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diff --git a/11482-h/11482-h.htm b/11482-h/11482-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd39a4a --- /dev/null +++ b/11482-h/11482-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8292 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Deep Waters, by W.W. Jacobs</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11482 ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/title.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>DEEP WATERS</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By W. W. JACOBS</h2> + +<h3>1911</h3> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">SHAREHOLDERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">PAYING OFF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">MADE TO MEASURE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">SAM’S GHOST</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">BEDRIDDEN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">THE CONVERT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">HUSBANDRY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">FAMILY CARES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">THE WINTER OFFENSIVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">THE SUBSTITUTE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">STRIKING HARD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">DIRTY WORK</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus01">“Found It over There, Just by the Mint,” Ses The Man, Pointing.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus02">In the Light of The Lamp I Saw The Dead White Face.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus03">Right Afore My Wife and the Party Next Door She Put Her Arm Round My Waist.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus04">She Learnt the News in The First Half-hour from Her Landlady.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>SHAREHOLDERS</h2> + +<p> +Sailor man—said the night-watchman, musingly—a sailorman is like a fish he is +safest when ’e is at sea. When a fish comes ashore it is in for trouble, and so +is sailorman. One poor chap I knew ’ardly ever came ashore without getting +married; and he was found out there was no less than six wimmen in the court +all taking away ’is character at once. And when he spoke up Solomon the +magistrate pretty near bit ’is ’ead off. +</p> + +<p> +Then look at the trouble they get in with their money! They come ashore from a +long trip, smelling of it a’most, and they go from port to port like a lord. +Everybody has got their eye on that money—everybody except the sailorman, that +is—and afore he knows wot’s ’appened, and who ’as got it, he’s looking for a +ship agin. When he ain’t robbed of ’is money, he wastes it; and when ’e don’t +do either, he loses it. +</p> + +<p> +I knew one chap who hid ’is money. He’d been away ten months, and, knowing ’ow +easy money goes, ’e made up sixteen pounds in a nice little parcel and hid it +where nobody could find it. That’s wot he said, and p’r’aps ’e was right. All I +know is, he never found it. I did the same thing myself once with a couple o’ +quid I ran acrost unexpected, on’y, unfortunately for me, I hid it the day +afore my missus started ’er spring-cleaning. +</p> + +<p> +One o’ the worst men I ever knew for getting into trouble when he came ashore +was old Sam Small. If he couldn’t find it by ’imself, Ginger Dick and Peter +Russet would help ’im look for it. Generally speaking they found it without +straining their eyesight. +</p> + +<p> +I remember one time they was home, arter being away pretty near a year, and +when they was paid off they felt like walking gold-mines. They went about +smiling all over with good-temper and ’appiness, and for the first three days +they was like brothers. That didn’t last, of course, and on the fourth day Sam +Small, arter saying wot ’e would do to Ginger and Peter if it wasn’t for the +police, went off by ’imself. +</p> + +<p> +His temper passed off arter a time, and ’e began to look cheerful agin. It was +a lovely morning, and, having nothing to do and plenty in ’is pocket to do it +with, he went along like a schoolboy with a ’arf holiday. He went as far as +Stratford on the top of a tram for a mouthful o’ fresh air, and came back to +his favourite coffee-shop with a fine appetite for dinner. There was a very +nice gentlemanly chap sitting opposite ’im, and the way he begged Sam’s pardon +for splashing gravy over ’im made Sam take a liking to him at once. Nicely +dressed he was, with a gold pin in ’is tie, and a fine gold watch-chain acrost +his weskit; and Sam could see he ’ad been brought up well by the way he used +’is knife and fork. He kept looking at Sam in a thoughtful kind o’ way, and at +last he said wot a beautiful morning it was, and wot a fine day it must be in +the country. In a little while they began to talk like a couple of old friends, +and he told Sam all about ’is father, wot was a clergyman in the country, and +Sam talked about a father of his as was living private on three ’undred a year. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, money’s a useful thing,” ses the man. +</p> + +<p> +“It ain’t everything,” ses Sam. “It won’t give you ’appiness. I’ve run through +a lot in my time, so I ought to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect you’ve got a bit left, though,” ses the man, with a wink. +</p> + +<p> +Sam laughed and smacked ’is pocket. “I’ve got a trifle to go on with,” he ses, +winking back. “I never feel comfortable without a pound or two in my pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“You look as though you’re just back from a vy’ge,” ses the man, looking at ’im +very hard. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” ses Sam, nodding. “Just back arter ten months, and I’m going to spend a +bit o’ money afore I sign on agin, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s wot it was given to us for,” ses the man, nodding at him. +</p> + +<p> +They both got up to go at the same time and walked out into the street +together, and, when Sam asked ’im whether he might have the pleasure of +standing ’im a drink, he said he might. He talked about the different kinds of +drink as they walked along till Sam, wot was looking for a high-class pub, got +such a raging thirst on ’im he hardly knew wot to do with ’imself. He passed +several pubs, and walked on as fast as he could to the Three Widders. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to go in there partikler?” ses the man, stopping at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses Sam, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“’Cos I know a place where they sell the best glass o’ port wine in London,” +ses the man. +</p> + +<p> +He took Sam up two or three turnings, and then led him into a quiet little pub +in a back street. There was a cosy little saloon bar with nobody in it, and, +arter Sam had ’ad two port wines for the look of the thing, he ’ad a pint o’ +six-ale because he liked it. His new pal had one too, and he ’ad just taken a +pull at it and wiped his mouth, when ’e noticed a little bill pinned up at the +back of the bar. +</p> + +<p> +“Lost, between—the Mint and—Tower Stairs,” he ses, leaning forward and reading +very slow, “a gold—locket—set with—diamonds. Whoever will—return—the same +to—Mr. Smith—Orange Villa—Barnet—will receive —thirty pounds—reward.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow much?” ses Sam, starting. “Thirty pounds,” ses the man. “Must be a good +locket. Where’d you get that?” he ses, turning to the barmaid. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentleman came in an hour ago,” ses the gal, “and, arter he had ’ad two or +three drinks with the guv’nor, he asks ’im to stick it up. ’Arf crying he +was—said ’it ’ad belonged to his old woman wot died.” +</p> + +<p> +She went off to serve a customer at the other end of the bar wot was making +little dents in it with his pot, and the man came back and sat down by Sam +agin, and began to talk about horse-racing. At least, he tried to, but Sam +couldn’t talk of nothing but that locket, and wot a nice steady sailorman could +do with thirty pounds. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, p’r’aps you’ll find it,” ses the man, chaffing-like. “’Ave another +pint.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam had one, but it only made ’im more solemn, and he got in quite a temper as +’e spoke about casuals loafing about on Tower Hill with their ’ands in their +pockets, and taking gold lockets out of the mouths of hard-working sailormen. +</p> + +<p> +“It mightn’t be found yet,” ses the man, speaking thoughtful-like. “It’s +wonderful how long a thing’ll lay sometimes. Wot about going and ’aving a look +for it?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam shook his ’ead at fust, but arter turning the thing over in his mind, and +’aving another look at the bill, and copying down the name and address for +luck, ’e said p’r’aps they might as well walk that way as anywhere else. +</p> + +<p> +“Something seems to tell me we’ve got a chance,” ses the man, as they stepped +outside. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a funny feeling and I can’t explain it, but it always means good luck. +Last time I had it an aunt o’ mine swallered ’er false teeth and left me five +’undred pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s aunts and aunts,” ses Sam, grunting. “I ’ad one once, but if she had +swallered ’er teeth she’d ha’ been round to me to help ’er buy some new ones. +That’s the sort she was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mind!” ses the man, patting ’im on the shoulder, “if we do find this, I don’t +want any of it. I’ve got all I want. It’s all for you.” +</p> + +<p> +They went on like a couple o’ brothers arter that, especially Sam, and when +they got to the Mint they walked along slow down Tower Hill looking for the +locket. It was awkward work, because, if people saw them looking about, they’d +’ave started looking too, and twice Sam nearly fell over owing to walking like +a man with a stiff neck and squinting down both sides of his nose at once. When +they got as far as the Stairs they came back on the other side of the road, and +they ’ad turned to go back agin when a docker-looking chap stopped Sam’s friend +and spoke to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got no change, my man,” ses Sam’s pal, pushing past him. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t begging, guv’nor,” ses the chap, follering ’im up. “I’m trying to sell +some-thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot is it?” ses the other, stopping. +</p> + +<p> +The man looked up and down the street, and then he put his ’ead near them and +whispered. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” ses Sam’s pal. +</p> + +<p> +“Something I picked up,” ses the man, still a-whispering. +</p> + +<p> +Sam got a pinch on the arm from ’is pal that nearly made him scream, then they +both stood still, staring at the docker. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot is it?” ses Sam, at last. +</p> + +<p> +The docker looked over his shoulder agin, and then ’e put his ’and in his +trouser-pocket and just showed ’em a big, fat gold locket with diamonds stuck +all over it. Then he shoved it back in ’is pocket, while Sam’s pal was giving +’im a pinch worse than wot the other was. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the one,” he ses, in a whisper. “Let’s ’ave another look at it,” he ses +to the docker. +</p> + +<p> +The man fished it out of his pocket agin, and held on to it tight while they +looked at it. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you find it?” ses Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“Found it over there, just by the Mint,” ses the man, pointing. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus01"></a> +<img src="images/001.jpg" width="463" height="577" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">“Found it over there, just by the Mint,” ses the man, pointing.</p> +</div> + +<p> +“As much as I can get,” ses the man. “I don’t quite know ’ow much it’s worth, +that’s the worst of it. Wot d’ye say to twenty pounds, and chance it?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam laughed—the sort of laugh a pal ’ad once give him a black eye for. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty pounds!” he ses; “twenty pounds! ’Ave you gorn out of your mind, or +wot? I’ll give you a couple of quid for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s all right, captin,” ses the man, “there’s no ’arm done. I’ll try +somebody else—or p’r’aps there’ll be a big reward for it. I don’t believe it +was bought for a ’undred pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +He was just sheering off when Sam’s pal caught ’im by the arm and asked him to +let ’im have another look at it. Then he came back to Sam and led ’im a little +way off, whispering to ’im that it was the chance of a life time. +</p> + +<p> +“And if you prefer to keep it for a little while and then sell it, instead of +getting the reward for it, I dare say it would be worth a hundred pounds to +you,” ’e ses. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t got twenty pounds,” ses Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow much ’ave you got?” ses his pal. +</p> + +<p> +Sam felt in ’is pockets, and the docker came up and stood watching while he +counted it. Altogether it was nine pounds fourteen shillings and tuppence. +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps you’ve got some more at ’ome,” ses his pal. