wharf and everything seemed to +me to spin round and round. Then she came straight up to me and patted +me on the cheek. + +“'Pore old gentleman,' she ses. 'Wot a shame it is, Ted! It's too bad.' + +“They let go o' me then, and stamped up and down the jetty laughing fit +to kill themselves. If they 'ad only known wot a exhibition they was +making of themselves, and 'ow I pitied them, they wouldn't ha' done it. +And by and by Ted wiped his eyes and put his arm round the gal's waist +and ses-- + +“'This is my intended, Miss Florrie Price,' he ses. 'Ain't she a little +wonder? Wot d'ye think of 'er?' + +“'I'll keep my own opinion,' I ses. 'I ain't got nothing to say against +gals, but if I only lay my hands on that young brother of 'ers' + +“They went off agin then, worse than ever; and at last the cook came and +put 'is skinny arm round my neck and started spluttering in my ear. I +shoved 'im off hard, because I see it all then; and I should ha' seen it +afore only I didn't 'ave time to think. I don't bear no malice, and all +I can say is that I don't wish 'er any harder punishment than to be +married to Ted Sawyer.” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ship's Company, The Entire Collection +by W.W. Jacobs + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10573 *** |