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a farthing,” ses Sam, which was true as far as the farthing went. +</p> + +<p> +“Or p’r’aps you could borrer some,” ses his pal, in a soft, kind voice. “I’d +lend it to you with pleasure, on’y I haven’t got it with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam shook his ’ead, and at last, arter the docker ’ad said he wouldn’t let it +go for less than twenty, even to save ’is life, he let it go for the nine +pounds odd, a silver watch-chain, two cigars wot Sam ’ad been sitting on by +mistake, and a sheath-knife. +</p> + +<p> +“Shove it in your pocket and don’t let a soul see it,” ses the man, handing +over the locket. “I might as well give it away a’most. But it can’t be ’elped.” +</p> + +<p> +He went off up the ’ill shaking his ’ead, and Sam’s pal, arter watching him for +a few seconds, said good-bye in a hurry and went off arter ’im to tell him to +keep ’is mouth shut about it. +</p> + +<p> +Sam walked back to his lodgings on air, as the saying is, and even did a little +bit of a skirt-dance to a pianner-organ wot was playing. Peter and Ginger was +out, and so was his land-lady, a respectable woman as was minding the rest of +’is money for him, and when he asked ’er little gal, a kid of eleven, to trust +’im for some tin she gave ’im a lecture on wasting his money instead wot took +’is breath away—all but a word or two. +</p> + +<p> +He got some of ’is money from his landlady at eight o’clock, arter listening to +’er for ’arf an hour, and then he ’ad to pick it up off of the floor, and say +“Thank you” for it. +</p> + +<p> +He went to bed afore Ginger and Peter came in, but ’e was so excited he +couldn’t sleep, and long arter they was in bed he laid there and thought of all +the different ways of spending a ’undred pounds. He kept taking the locket from +under ’is piller and feeling it; then he felt ’e must ’ave another look at it, +and arter coughing ’ard two or three times and calling out to the other two not +to snore—to see if they was awake—he got out o’ bed and lit the candle. Ginger +and Peter was both fast asleep, with their eyes screwed up and their mouths +wide open, and ’e sat on the bed and looked at the locket until he was a’most +dazzled. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ullo, Sam!” ses a voice. “Wot ’ave you got there?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam nearly fell off the bed with surprise and temper. Then ’e hid the locket in +his ’and and blew out the candle. +</p> + +<p> +“Who gave it to you?” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“You get off to sleep, and mind your own bisness,” ses Sam, grinding ’is teeth. +</p> + +<p> +He got back into bed agin and laid there listening to Ginger waking up Peter. +Peter woke up disagreeable, but when Ginger told ’im that Sam ’ad stole a gold +locket as big as a saucer, covered with diamonds, he altered ’is mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s ’ave a look at it,” he ses, sitting up. +</p> + +<p> +“Ginger’s dreaming,” ses Sam, in a shaky voice. “I ain’t got no locket. Wot +d’you think I want a locket for?” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger got out o’ bed and lit the candle agin. “Come on!” he ses, “let’s ’ave a +look at it. I wasn’t dreaming. I’ve been awake all the time, watching you.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam shut ’is eyes and turned his back to them. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone to sleep, pore old chap,” ses Ginger. “We’ll ’ave a look at it +without waking ’im. You take that side, Peter! Mind you don’t disturb ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +He put his ’and in under the bed-clo’es and felt all up and down Sam’s back, +very careful. Sam stood it for ’arf a minute, and then ’e sat up in bed and +behaved more like a windmill than a man. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold his ’ands,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold ’em yourself,” ses Peter, dabbing ’is nose with his shirt-sleeve. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’re going to see it,” ses Ginger, “if we have to make enough noise to +rouse the ’ouse. Fust of all we’re going to ask you perlite; then we shall get +louder and louder. Show us the locket wot you stole, Sam!” +</p> + +<p> +“Show—us—the—diamond locket!” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my turn, Peter,” ses Ginger. “One, two, three. SHOW—US—TH’——” +</p> + +<p> +“Shut up,” ses Sam, trembling all over. “I’ll show it to you if you stop your +noise.” +</p> + +<p> +He put his ’and under his piller, but afore he showed it to ’em he sat up in +bed and made ’em a little speech. He said ’e never wanted to see their faces +agin as long as he lived, and why Ginger’s mother ’adn’t put ’im in a pail o’ +cold water when ’e was born ’e couldn’t understand. He said ’e didn’t believe +that even a mother could love a baby that looked like a cod-fish with red ’air, +and as for Peter Russet, ’e believed his mother died of fright. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do,” ses Ginger, as Sam stopped to get ’is breath. “Are you going to +show us the locket, or ’ave we got to shout agin?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam swallered something that nearly choked ’im, and then he opened his ’and and +showed it to them. Peter told ’im to wave it so as they could see the diamonds +flash, and then Ginger waved the candle to see ’ow they looked that way, and +pretty near set pore Sam’s whiskers on fire. +</p> + +<p> +They didn’t leave ’im alone till they knew as much about it as he could tell +’em, and they both of ’em told ’im that if he took a reward of thirty pounds +for it, instead of selling it for a ’undred, he was a bigger fool than he +looked. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall turn it over in my mind,” ses Sam, sucking ’is teeth. “When I want +your advice I’ll ask you for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We wasn’t thinking of you,” ses Ginger; “we was thinking of ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“You!” ses Sam, with a bit of a start. “Wot’s it got to do with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Our share’ll be bigger, that’s all,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Much bigger,” ses Peter. “I couldn’t dream of letting it go at thirty. It’s +chucking money away. Why, we might get two ’undred for it. Who knows?” +</p> + +<p> +Sam sat on the edge of ’is bed like a man in a dream, then ’e began to make a +noise like a cat with a fish-bone in its throat, and then ’e stood up and let +fly. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t stop ’im, Peter,” ses Ginger. “Let ’im go on; it’ll do him good.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s forgot all about that penknife you picked up and went shares in,” ses +Peter. “I wouldn’t be mean for twenty lockets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor me neither,” ses Ginger. “But we won’t let ’im be mean—for ’is own sake. +We’ll ’ave our rights.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rights!” ses Sam. “Rights! You didn’t find it.” +</p> + +<p> +“We always go shares if we find anything,” ses Ginger. “Where’s your memory, +Sam?” “But I didn’t find it,” ses Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“No, you bought it,” ses Peter, “and if you don’t go shares we’ll split on +you—see? Then you can’t sell it anyway, and perhaps you won’t even get the +reward. We can be at Orange Villa as soon as wot you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sooner,” ses Ginger, nodding. “But there’s no need to do that. If ’e don’t go +shares I’ll slip round to the police-station fust thing in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know the way there all right,” ses Sam, very bitter. +</p> + +<p> +“And we don’t want none o’ your back-answers,” ses Ginger. “Are you going +shares or not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot about the money I paid for it?” ses Sam, “and my trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger and Peter sat down on the bed to talk it over, and at last, arter +calling themselves a lot o’ bad names for being too kind-’earted, they offered +’im five pounds each for their share in the locket. +</p> + +<p> +“And that means you’ve got your share for next to nothing, Sam,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Some people wouldn’t ’ave given you any-thing,” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Sam gave way at last, and then ’e stood by making nasty remarks while Ginger +wrote out a paper for them all to sign, because he said he had known Sam such a +long time. +</p> + +<p> +It was a’most daylight afore they got to sleep, and the fust thing Ginger did +when he woke was to wake Sam up, and offer to shake ’ands with him. The noise +woke Peter up, and, as Sam wouldn’t shake ’ands with ’im either, they both +patted him on the back instead. +</p> + +<p> +They made him take ’em to the little pub, arter breakfast, to read the bill +about the reward. Sam didn’t mind going, as it ’appened, as he ’oped to meet +’is new pal there and tell ’im his troubles, but, though they stayed there some +time, ’e didn’t turn up. He wasn’t at the coffee-shop for dinner, neither. +</p> + +<p> +Peter and Ginger was in ’igh spirits, and, though Sam told ’em plain that he +would sooner walk about with a couple of real pickpockets, they wouldn’t leave +’im an inch. +</p> + +<p> +“Anybody could steal it off of you, Sam,” ses Ginger, patting ’im on the weskit +to make sure the locket was still there. “It’s a good job you’ve got us to look +arter you.” +</p> + +<p> +“We must buy ’im a money-belt with a pocket in it,” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger nodded at ’im. “Yes,” he ses, “that would be safer. And he’d better wear +it next to ’is skin, with everything over it. I should feel more comfortable +then.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wot about me?” says Sam, turning on ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’ll take it in turns,” ses Ginger. “You one day, and then me, and then +Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam gave way at last, as arter all he could see it was the safest thing to do, +but he ’ad so much to say about it that they got fair sick of the sound of ’is +voice. They ’ad to go ’ome for ’im to put the belt on; and then at seven +o’clock in the evening, arter Sam had ’ad two or three pints, they had to go +’ome agin, ’cos he was complaining of tight-lacing. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger had it on next day and he went ’ome five times. The other two went with +’im in case he lost ’imself, and stood there making nasty remarks while he +messed ’imself up with a penn’orth of cold cream. It was a cheap belt, and pore +Ginger said that, when they ’ad done with it, it would come in handy for +sand-paper. +</p> + +<p> +Peter didn’t like it any better than the other two did, and twice they ’ad to +speak to ’im about stopping in the street and trying to make ’imself more +comfortable by wriggling. Sam said people misunderstood it. +</p> + +<p> +Arter that they agreed to wear it outside their shirt, and even then Ginger +said it scratched ’im. And every day they got more and more worried about wot +was the best thing to do with the locket, and whether it would be safe to try +and sell it. The idea o’ walking about with a fortune in their pockets that +they couldn’t spend a’most drove ’em crazy. +</p> + +<p> +“The longer we keep it, the safer it’ll be,” ses Sam, as they was walking down +Hounds-ditch one day. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll sell it when I’m sixty,” ses Ginger, nasty-like. +</p> + +<p> +“Then old Sam won’t be ’ere to have ’is share,” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Sam was just going to answer ’em back, when he stopped and began to smile +instead. Straight in front of ’im was the gentleman he ’ad met in the +coffee-shop, coming along with another man, and he just ’ad time to see that it +was the docker who ’ad sold him the locket, when they both saw ’im. They turned +like a flash, and, afore Sam could get ’is breath, bolted up a little alley and +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s the row?” ses Ginger, staring. +</p> + +<p> +Sam didn’t answer ’im. He stood there struck all of a heap. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know ’em?” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Sam couldn’t answer ’im for a time. He was doing a bit of ’ard thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“Chap I ’ad a row with the other night,” he ses, at last. +</p> + +<p> +He walked on very thoughtful, and the more ’e thought, the less ’e liked it. He +was so pale that Ginger thought ’e was ill and advised ’im to ’ave a drop o’ +brandy. Peter recommended rum, so to please ’em he ’ad both. It brought ’is +colour back, but not ’is cheerfulness. +</p> + +<p> +He gave ’em both the slip next morning; which was easy, as Ginger was wearing +the locket, and, arter fust ’aving a long ride for nothing owing to getting in +the wrong train, he got to Barnet. +</p> + +<p> +It was a big place; big enough to ’ave a dozen Orange Villas, but pore Sam +couldn’t find one. It wasn’t for want of trying neither. +</p> + +<p> +He asked at over twenty shops, and the post-office, and even went to the +police-station. He must ha’ walked six or seven miles looking for it, and at +last, ’arf ready to drop, ’e took the train back. +</p> + +<p> +He ’ad some sausages and mashed potatoes with a pint o’ stout at a place in +Bishopsgate, and then ’e started to walk ’ome. The only comfort he ’ad was the +thought of the ten pounds Ginger and Peter ’ad paid ’im; and when he remembered +that he began to cheer up and even smile. By the time he got ’ome ’e was +beaming all over ’is face. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’ve you been?” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Enjoying myself by myself,” ses Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“Please yourself,” ses Peter, very severe, “but where’d you ha’ been if we ’ad +sold the locket and skipped, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t ’ave enjoyed yourself by yourself then,” ses Ginger. “Yes, you +may laugh!” +</p> + +<p> +Sam didn’t answer ’im, but he sat down on ’is bed and ’is shoulders shook till +Ginger lost his temper and gave him a couple o’ thumps on the back that pretty +near broke it. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” ses Sam, very firm. “Now you ’ave done for yourselves. I ’ad +a’most made up my mind to go shares; now you sha’n’t ’ave a ha’penny.” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger laughed then. “Ho!” he ses, “and ’ow are you going to prevent it?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got the locket, Sam,” ses Peter, smiling and shaking his ’ead at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“And we’ll mind it till it’s sold,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +Sam laughed agin, short and nasty. Then he undressed ’imself very slow and got +into bed. At twelve o’clock, just as Ginger was dropping off, he began to laugh +agin, and ’e only stopped when ’e heard Ginger getting out of bed to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +He stayed in bed next morning, ’cos he said ’is sides was aching, but ’e +laughed agin as they was going out, and when they came back he ’ad gorn. +</p> + +<p> +We never know ’ow much we’ like anything till we lose it. A week arterwards, as +Ginger was being ’elped out of a pawnshop by Peter, he said ’e would give all +he ’adn’t got for the locket to be near enough to Sam to hear ’im laugh agin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>PAYING OFF</h2> + +<p> +My biggest fault, said the night-watchman, gloomily, has been good nature. I’ve +spent the best part of my life trying to do my fellow-creeturs a good turn. And +what do I get for it? If all the people I’ve helped was to come ’ere now there +wouldn’t be standing room for them on this wharf. ’Arf of them would be pushed +overboard—and a good place for ’em, too. +</p> + +<p> +I’ve been like it all my life. I was good-natured enough to go to sea as a boy +because a skipper took a fancy to me and wanted my ’elp, and when I got older I +was good-natured enough to get married. All my life I’ve given ’elp and advice +free, and only a day or two ago one of ’em wot I ’ad given it to came round +here with her ’usband and ’er two brothers and ’er mother and two or three +people from the same street, to see her give me “wot for.” +</p> + +<p> +Another fault o’ mine has been being sharp. Most people make mistakes, and they +can’t bear to see anybody as don’t. Over and over agin I have showed people ’ow +silly they ’ave been to do certain things, and told ’em wot I should ha’ done +in their place, but I can’t remember one that ever gave me a “thank you” for +it. +</p> + +<p> +There was a man ’ere ’arf an hour ago that reminded me of both of these faults. +He came in a-purpose to remind me, and ’e brought a couple o’ grinning, +brass-faced monkeys with ’im to see ’im do it. I was sitting on that barrel +when he came, and arter two minutes I felt as if I was sitting on red-’ot +cinders. He purtended he ’ad come in for the sake of old times and to ask arter +my ’ealth, and all the time he was doing ’is best to upset me to amuse them two +pore objecks ’e ’ad brought with ’im. +</p> + +<p> +Capt’in Mellun is his name, and ’e was always a foolish, soft-’eaded sort o’ +man, and how he ’as kept ’is job I can’t think. He used to trade between this +wharf and Bristol on a little schooner called the Firefly, and seeing wot a +silly, foolish kind o’ man he was, I took a little bit o’ notice of ’im. Many +and many a time when ’e was going to do something he’d ha’ been sorry for +arterwards I ’ave taken ’im round to the Bear’s Head and stood ’im pint arter +pint until he began to see reason and own up that I was in the right. +</p> + +<p> +His crew was a’most as bad as wot he was, and all in one month one o’ the ’ands +gave a man ten shillings for a di’mond ring he saw ’im pick up, wot turned out +to be worth fourpence, and another one gave five bob for a meerschaum pipe made +o’ chalk. When I pointed out to ’em wot fools they was they didn’t like it, and +a week arterwards, when the skipper gave a man in a pub ’is watch and chain and +two pounds to hold, to show ’is confidence in ’im, and I told ’im exactly wot I +thought of him, ’e didn’t like it. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re too sharp, Bill,” he says, sneering like. “My opinion is that the pore +man was run over. He told me ’e should only be away five minutes. And he ’ad +got an honest face: nice open blue eyes, and a smile that done you good to look +at.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been swindled,” I ses, “and you know it. If I’d been done like that I +should never hold up my ’ead agin. Why, a child o’ five would know better. You +and your crew all seem to be tarred with the same brush. You ain’t fit to be +trusted out alone.” +</p> + +<p> +I believe ’e told his ’ands wot I said; anyway, two bits o’ coke missed me by +’arf an inch next evening, and for some weeks not one of ’em spoke a word to +me. When they see me coming they just used to stand up straight and twist their +nose. +</p> + +<p> +It didn’t ’urt me, o’ course. I took no notice of ’em. Even when one of ’em +fell over the broom I was sweeping with I took no notice of ’im. I just went on +with my work as if ’e wasn’t there. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose they ’ad been in the sulks about a month, and I was sitting ’ere one +evening getting my breath arter a couple o’ hours’ ’ard work, when one of ’em, +George Tebb by name, came off the ship and nodded to me as he passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Evening, Bill,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Evening,” I ses, rather stiff. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted a word with you, Bill,” he ses, in a low voice. “In fact, I might go +so far as to say I want to ask you to do me a favour.” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at him so ’ard that he coughed and looked away. +</p> + +<p> +“We might talk about it over a ’arf-pint,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you,” I ses. “I ’ad a ’arf-pint the day before yesterday, and I’m +not thirsty.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood there fidgeting about for a bit, and then he puts his ’and on my +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, come to the end of the jetty,” he ses. “I’ve got something private to +say.” +</p> + +<p> +I got up slow-like and followed ’im. I wasn’t a bit curious. Not a bit. But if +a man asks for my ’elp I always give it. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like this,” he ses, looking round careful, “only I don’t want the other +chaps to hear because I don’t want to be laughed at. Last week an old uncle o’ +mine died and left me thirty pounds. It’s just a week ago, and I’ve already got +through five of ’em, and besides that the number of chaps that want to borrow +ten bob for a couple o’ days would surprise you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t so easy surprised,” I ses, shaking my ’ead. +</p> + +<p> +“It ain’t safe with me,” he ses; “and the favour I want you to do is to take +care of it for me. I know it’ll go if I keep it. I’ve got it locked up in this +box. And if you keep the box I’ll keep the key, and when I want a bit I’ll come +and see you about it.” +</p> + +<p> +He pulled a little box out of ’is pocket and rattled it in my ear. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s five-and-twenty golden goblins in there,” he ses. “If you take charge +of ’em they’ll be all right. If you don’t, I’m pretty certain I sha’n’t ’ave +one of ’em in a week or two’s time.” +</p> + +<p> +At fust I said I wouldn’t ’ave anything to do with it, but he begged so ’ard +that I began to alter my mind. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re as honest as daylight, Bill,” he ses, very earnest. “I don’t know +another man in the world I could trust with twenty-five quid— especially +myself. Now, put it in your pocket and look arter it for me. One of the quids +in it is for you, for your trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +He slipped the box in my coat-pocket, and then he said ’is mind was so relieved +that ’e felt like ’arf a pint. I was for going to the Bear’s Head, the place I +generally go to, because it is next door to the wharf, so to speak, but George +wanted me to try the beer at another place he knew of. +</p> + +<p> +“The wharf’s all right,” he ses. “There’s one or two ’ands on the ship, and +they won’t let anybody run away with it.” +</p> + +<p> +From wot he said I thought the pub was quite close, but instead o’ that I +should think we walked pretty nearly a mile afore we got there. Nice snug place +it was, and the beer was all right, although, as I told George Tebb, it didn’t +seem to me any better than the stuff at the Bear’s Head. +</p> + +<p> +He stood me two ’arf-pints and was just going to order another, when ’e found +’e ’adn’t got any money left, and he wouldn’t hear of me paying for it, because +’e said it was his treat. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll ’ave a quid out o’ the box,” he ses. “I must ’ave one to go on with, +anyway.” I shook my ’ead at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Only one,” he ses, “and that’ll last me a fortnight. Besides, I want to give +you the quid I promised you.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave way at last, and he put his ’and in ’is trouser-pocket for the key, and +then found it wasn’t there. +</p> + +<p> +“I must ha’ left it in my chest,” he ses. “I’ll ’op back and get it.” And afore +I could prevent ’im he ’ad waved his ’and at me and gorn. +</p> + +<p> +My fust idea was to go arter ’im, but I knew I couldn’t catch ’im, and if I +tried to meet ’im coming back I should most likely miss ’im through the side +streets. So I sat there with my pipe and waited. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose I ’ad been sitting down waiting for him for about ten minutes, when a +couple o’ sailormen came into the bar and began to make themselves a nuisance. +Big fat chaps they was, and both of ’em more than ’arf sprung. And arter +calling for a pint apiece they began to take a little notice of me. +</p> + +<p> +“Where d’you come from?” ses one of ’em. “’Ome,” I ses, very quiet. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a good place—’ome,” ses the chap, shaking his ’ead. “Can you sing ‘’Ome, +Sweet ’Ome’? You seem to ’ave got wot I might call a ‘singing face.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about my face,” I ses, very sharp. “You mind wot you’re doing with +that beer. You’ll ’ave it over in a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +The words was ’ardly out of my mouth afore ’e gave a lurch and spilt his pint +all over me. From ’ead to foot I was dripping with beer, and I was in such a +temper I wonder I didn’t murder ’im; but afore I could move they both pulled +out their pocket-’ankerchers and started to rub me down. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do,” I ses at last, arter they ’ad walked round me ’arf-a-dozen times +and patted me all over to see if I was dry. “You get off while you’re safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was my mistake, mate,” ses the chap who ’ad spilt the beer. +</p> + +<p> +“You get outside,” I ses. “Go on, both of you, afore I put you out.” +</p> + +<p> +They gave one look at me, standing there with my fists clenched, and then they +went out like lambs, and I ’eard ’em trot round the corner as though they was +afraid I was following. I felt a little bit damp and chilly, but beer is like +sea-water—you don’t catch cold through it—and I sat down agin to wait for +George Tebb. +</p> + +<p> +He came in smiling and out ’o breath in about ten minutes’ time, with the key +in ’is ’and, and as soon as I told ’im wot had ’appened to me with the beer he +turned to the landlord and ordered me six o’ rum ’ot at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Drink that up,” he ses, ’anding it to me; “but fust of all give me the box, so +as I can pay for it.” +</p> + +<p> +I put my ’and in my pocket. Then I put it in the other one, and arter that I +stood staring at George Tebb and shaking all over. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s the matter? Wot are you looking like that for?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“It must ha’ been them two,” I ses, choking. “While they was purtending to dry +me and patting me all over they must ’ave taken it out of my pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot are you talking about?” ses George, staring at me. +</p> + +<p> +“The box ’as gorn,” I ses, putting down the ’ot rum and feeling in my +trouser-pocket. “The box ’as gorn, and them two must ’ave taken it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gorn!” ses George. “Gorn! My box with twenty-five pounds in, wot I trusted you +with, gorn? Wot are you talking about? It can’t be—it’s too crool!” +</p> + +<p> +He made such a noise that the landlord wot was waiting for ’is money, asked ’im +wot he meant by it, and, arter he ’ad explained, I’m blest if the landlord +didn’t advise him to search me. I stood still and let George go through my +pockets, and then I told ’im I ’ad done with ’im and I never wanted to see ’im +agin as long as I lived. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” ses George, “I dare say. But you’ll come along with me to the +wharf and see the skipper. I’m not going to lose five-and-twenty quid through +your carelessness.” +</p> + +<p> +I marched along in front of ’im with my ’ead in the air, and when he spoke to +me I didn’t answer him. He went aboard the ship when we got to the wharf, and a +minute or two arterwards ’e came to the side and said the skipper wanted to see +me. +</p> + +<p> +The airs the skipper gave ’imself was sickening. He sat down there in ’is +miserable little rat-’ole of a cabin and acted as if ’e was a judge and I was a +prisoner. Most of the ’ands ’ad squeezed in there too, and the things they +advised George to do to me was remarkable. +</p> + +<p> +“Silence!” ses the skipper. “Now, watchman, tell me exactly ’ow this thing +’appened.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve told you once,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” ses the skipper, “but I want you to tell me again to see if you +contradict yourself. I can’t understand ’ow such a clever man as you could be +done so easy.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought I should ha’ bust, but I kept my face wonderful. I just asked ’im wot +the men was like that got off with ’is watch and chain and two pounds, in case +they might be the same. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s different,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” ses I. “’Ow?” +</p> + +<p> +“I lost my own property,” he ses, “but you lost George’s, and ’ow a man like +you, that’s so much sharper and cleverer than other people, could be had so +easy, I can’t think. Why, a child of five would ha’ known better.” +</p> + +<p> +“A baby in arms would ha’ known better,” ses the man wot ’ad bought the di’mond +ring. “’Ow could you ’ave been so silly, Bill? At your time o’ life, too!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s neither ’ere nor there,” ses the skip-per. “The watchman has lost +twenty-five quid belonging to one o’ my men. The question is, wot is he going +to do about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” I ses. “I didn’t ask ’im to let me mind the box. He done it of ’is +own free will. It’s got nothing to do with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hasn’t it?” ses the skipper, drawing ’imself up. “I don’t want to be too +’ard on you, but at the same time I can’t let my man suffer. I’ll make it as +easy as I can, and I order you to pay ’im five shillings a week till the +twenty-five pounds is cleared off.” +</p> + +<p> +I laughed; I couldn’t ’elp it. I just stood there and laughed at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t,” ses the skipper, “then I shall lay the facts of the case afore +the guv’nor. Whether he’ll object to you being in a pub a mile away, taking +care of a box of gold while you was supposed to be taking care of the wharf, is +his bisness. My bisness is to see that my man ’as ’is rights.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ear, ’ear !” ses the crew. +</p> + +<p> +“You please yourself, watchman,” ses the skipper. “You’re such a clever man +that no doubt you could get a better job to-morrow. There must be ’eaps of +people wanting a man like you. It’s for you to decide. That’s all I’ve got to +say—five bob a week till pore George ’as got ’is money back, or else I put the +case afore the guv’nor. Wot did you say?” +</p> + +<p> +I said it agin, and, as ’e didn’t seem to understand, I said it once more. +</p> + +<p> +“Please yourself,” ’e ses, when I ’ad finished. “You’re an old man, and five +bob a week can’t be much loss to you. You’ve got nothing to spend it on, at +your time o’ life. And you’ve got a very soft job ’ere. Wot?” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t answer ’im. I just turned round, and, arter giving a man wot stood in +my way a punch in the chest, I got up on deck and on to the wharf, and said my +little say all alone to myself, behind the crane. +</p> + +<p> +I paid the fust five bob to George Tebb the next time the ship was up, and +arter biting ’em over and over agin and then ringing ’em on the deck ’e took +the other chaps round to the Bear’s Head. +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps it’s just as well it’s ’appened,” he ses. “Five bob a week for nearly +two years ain’t to be sneezed at. It’s slow, but it’s sure.” +</p> + +<p> +I thought ’e was joking at fust, but arter working it out in the office with a +bit o’ pencil and paper I thought I should ha’ gorn crazy. And when I +complained about the time to George ’e said I could make it shorter if I liked +by paying ten bob a week, but ’e thought the steady five bob a week was best +for both of us. +</p> + +<p> +I got to ’ate the sight of ’im. Every week regular as clockwork he used to come +round to me with his ’and out, and then go and treat ’is mates to beer with my +money. If the ship came up in the day-time, at six o’clock in the evening he’d +be at the wharf gate waiting for me; and if it came up at night she was no +sooner made fast than ’e was over the side patting my trouser-pocket and saying +wot a good job it was for both of us that I was in steady employment. +</p> + +<p> +Week arter week and month arter month I went on paying. I a’most forgot the +taste o’ beer, and if I could manage to get a screw o’ baccy a week I thought +myself lucky. And at last, just as I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, +the end came. +</p> + +<p> +I ’ad just given George ’is week’s money—and ’ow I got it together that week I +don’t know—when one o’ the chaps came up and said the skipper wanted to see me +on board at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell ’im if he wants to see me I’m to be found on the wharf,” I ses, very +sharp. +</p> + +<p> +“He wants to see you about George’s money,” ses the chap. “I should go if I was +you. My opinion is he wants to do you a good turn.” +</p> + +<p> +I ’ung fire for a bit, and then, arter sweeping up for a little while +deliberate-like, I put down my broom and stepped aboard to see the skipper, wot +was sitting on the cabin skylight purtending to read a newspaper. +</p> + +<p> +He put it down when ’e see me, and George and the others, wot ’ad been standing +in a little bunch for’ard, came aft and stood looking on. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to see you about this money, watchman,” ses the skipper, putting on +’is beastly frills agin. “O’ course, we all feel that to a pore man like you +it’s a bit of a strain, and, as George ses, arter all you have been more +foolish than wicked.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much more,” ses George. +</p> + +<p> +“I find that you ’ave now paid five bob a week for nineteen weeks,” ses the +skipper, “and George ’as been kind enough and generous enough to let you off +the rest. There’s no need for you to look bashful, George; it’s a credit to +you.” +</p> + +<p> +I could ’ardly believe my ears. George stood there grinning like a stuck fool, +and two o’ the chaps was on their best behaviour with their ’ands over their +mouths and their eyes sticking out. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all, watchman,” ses the skipper; “and I ’ope it’ll be a lesson to you +not to neglect your dooty by going into public-’ouses and taking charge of +other people’s money when you ain’t fit for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I sha’n’t try to do anybody else a kindness agin, if that’s wot you mean,” I +ses, looking at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“No, you’d better not,” he ses. “This partickler bit o’ kindness ’as cost you +four pounds fifteen, and that’s a curious thing when you come to think of it. +Very curious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot d’ye mean?” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” he ses, grinning like a madman, “it’s just wot we lost between us. I +lost a watch and chain worth two pounds, and another couple o’ pounds besides; +Joe lost ten shillings over ’is di’mond ring; and Charlie lost five bob over a +pipe. ‘That’s four pounds fifteen—just the same as you.” +</p> + +<p> +Them silly fools stood there choking and sobbing and patting each other on the +back as though they’d never leave off, and all of a sudden I ’ad a ’orrible +suspicion that I ’ad been done. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see the sovereigns in the box?” I ses, turning to the skipper. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he ses, shaking his ’ead. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow do you know they was there, then?” ses I. +</p> + +<p> +“Because you took charge of ’em,” said the skipper; “and I know wot a clever, +sharp chap you are. It stands to reason that you wouldn’t be responsible for a +box like that unless you saw inside of it. Why, a child o’ five wouldn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +I stood there looking at ’im, but he couldn’t meet my eye. None of ’em could; +and arter waiting there for a minute or two to give ’em a chance, I turned my +back on ’em and went off to my dooty. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>MADE TO MEASURE</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Mott brought his niece home from the station with considerable pride. +Although he had received a photograph to assist identification, he had been +very dubious about accosting the pretty, well-dressed girl who had stepped from +the train and gazed around with dove-like eyes in search of him. Now he was +comfortably conscious of the admiring gaze of his younger fellow-townsmen. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find it a bit dull after London, I expect,” he remarked, as he inserted +his key in the door of a small house in a quiet street. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m tired of London,” said Miss Garland. “I think this is a beautiful little +old town—so peaceful.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott looked gratified. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ll stay a long time,” he said, as he led the way into the small +front room. “I’m a lonely old man.” +</p> + +<p> +His niece sank into an easy chair, and looked about her. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” she said, slowly. “I hope I shall. I feel better already. There is +so much to upset one in London.” +</p> + +<p> +“Noise?” queried Mr. Mott. +</p> + +<p> +“And other things,” said Miss Garland, with a slight shudder. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott sighed in sympathy with the unknown, and, judging by his niece’s +expression, the unknowable. He rearranged the teacups, and, going to the +kitchen, returned in a few minutes with a pot of tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Pett leaves at three,” he said, in explanation, “to look after her +children, but she comes back again at eight to look after my supper. And how is +your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Garland told him. +</p> + +<p> +“Last letter I had from her,” said Mr. Mott, stealing a glance at the girl’s +ring-finger, “I understood you were engaged.” +</p> + +<p> +His niece drew herself up. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” she said, with considerable vigour. “I have seen too much of +married life. I prefer my freedom. Besides, I don’t like men.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott said modestly that he didn’t wonder at it, and, finding the subject +uncongenial, turned the conversation on to worthier subjects. Miss Garland’s +taste, it seemed, lay in the direction of hospital nursing, or some other +occupation beneficial to mankind at large. Simple and demure, she filled the +simpler Mr. Mott with a strong sense of the shortcomings of his unworthy sex. +</p> + +<p> +Within two days, under the darkling glance of Mrs. Pett, she had altered the +arrangements of the house. Flowers appeared on the meal-table, knives and forks +were properly cleaned, and plates no longer appeared ornamented with the +mustard of a previous meal. Fresh air circulated through the house, and, +passing from Mrs. Pett’s left knee to the lumbar region of Mr. Mott, went on +its beneficent way rejoicing. +</p> + +<p> +On the fifth day of her visit, Mr. Mott sat alone in the front parlour. The +window was closed, the door was closed, and Mr. Mott, sitting in an easy chair +with his feet up, was aroused from a sound nap by the door opening to admit a +young man, who, deserted by Mrs. Pett, stood bowing awkwardly in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Miss Garland in?” he stammered. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyelids. +</p> + +<p> +“She has gone for a walk,” he said, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +The young man stood fingering his hat. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Hurst,” he said, with slight emphasis. “Mr. Alfred Hurst.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott, still somewhat confused, murmured that he was glad to hear it. +</p> + +<p> +“I have come from London to see Florrie,” continued the intruder. “I suppose +she won’t be long?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott thought not, and after a moment’s hesitation invited Mr. Hurst to take +a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose she told you we are engaged?” said the latter. +</p> + +<p> +“Engaged!” said the startled Mr. Mott. “Why, she told me she didn’t like men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Playfulness,” replied Mr. Hurst, with an odd look. “Ah, here she is!” +</p> + +<p> +The handle of the front door turned, and a moment later the door of the room +was opened and the charming head of Miss Garland appeared in the opening. +</p> + +<p> +“Back again,” she said, brightly. “I’ve just been——” +</p> + +<p> +She caught sight of Mr. Hurst, and the words died away on her lips. The door +slammed, and the two gentlemen, exchanging glances, heard a hurried rush +upstairs and the slamming of another door. Also a key was heard to turn sharply +in a lock. +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t want to see you,” said Mr. Mott, staring. +</p> + +<p> +The young man turned pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she has gone upstairs to take her things off,” he muttered, resuming +his seat. “Don’t—don’t hurry her!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t going to,” said Mr. Mott. +</p> + +<p> +He twisted his beard uneasily, and at the end of ten minutes looked from the +clock to Mr. Hurst and coughed. +</p> + +<p> +“If you wouldn’t mind letting her know I’m waiting,” said the young man, +brokenly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott rose, and went slowly upstairs. More slowly still, after an interval +of a few minutes, he came back again. +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t want to see you,” he said, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I must see her,” he faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t see you,” repeated Mr. Mott. “And she told me to say she was +surprised at you following her down here.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst uttered a faint moan, and with bent head passed into the little +passage and out into the street, leaving Mr. Mott to return to the sitting-room +and listen to such explanations as Miss Garland deemed advisable. Great +goodness of heart in the face of persistent and unwelcome attentions appeared +to be responsible for the late engagement. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s over now,” said her uncle, kindly, “and no doubt he’ll soon find +somebody else. There are plenty of girls would jump at him, I expect.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Garland shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“He said he couldn’t live without me,” she remarked, soberly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“In less than three months I expect he’ll be congratulating himself,” he said, +cheerfully. “Why, I was nearly cau—married, four times. It’s a silly age.” +</p> + +<p> +His niece said “Indeed!” and, informing him in somewhat hostile tones that she +was suffering from a severe headache, retired to her room. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott spent the evening by himself, and retiring to bed at ten-thirty was +awakened by a persistent knocking at the front door at half-past one. Half +awakened, he lit a candle, and, stumbling downstairs, drew back the bolt of the +door, and stood gaping angrily at the pathetic features of Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry to disturb you,” said the young man, “but would you mind giving this +letter to Miss Garland?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry to disturb me!” stuttered Mr. Mott. “What do you mean by it? Eh? What do +you mean by it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is important,” said Mr. Hurst. “I can’t rest. I’ve eaten nothing all day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to hear it,” snapped the irritated Mr. Mott. +</p> + +<p> +“If you will give her that letter, I shall feel easier,” said Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give it to her in the morning,” said the other, snatching it from him. +“Now get off.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst still murmuring apologies, went, and Mr. Mott, also murmuring, +returned to bed. The night was chilly, and it was some time before he could get +to sleep again. He succeeded at last, only to be awakened an hour later by a +knocking more violent than before. In a state of mind bordering upon frenzy, he +dived into his trousers again and went blundering downstairs in the dark. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry to—” began Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott made uncouth noises at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I have altered my mind,” said the young man. “Would you mind letting me have +that letter back again? It was too final.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—get—off!” said the other, trembling with cold and passion. +</p> + +<p> +“I must have that letter,” said Mr. Hurst, doggedly. “All my future happiness +may depend upon it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott, afraid to trust himself with speech, dashed upstairs, and after a +search for the matches found the letter, and, returning to the front door, shut +it on the visitor’s thanks. His niece’s door opened as he passed it, and a +gentle voice asked for enlightenment. +</p> + +<p> +“How silly of him!” she said, softly. “I hope he won’t catch cold. What did you +say?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was coughing,” said Mr. Mott, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get cold if you’re not careful,” said his thoughtful niece. “That’s the +worst of men, they never seem to have any thought. Did he seem angry, or +mournful, or what? I suppose you couldn’t see his face?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t try,” said Mr. Mott, crisply. “Good night.” +</p> + +<p> +By the morning his ill-humour had vanished, and he even became slightly +facetious over the events of the night. The mood passed at the same moment that +Mr. Hurst passed the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Better have him in and get it over,” he said, irritably. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Garland shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” she said, firmly. “He’d be down on his knees. It would be too painful. +You don’t know him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t want to,” said Mr. Mott. +</p> + +<p> +He finished his breakfast in silence, and, after a digestive pipe, proposed a +walk. The profile of Mr. Hurst, as it went forlornly past the window again, +served to illustrate Miss Garland’s refusal. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go out and see him,” said Mr. Mott, starting up. “Are you going to be a +prisoner here until this young idiot chooses to go home? It’s preposterous!” +</p> + +<p> +He crammed his hat on firmly and set out in pursuit of Mr. Hurst, who was +walking slowly up the street, glancing over his shoulder. “Morning!” said Mr. +Mott, fiercely. “Good morning,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, look here,” said Mr. Mott. “This has gone far enough, and I won’t have +any more of it. Why, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, chivvying a young +lady that doesn’t want you. Haven’t you got any pride?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the young man, “not where she is concerned.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you have,” said the other, regarding him, “and I expect that’s +where the trouble is. Did she ever have reason to think you were looking after +any other girls?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, I swear it,” said Mr. Hurst, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Just so,” said Mr. Mott, with a satisfied nod. “That’s where you made a +mistake. She was too sure of you; it was too easy. No excitement. Girls like a +man that other girls want; they don’t want a turtle-dove in fancy trousers.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst coughed. +</p> + +<p> +“And they like a determined man,” continued Miss Garland’s uncle. “Why, in my +young days, if I had been jilted, and come down to see about it, d’you think +I’d have gone out of the house without seeing her? I might have been put out—by +half-a-dozen—but I’d have taken the mantelpiece and a few other things with me. +And you are bigger than I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“We aren’t all made the same,” said Mr. Hurst, feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“No, we’re not,” said Mr. Mott. “I’m not blaming you; in a way, I’m sorry for +you. If you’re not born with a high spirit, nothing’ll give it to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be learnt,” said Mr. Hurst. Mr. Mott laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“High spirits are born, not made,” he said. “The best thing you can do is to go +and find another girl, and marry her before she finds you out.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no other girl for me,” he said, miserably. “And everything seemed to +be going so well. We’ve been buying things for the house for the last six +months, and I’ve just got a good rise in my screw.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll do for another girl,” said Mr. Mott, briskly. “Now, you get off back to +town. You are worrying Florrie by staying here, and you are doing no good to +anybody. Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll walk back as far as the door with you,” said Mr. Hurst. “You’ve done me +good. It’s a pity I didn’t meet you before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember what I’ve told you, and you’ll do well yet,” he said, patting the +young man on the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” said Mr. Hurst, and walked on by his side, deep in thought. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t ask you in,” said Mr. Mott, jocularly, as he reached his door, and +turned the key in the lock. “Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” said Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +He grasped the other’s outstretched hand, and with a violent jerk pulled him +into the street. Then he pushed open the door, and, slipping into the passage, +passed hastily into the front room, closely followed by the infuriated Mr. +Mott. +</p> + +<p> +“What—what—what!” stammered that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m taking your tip,” said Mr. Hurst, pale but determined. “I’m going to stay +here until I have seen Florrie.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—you’re a serpent,” said Mr. Mott, struggling for breath. “I—I’m surprised +at you. You go out before you get hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not without the mantelpiece,” said Mr. Hurst, with a distorted grin. +</p> + +<p> +“A viper!” said Mr. Mott, with extreme bitterness. “If you are not out in two +minutes I’ll send for the police.” +</p> + +<p> +“Florrie wouldn’t like that,” said Mr. Hurst. “She’s awfully particular about +what people think. You just trot upstairs and tell her that a gentleman wants +to see her.” +</p> + +<p> +He threw himself into Mr. Mott’s own particular easy chair, and, crossing his +knees, turned a deaf ear to the threats of that incensed gentleman. Not until +the latter had left the room did his features reveal the timorousness of the +soul within. Muffled voices sounded from upstairs, and it was evident that an +argument of considerable length was in progress. It was also evident from the +return of Mr. Mott alone that his niece had had the best of it. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done all I could,” he said, “but she declines to see you. She says she +won’t see you if you stay here for a month, and you couldn’t do that, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” inquired Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” repeated Mr. Mott, repressing his feelings with some difficulty. +“Food!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst started. +</p> + +<p> +“And drink,” said Mr. Mott, following up his advantage. “There’s no good in +starving yourself for nothing, so you may as well go.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I’ve seen Florrie,” said the young man, firmly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott slammed the door, and for the rest of the day Mr. Hurst saw him no +more. At one o’clock a savoury smell passed the door on its way upstairs, and +at five o’clock a middle-aged woman with an inane smile looked into the room on +her way aloft with a loaded tea-tray. By supper-time he was suffering +considerably from hunger and thirst. +</p> + +<p> +At ten o’clock he heard the footsteps of Mr. Mott descending the stairs. The +door opened an inch, and a gruff voice demanded to know whether he was going to +stay there all night. Receiving a cheerful reply in the affirmative, Mr. Mott +secured the front door with considerable violence, and went off to bed without +another word. +</p> + +<p> +He was awakened an hour or two later by the sound of something falling, and, +sitting up in bed to listen, became aware of a warm and agreeable odour. It was +somewhere about the hour of midnight, but a breakfast smell of eggs and bacon +would not be denied. +</p> + +<p> +He put on some clothes and went downstairs. A crack of light showed under the +kitchen door, and, pushing it open with some force, he gazed spellbound at the +spectacle before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” said Mr. Hurst, heartily. “I’ve just finished.” +</p> + +<p> +He rocked an empty beer-bottle and patted another that was half full. Satiety +was written on his face as he pushed an empty plate from him, and, leaning back +in his chair, smiled lazily at Mr. Mott. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said that gentleman, hoarsely. Mr. Hurst shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Enough is as good as a feast,” he said, reasonably. “I’ll have some more +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, will you?” said the other. “Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst nodded, and, opening his coat, disclosed a bottle of beer in each +breast-pocket. The other pockets, it appeared, contained food. +</p> + +<p> +“And here’s the money for it,” he said, putting down some silver on the table. +“I am determined, but honest.” +</p> + +<p> +With a sweep of his hand, Mr. Mott sent the money flying. +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow morning I send for the police. Mind that!” he roared. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d better have my breakfast early, then,” said Mr. Hurst, tapping his +pockets. “Good night. And thank you for your advice.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat for some time after the disappearance of his host, and then, returning +to the front room, placed a chair at the end of the sofa and, with the +tablecloth for a quilt, managed to secure a few hours’ troubled sleep. At eight +o’clock he washed at the scullery sink, and at ten o’clock Mr. Mott, with an +air of great determination, came in to deliver his ultimatum. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’re not outside the front door in five minutes, I’m going to fetch the +police,” he said, fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see Florrie,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you won’t see her,” shouted Mr. Mott. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst stood feeling his chin. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, would you mind taking a message for me?” he asked. “I just want you to +ask her whether I am really free. Ask her whether I am free to marry again.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott eyed him in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I only heard from her mother,” pursued Mr. Hurst, “and a friend of +mine who is in a solicitor’s office says that isn’t good enough. I only came +down here to make sure, and I think the least she can do is to tell me herself. +If she won’t see me, perhaps she’d put it in writing. You see, there’s another +lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“But!” said the mystified Mr. Mott. +</p> + +<p> +“You told me——” +</p> + +<p> +“You tell her that,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Mott stood for a few seconds staring at him, and then without a word turned +on his heel and went upstairs. Left to himself, Mr. Hurst walked nervously up +and down the room, and, catching sight of his face in the old-fashioned glass +on the mantel-piece, heightened its colour by a few pinches. The minutes seemed +inter-minable, but at last he heard the steps of Mr. Mott on the stairs again. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s coming down to see you herself,” said the latter, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst nodded, and, turning to the window, tried in vain to take an interest +in passing events. A light step sounded on the stairs, the door creaked, and he +turned to find himself con-fronted by Miss Garland. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle told me!” she began, coldly. Mr. Hurst bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry to have caused you so much trouble,” he said, trying to control his +voice, “but you see my position, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I wanted to make sure,” said Mr. Hurst. “It’s best for all of us, isn’t +it? Best for you, best for me, and, of course, for my young lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never said anything about her before,” said Miss Garland, her eyes +darkening. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not,” said Mr. Hurst. “How could I? I was engaged to you, and then +she wasn’t my young lady; but, of course, as soon as you broke it off—” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she?” inquired Miss Garland, in a casual voice. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know her,” said Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +“What is she like?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t describe her very well,” said Mr. Hurst. “I can only say she’s the +most beautiful girl I have ever seen. I think that’s what made me take to her. +And she’s easily pleased. She liked the things I have been buying for the house +tremendously.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she?” said Miss Garland, with a gasp. +</p> + +<p> +“All except that pair of vases you chose,” continued the veracious Mr. Hurst. +“She says they are in bad taste, but she can give them to the charwoman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said the girl. “Oh, indeed! Very kind of her. Isn’t there anything else +she doesn’t like?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hurst stood considering. +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t like the upholstering of the best chairs,” he said at last. “She +thinks they are too showy, so she’s going to put covers over them.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a long pause, during which Mr. Mott, taking his niece gently by the +arm, assisted her to a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Otherwise she is quite satisfied,” concluded Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Garland took a deep breath, but made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I have got to satisfy her that I am free,” said the young man, after another +pause. “I suppose that I can do so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’ll think it over,” said Miss Garland, in a low voice. “I am not sure what +is the right thing to do. I don’t want to see you made miserable for life. It’s +nothing to me, of course, but still—” +</p> + +<p> +She got up and, shaking off the proffered assistance of her uncle, went slowly +and languidly up to her room. Mr. Mott followed her as far as the door, and +then turned indignantly upon Mr. Hurst. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you’ve broke her heart,” he said, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” said Mr. Hurst, with a delighted wink. “I’ll mend it +again.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>SAM’S GHOST</h2> + +<p> +Yes, I know, said the night-watchman, thoughtfully, as he sat with a cold pipe +in his mouth gazing across the river. I’ve ’eard it afore. People tell me they +don’t believe in ghosts and make a laugh of ’em, and all I say is: let them +take on a night-watchman’s job. Let ’em sit ’ere all alone of a night with the +water lapping against the posts and the wind moaning in the corners; especially +if a pal of theirs has slipped overboard, and there is little nasty bills stuck +up just outside in the High Street offering a reward for the body. Twice men +’ave fallen overboard from this jetty, and I’ve ’ad to stand my watch here the +same night, and not a farthing more for it. +</p> + +<p> +One of the worst and artfullest ghosts I ever ’ad anything to do with was Sam +Bullet. He was a waterman at the stairs near by ’ere; the sort o’ man that ’ud +get you to pay for drinks, and drink yours up by mistake arter he ’ad finished +his own. The sort of man that ’ad always left his baccy-box at ’ome, but always +’ad a big pipe in ’is pocket. +</p> + +<p> +He fell overboard off of a lighter one evening, and all that his mates could +save was ’is cap. It was on’y two nights afore that he ’ad knocked down an old +man and bit a policeman’s little finger to the bone, so that, as they pointed +out to the widder, p’r’aps he was taken for a wise purpose. P’r’aps he was +’appier where he was than doing six months. +</p> + +<p> +“He was the sort o’ chap that’ll make himself ’appy anywhere,” ses one of ’em, +comforting-like. +</p> + +<p> +“Not without me,” ses Mrs. Bullet, sobbing, and wiping her eyes on something +she used for a pocket-hankercher. “He never could bear to be away from me. Was +there no last words?” +</p> + +<p> +“On’y one,” ses one o’ the chaps, Joe Peel by name. +</p> + +<p> +“As ’e fell overboard,” ses the other. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Bullet began to cry agin, and say wot a good ’usband he ’ad been. +“Seventeen years come Michaelmas,” she ses, “and never a cross word. Nothing +was too good for me. Nothing. I ’ad only to ask to ’ave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he’s gorn now,” ses Joe, “and we thought we ought to come round and tell +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“So as you can tell the police,” ses the other chap. +</p> + +<p> +That was ’ow I came to hear of it fust; a policeman told me that night as I +stood outside the gate ’aving a quiet pipe. He wasn’t shedding tears; his only +idea was that Sam ’ad got off too easy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” I ses, trying to pacify ’im, “he won’t bite no more fingers; +there’s no policemen where he’s gorn to.” +</p> + +<p> +He went off grumbling and telling me to be careful, and I put my pipe out and +walked up and down the wharf thinking. On’y a month afore I ’ad lent Sam +fifteen shillings on a gold watch and chain wot he said an uncle ’ad left ’im. +I wasn’t wearing it because ’e said ’is uncle wouldn’t like it, but I ’ad it in +my pocket, and I took it out under one of the lamps and wondered wot I ought to +do. +</p> + +<p> +My fust idea was to take it to Mrs. Bullet, and then, all of a sudden, the +thought struck me: “Suppose he ’adn’t come by it honest?” +</p> + +<p> +I walked up and down agin, thinking. If he ’adn’t, and it was found out, it +would blacken his good name and break ’is pore wife’s ’art. That’s the way I +looked at it, and for his sake and ’er sake I determined to stick to it. +</p> + +<p> +I felt ’appier in my mind when I ’ad decided on that, and I went round to the +Bear’s Head and ’ad a pint. Arter that I ’ad another, and then I come back to +the wharf and put the watch and chain on and went on with my work. +</p> + +<p> +Every time I looked down at the chain on my waistcoat it reminded me of Sam. I +looked on to the river and thought of ’im going down on the ebb. Then I got a +sort o’ lonesome feeling standing on the end of the jetty all alone, and I went +back to the Bear’s Head and ’ad another pint. +</p> + +<p> +They didn’t find the body, and I was a’most forgetting about Sam when one +evening, as I was sitting on a box waiting to get my breath back to ’ave +another go at sweeping, Joe Peel, Sam’s mate, came on to the wharf to see me. +</p> + +<p> +He came in a mysterious sort o’ way that I didn’t like: looking be’ind ’im as +though he was afraid of being follered, and speaking in a whisper as if ’e was +afraid of being heard. He wasn’t a man I liked, and I was glad that the watch +and chain was stowed safe away in my trowsis-pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve ’ad a shock, watchman,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“A shock wot’s shook me all up,” he ses, working up a shiver. “I’ve seen +something wot I thought people never could see, and wot I never want to see +agin. I’ve seen Sam!” +</p> + +<p> +I thought a bit afore I spoke. “Why, I thought he was drownded,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“So ’e is,” ses Joe. “When I say I’ve seen ’im I mean that I ’ave seen his +ghost!” +</p> + +<p> +He began to shiver agin, all over. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot was it like?” I ses, very calm. +</p> + +<p> +“Like Sam,” he ses, rather short. +</p> + +<p> +“When was it?” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Last night at a quarter to twelve,” he ses. “It was standing at my front door +waiting for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And ’ave you been shivering like that ever since?” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Worse than that,” ses Joe, looking at me very ’ard. “It’s wearing off now. The +ghost gave me a message for you.” +</p> + +<p> +I put my ’and in my trowsis-pocket and looked at ’im. Then I walked very slow, +towards the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“It gave me a message for you,” ses Joe, walking beside me. “‘We was always +pals, Joe,’” it ses, “‘you and me, and I want you to pay up fifteen bob for me +wot I borrowed off of Bill the watchman. I can’t rest until it’s paid,’ it ses. +So here’s the fifteen bob, watchman.” +</p> + +<p> +He put his ’and in ’is pocket and takes out fifteen bob and ’olds it out to me. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” I ses. “I can’t take your money, Joe Peel. It wouldn’t be right. Pore +Sam is welcome to the fifteen bob—I don’t want it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must take it,” ses Joe. “The ghost said if you didn’t it would come to me +agin and agin till you did, and I can’t stand any more of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t ’elp your troubles,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“You must,” ses Joe. “‘Give Bill the fifteen bob,’ it ses, ‘and he’ll give you +a gold watch and chain wot I gave ’im to mind till it was paid.’” +</p> + +<p> +I see his little game then. “Gold watch and chain,” I ses, laughing. “You must +ha’ misunderstood it, Joe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understood it right enough,” ses Joe, getting a bit closer to me as I +stepped outside the gate. “Here’s your fifteen bob; are you going to give me +that watch and chain?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sartainly not,” I ses. “I don’t know wot you mean by a watch and chain. If I +’ad it and I gave it to anybody, I should give it to Sam’s widder, not to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing to do with ’er,” ses Joe, very quick. “Sam was most pertikler +about that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I expect you dreamt it all,” I ses. “Where would pore Sam get a gold watch and +chain from? And why should ’e go to you about it? Why didn’t ’e come to me? If +’e thinks I ’ave got it let ’im come to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, I’ll go to the police-station,” ses Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come with you,” I ses. “But ’ere’s a policeman coming along. Let’s go to +’im.” +</p> + +<p> +I moved towards ’im, but Joe hung back, and, arter using one or two words that +would ha’ made any ghost ashamed to know ’im, he sheered off. I ’ad a word or +two with the policeman about the weather, and then I went inside and locked the +gate. +</p> + +<p> +My idea was that Sam ’ad told Joe about the watch and chain afore he fell +overboard. Joe was a nasty customer, and I could see that I should ’ave to be a +bit careful. Some men might ha’ told the police about it—but I never cared much +for them. They’re like kids in a way, always asking questions—most of which you +can’t answer. +</p> + +<p> +It was a little bit creepy all alone on the wharf that night. I don’t deny it. +Twice I thought I ’eard something coming up on tip-toe behind me. The second +time I was so nervous that I began to sing to keep my spirits up, and I went on +singing till three of the hands of the Susan Emily, wot was lying alongside, +came up from the fo’c’sle and offered to fight me. I was thankful when daylight +came. +</p> + +<p> +Five nights arterwards I ’ad the shock of my life. It was the fust night for +some time that there was no craft up. A dark night, and a nasty moaning sort of +a wind. I ’ad just lighted the lamp at the corner of the warehouse, wot ’ad +blown out, and was sitting down to rest afore putting the ladder away, when I +’appened to look along the jetty and saw a head coming up over the edge of it. +In the light of the lamp I saw the dead white face of Sam Bullet’s ghost making +faces at me. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<img src="images/002.jpg" width="466" height="602" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">In the light of the lamp I saw the dead white face of Sam +Bullet’s ghost making faces at me.</p> +</div> + +<p> +I just caught my breath, sharp like, and then turned and ran for the gate like +a race-horse. I ’ad left the key in the padlock, in case of anything happening, +and I just gave it one turn, flung the wicket open and slammed it in the +ghost’s face, and tumbled out into the road. +</p> + +<p> +I ran slap into the arms of a young policeman wot was passing. Nasty, +short-tempered chap he was, but I don’t think I was more glad to see anybody in +my life. I hugged ’im till ’e nearly lost ’is breath, and then he sat me down +on the kerb-stone and asked me wot I meant by it. +</p> + +<p> +Wot with the excitement and the running I couldn’t speak at fust, and when I +did he said I was trying to deceive ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t no such thing as ghosts,” he ses; “you’ve been drinking.” +</p> + +<p> +“It came up out o’ the river and run arter me like the wind,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t it catch you, then?” he ses, looking me up and down and all round +about. “Talk sense.” +</p> + +<p> +He went up to the gate and peeped in, and, arter watching a moment, stepped +inside and walked down the wharf, with me follering. It was my dooty; besides, +I didn’t like being left all alone by myself. +</p> + +<p> +Twice we walked up and down and all over the wharf. He flashed his lantern into +all the dark corners, into empty barrels and boxes, and then he turned and +flashed it right into my face and shook his ’ead at me. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been having a bit of a lark with me,” he ses, “and for two pins I’d +take you. Mind, if you say a word about this to anybody, I will.” +</p> + +<p> +He stalked off with his ’ead in the air, and left me all alone in charge of a +wharf with a ghost on it. I stayed outside in the street, of course, but every +now and then I fancied I heard something moving about the other side of the +gate, and once it was so distinct that I run along to the Bear’s Head and +knocked ’em up and asked them for a little brandy, for illness. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t get it, of course; I didn’t expect to; but I ’ad a little conversation +with the landlord from ’is bedroom-winder that did me more good than the brandy +would ha’ done. Once or twice I thought he would ’ave fallen out, and many a +man has ’ad his licence taken away for less than a quarter of wot ’e said to me +that night. Arter he thought he ’ad finished and was going back to bed agin, I +pointed’ out to ’im that he ’adn’t kissed me “good night,” and if it ’adn’t ha’ +been for ’is missis and two grown-up daughters and the potman I believe he’d +ha’ talked to me till daylight. +</p> + +<p> +’Ow I got through the rest of the night I don’t know. It seemed to be twenty +nights instead of one, but the day came at last, and when the hands came on at +six o’clock they found the gate open and me on dooty same as usual. +</p> + +<p> +I slept like a tired child when I got ’ome, and arter a steak and onions for +dinner I sat down and lit my pipe and tried to think wot was to be done. One +thing I was quite certain about: I wasn’t going to spend another night on that +wharf alone. +</p> + +<p> +I went out arter a bit, as far as the Clarendon Arms, for a breath of fresh +air, and I ’ad just finished a pint and was wondering whether I ought to ’ave +another, when Ted Dennis came in, and my mind was made up. He ’ad been in the +Army all ’is life, and, so far, he ’ad never seen anything that ’ad frightened +’im. I’ve seen him myself take on men twice ’is size just for the love of the +thing, and, arter knocking them silly, stand ’em a pint out of ’is own pocket. +When I asked ’im whether he was afraid of ghosts he laughed so ’ard that the +landlord came from the other end of the bar to see wot was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +I stood Ted a pint, and arter he ’ad finished it I told ’im just how things +was. I didn’t say anything about the watch and chain, because there was no need +to, and when we came outside agin I ’ad engaged an assistant-watchman for +ninepence a night. +</p> + +<p> +“All you’ve got to do,” I ses, “is to keep me company. You needn’t turn up till +eight o’clock of a night, and you can leave ’arf an hour afore me in the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” ses Ted. “And if I see the ghost I’ll make it wish it ’ad never been +born.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a load off my mind, and I went ’ome and ate a tea that made my missis +talk about the work-’ouse, and orstritches in ’uman shape wot would eat a woman +out of ’ouse and ’ome if she would let ’em. +</p> + +<p> +I got to the wharf just as it was striking six, and at a quarter to seven the +wicket was pushed open gentle and the ugly ’ead of Mr. Joe Peel was shoved +inside. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” I ses. “Wot do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to save your life,” he ses, in a solemn voice. “You was within a inch +of death last night, watchman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” I ses, careless-like. “’Ow do you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“The ghost o’ Sam Bullet told me,” ses Joe. “Arter it ’ad chased you up the +wharf screaming for ’elp, it came round and told me all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems fond of you,” I ses. “I wonder why?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was in a terrible temper,” ses Joe, “and its face was awful to look at. +‘Tell the watchman,’ it ses, ‘that if he don’t give you the watch and chain I +shall appear to ’im agin and kill ’im.’” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” I ses, looking behind me to where three of the ’ands of the Daisy +was sitting on the fo’c’sle smoking. “I’ve got plenty of company to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Company won’t save you,” ses Joe. “For the last time, are you going to give me +that watch and chain, or not? Here’s your fifteen bob.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I ses; “even if I ’ad got it I shouldn’t give it to you; and it’s no use +giving’ it to the ghost, because, being made of air, he ’asn’t got anywhere to +put it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” ses Joe, giving me a black look. “I’ve done all I can to save you, +but if you won’t listen to sense, you won’t. You’ll see Sam Bullet agin, and +you’ll not on’y lose the watch and chain but your life as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” I ses, “and thank you kindly, but I’ve got an assistant, as it +’appens—a man wot wants to see a ghost.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ assistant?” ses Joe, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“An old soldier,” I ses. “A man wot likes trouble and danger. His idea is to +shoot the ghost and see wot ’appens.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shoot!” ses Joe. “Shoot a pore ’armless ghost. Does he want to be ’ung? Ain’t +it enough for a pore man to be drownded, but wot you must try and shoot ’im +arterwards? Why, you ought to be ashamed o’ yourself. Where’s your ’art?” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t be shot if it don’t come on my wharf,” I ses. “Though I don’t mind if +it does when I’ve got somebody with me. I ain’t afraid of anything living, and +I don’t mind ghosts when there’s two of us. Besides which, the noise of the +pistol ’ll wake up ’arf the river.” +</p> + +<p> +“You take care you don’t get woke up,” ses Joe, ’ardly able to speak for +temper. +</p> + +<p> +He went off stamping, and grinding ’is teeth, and at eight o’clock to the +minute, Ted Dennis turned up with ’is pistol and helped me take care of the +wharf. Happy as a skylark ’e was, and to see him ’iding behind a barrel with +his pistol ready, waiting for the ghost, a’most made me forget the expense of +it all. +</p> + +<p> +It never came near us that night, and Ted was a bit disappointed next morning +as he took ’is ninepence and went off. Next night was the same, and the next, +and then Ted gave up hiding on the wharf for it, and sat and snoozed in the +office instead. +</p> + +<p> +A week went by, and then another, and still there was no sign of Sam Bullet’s +ghost, or Joe Peel, and every morning I ’ad to try and work up a smile as I +shelled out ninepence for Ted. It nearly ruined me, and, worse than that, I +couldn’t explain why I was short to the missis. Fust of all she asked me wot I +was spending it on, then she asked me who I was spending it on. It nearly broke +up my ’ome—she did smash one kitchen-chair and a vase off the parlour +mantelpiece—but I wouldn’t tell ’er, and then, led away by some men on strike +at Smith’s wharf, Ted went on strike for a bob a night. +</p> + +<p> +That was arter he ’ad been with me for three weeks, and when Saturday came, of +course I was more short than ever, and people came and stood at their doors all +the way down our street to listen to the missis taking my character away. +</p> + +<p> +I stood it as long as I could, and then, when ’er back was turned for ’arf a +moment, I slipped out. While she’d been talking I’d been thinking, and it came +to me clear as daylight that there was no need for me to sacrifice myself any +longer looking arter a dead man’s watch and chain. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t know exactly where Joe Peel lived, but I knew the part, and arter +peeping into seven public-’ouses I see the man I wanted sitting by ’imself in a +little bar. I walked in quiet-like, and sat down opposite ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Morning,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Peel grunted. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ave one with me?” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +He grunted agin, but not quite so fierce, and I fetched the two pints from the +counter and took a seat alongside of ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been looking for you,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” he ses, looking me up and down and all over. “Well, you’ve found me now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to talk to you about the ghost of pore Sam Bullet,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Peel put ’is mug down sudden and looked at me fierce. “Look ’ere! Don’t you +come and try to be funny with me,” he ses. “’Cos I won’t ’ave it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to be funny,” I ses. “Wot I want to know is, are you in the same +mind about that watch and chain as you was the other day?” +</p> + +<p> +He didn’t seem to be able to speak at fust, but arter a time ’e gives a gasp. +“Woes the game?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot I want to know is, if I give you that watch and chain for fifteen bob, +will that keep the ghost from ’anging round my wharf agin?” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, o’ course,” he ses, staring; “but you ain’t been seeing it agin, ’ave +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve not, and I don’t want to,” I ses. “If it wants you to ’ave the watch and +chain, give me the fifteen bob, and it’s yours.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked at me for a moment as if he couldn’t believe ’is eyesight, and then +’e puts his ’and into ’is trowsis-pocket and pulls out one shilling and +fourpence, ’arf a clay-pipe, and a bit o’ lead-pencil. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all I’ve got with me,” he ses. “I’ll owe you the rest. You ought to ha’ +took the fifteen bob when I ’ad it.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no ’elp for it, and arter making ’im swear to give me the rest o’ the +money when ’e got it, and that I shouldn’t see the ghost agin, I ’anded the +things over to ’im and came away. He came to the door to see me off, and if +ever a man looked puzzled, ’e did. Pleased at the same time. +</p> + +<p> +It was a load off of my mind. My con-science told me I’d done right, and arter +sending a little boy with a note to Ted Dennis to tell ’im not to come any +more, I felt ’appier than I ’ad done for a long time. When I got to the wharf +that evening it seemed like a diff’rent place, and I was whistling and smiling +over my work quite in my old way, when the young policeman passed. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” he ses. “’Ave you seen the ghost agin?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ave not,” I ses, drawing myself up. “’Ave you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“We missed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Missed it?” I ses, staring at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he ses, nodding. “The day arter you came out screaming, and cuddling me +like a frightened baby, it shipped as A.B. on the barque Ocean King, for +Valparaiso. We missed it by a few hours. Next time you see a ghost, knock it +down fust and go and cuddle the police arterwards.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>BEDRIDDEN</h2> + +<p> +July 12, 1915.—Disquieting rumours to the effect that epidemic of Billetitis +hitherto confined to the north of King’s Road shows signs of spreading. +</p> + +<p> +July 14.—Report that two Inns of Court men have been seen peeping over my gate. +</p> + +<p> +July 16.—Informed that soldier of agreeable appearance and charming manners +requests interview with me. Took a dose of Phospherine and went. Found +composite photograph of French, Joffre, and Hindenburg waiting for me in the +hall. Smiled (he did, I mean) and gave me the mutilated form of salute reserved +for civilians. Introduced himself as Quartermaster-Sergeant Beddem, and stated +that the Inns of Court O.T.C. was going under canvas next week. After which he +gulped. Meantime could I take in a billet. Questioned as to what day the corps +was going into camp said that he believed it was Monday, but was not quite +sure—might possibly be Tuesday. Swallowed again and coughed a little. Accepted +billet and felt completely re-warded by smile. Q.M.S. bade me good-bye, and +then with the air of a man suddenly remembering something, asked me whether I +could take two. Excused myself and interviewed my C.O. behind the dining-room +door. Came back and accepted. Q.M.S. so overjoyed (apparently) that he fell +over the scraper. Seemed to jog his memory. He paused, and gazing in absent +fashion at the topmost rose on the climber in the porch, asked whether I could +take three! Added hopefully that the third was only a boy. Excused myself. +Heated debate with C.O. Subject: sheets. Returned with me to explain to the +Q.M.S. He smiled. C.O. accepted at once, and, returning smile, expressed regret +at size and position of bedrooms available. Q.M.S. went off swinging cane +jauntily. +</p> + +<p> +July 17.—Billets arrived. Spoke to them about next Monday and canvas. They +seemed surprised. Strange how the military authorities decline to take men into +their confidence merely because they are privates. Let them upstairs. They went +(for first and last time) on tiptoe. +</p> + +<p> +July 18.—Saw Q.M.S. Beddem in the town. Took shelter in the King’s Arms. +</p> + +<p> +Jug. 3.—Went to Cornwall. +</p> + +<p> +Aug. 31.—Returned. Billets received me very hospitably. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 4.—Private Budd, electrical engineer, dissatisfied with appearance of +bell-push in dining-room, altered it. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 5.—Bells out of order. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 6.—Private Merited, also an electrical engineer, helped Private Budd to +repair bells. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 7.—Private Budd helped Private Merited to repair bells. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 8.—Privates Budd and Merited helped each other to repair bells. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 9.—Sent to local tradesman to put my bells in order. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 15.—Told that Q.M.S. Beddem wished to see me. Saw C.O. first. She thought +he had possibly come to take some of the billets away. Q.M.S. met my approach +with a smile that re-minded me vaguely of picture-postcards I had seen. +Awfully sorry to trouble me, but Private Montease, just back from three weeks’ +holiday with bronchitis, was sleeping in the wood-shed on three planks and a +tin-tack. Beamed at me and waited. Went and bought another bed-stead. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 16.—Private Montease and a cough entered into residence. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 17, 11.45 p.m.—Maid came to bedroom-door with some cough lozenges which +she asked me to take to the new billet. Took them. Private Montease thanked me, +but said he didn’t mind coughing. Said it was an heirloom; Montease cough, +known in highest circles all over Scotland since time of Young Pretender. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 20.—Private Montease installed in easy-chair in dining-room with touch of +bronchitis, looking up trains to Bournemouth. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 21.—Private Montease in bed all day. Cook anxious “to do her bit” rubbed +his chest with home-made embrocation. Believe it is same stuff she rubs chests +in hall with. Smells the same anyway. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 24.—Private Montease, complaining of slight rawness of chest, but +otherwise well, returned to duty. +</p> + +<p> +Oct. 5.—Cough worse again. Private Montease thinks that with care it may turn +to bronchitis. Borrowed an A.B.C. +</p> + +<p> +Oct. 6.—Private Montease relates uncanny experience. Woke up with feeling of +suffocation to find an enormous black-currant and glycerine jujube wedged in +his gullet. Never owned such a thing in his life. Seems to be unaware that he +always sleeps with his mouth open. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 14.—Private Bowser, youngest and tallest of my billets, gazetted. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 15, 10.35 a.m.—Private Bowser in tip-top spirits said good-bye to us all. +</p> + +<p> +10.45.—Told that Q.M.S. Beddem desired to see me. Capitulated. New billet, +Private Early, armed to the teeth, turned up in the evening. Said that he was a +Yorkshireman. Said that Yorkshire was the finest county in England, and +Yorkshiremen the finest men in the world. Stood toying with his bayonet and +waiting for contradiction. +</p> + +<p> +Jan. 5, 1916.—Standing in the garden just after lunch was witness to startling +phenomenon. Q.M.S. Beddem came towards front-gate with a smile so expansive +that gate after first trembling violently on its hinges swung open of its own +accord. Q.M.S., with smile (sad), said he was in trouble. Very old member of +the Inns of Court, Private Keen, had re-joined, and he wanted a good billet for +him. Would cheerfully give up his own bed, but it wasn’t long enough. Not to be +outdone in hospitality by my own gate accepted Private Keen. Q.M.S. digging +hole in my path with toe of right boot, and for first and only time manifesting +signs of nervousness, murmured that two life-long friends of Private Keen’s had +rejoined with him. Known as the Three Inseparables. Where they were to sleep, +unless I——. Fled to house, and locking myself in top-attic watched Q.M.S. from +window. He departed with bent head and swagger-cane reversed. +</p> + +<p> +Jan 6.—Private Keen arrived. Turned out to be son of an old Chief of mine. +Resolved not to visit the sins of the father on the head of a child six feet +two high and broad in proportion. +</p> + +<p> +Feb. 6.—Private Keen came home with a temperature. +</p> + +<p> +Feb. 7.—M.O. diagnosed influenza. Was afraid it would spread. +</p> + +<p> +Feb. 8.—Warned the other four billets. They seemed amused. Pointed out that +influenza had no terrors for men in No. 2 Company, who were doomed to weekly +night-ops. under Major Carryon. +</p> + +<p> +Feb. 9.—House strangely and pleasantly quiet. Went to see how Private Keen was +progressing, and found the other four billets sitting in a row on his bed +practising deep-breathing exercises. +</p> + +<p> +Feb. 16.—Billets on night-ops. until late hour. Spoke in highest terms of Major +Carryon’s marching powers—also in other terms. +</p> + +<p> +March 3.—Waited up until midnight for Private Merited, who had gone to Slough +on his motor-bike. +</p> + +<p> +March 4, 1.5 a.m.—Awakened by series of explosions from over-worked, or +badly-worked, motor-bike. Put head out of window and threw key to Private +Merited. He seemed excited. Said he had been chased all the way from Chesham by +a pink rat with yellow spots. Advised him to go to bed. Set him an example. +</p> + +<p> +1.10. a.m.—Heard somebody in the pantry. 2.10. a.m.—Heard Private Merited going +upstairs to bed. +</p> + +<p> +2.16 a.m.—Heard Private Merited still going upstairs to bed. +</p> + +<p> +2.20-3.15. a.m.—Heard Private Merited getting to bed. +</p> + +<p> +April 3, 12.30 a.m.—Town-hooter announced Zeppelins and excited soldier called +up my billets from their beds to go and frighten them off. Pleasant to see +superiority of billets over the hooter: that only emitted three blasts. +</p> + +<p> +12.50 a.m.—Billets returned with exception of Private Merited, who was retained +for sake of his motor-bike. +</p> + +<p> +9 a.m.—On way to bath-room ran into Private Merited, who, looking very glum and +sleepy, inquired whether I had a copy of the Exchange and Mart in the house. +</p> + +<p> +10 p.m.—Overheard billets discussing whether it was worth while removing boots +before going to bed until the Zeppelin scare was over. Joined in discussion. +</p> + +<p> +May 2.—Rumours that the Inns of Court were going under canvas. Discredited +them. +</p> + +<p> +May 5.—Rumours grow stronger. +</p> + +<p> +May 6.—Billets depressed. Begin to think perhaps there is something in rumours +after all. +</p> + +<p> +May 9.-All doubts removed. Tents begin to spring up with the suddenness of +mushrooms in fields below Berkhamsted Place. +</p> + +<p> +May 18, LIBERATION DAY.—Bade a facetious good-bye to my billets; response +lacking in bonhomie. +</p> + +<p> +May 19.-House delightfully quiet. Presented caller of unkempt appearance at +back-door with remains of pair of military boots, three empty shaving-stick +tins, and a couple of partially bald tooth-brushes. +</p> + +<p> +May 21.—In afternoon went round and looked at camp. Came home smiling, and went +to favourite seat in garden to smoke. Discovered Private Early lying on it fast +asleep. Went to study. Private Merited at table writing long and well-reasoned +letter to his tailor. As he said he could never write properly with anybody +else in the room, left him and went to bath-room. Door locked. Peevish but +familiar voice, with a Scotch accent, asked me what I wanted; also complained +of temperature of water. +</p> + +<p> +May 22.—After comparing notes with neighbours, feel deeply grateful to Q.M.S. +Beddem for sending me the best six men in the corps. +</p> + +<p> +July 15.—Feel glad to have been associated, however remotely and humbly, with a +corps, the names of whose members appear on the Roll of Honour of every British +regiment. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>THE CONVERT</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Purnip took the arm of the new recruit and hung over him almost tenderly as +they walked along; Mr. Billing, with a look of conscious virtue on his jolly +face, listened with much satisfaction to his friend’s compliments. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s such an example,” said the latter. “Now we’ve got you the others will +follow like sheep. You will be a bright lamp in the darkness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s good enough for me ought to be good enough for them,” said Mr. Billing, +modestly. “They’d better not let me catch—” +</p> + +<p> +“H’sh! H’sh!” breathed Mr. Purnip, tilting his hat and wiping his bald, +benevolent head. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot,” said the other, with something like a sigh. “No more fighting; but +suppose somebody hits me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Turn the other cheek,” replied Mr. Purnip. +</p> + +<p> +“They won’t hit that; and when they see you standing there smiling at them—” +</p> + +<p> +“After being hit?” interrupted Mr. Billing. +</p> + +<p> +“After being hit,” assented the other, “they’ll be ashamed of themselves, and +it’ll hurt them more than if you struck them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s ’ope so,” said the convert; “but it don’t sound reasonable. I can hit a +man pretty ’ard. Not that I’m bad-tempered, mind you; a bit quick, p’r’aps. +And, after all, a good smack in the jaw saves any amount of argufying.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Purnip smiled, and, as they walked along, painted a glowing picture of the +influence to be wielded by a first-class fighting-man who refused to fight. It +was a rough neighbourhood, and he recognized with sorrow that more respect was +paid to a heavy fist than to a noble intellect or a loving heart. +</p> + +<p> +“And you combine them all,” he said, patting his companion’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing smiled. “You ought to know best,” he said, modestly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be surprised to find how easy it is,” continued Mr. Purnip. “You will +go from strength to strength. Old habits will disappear, and you will hardly +know you have lost them. In a few months’ time you will probably be wondering +what you could ever have seen in beer, for example.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you said you didn’t want me to give up beer?” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t,” said Mr. Purnip. “I mean that as you grow in stature you will +simply lose the taste for it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing came to a sudden full stop. “D’ye mean I shall lose my liking for a +drop o’ beer without being able to help myself?” he demanded, in an anxious +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, it doesn’t happen in every case,” he said, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing’s features relaxed. “Well, let’s ’ope I shall be one of the +fortunate ones,” he said, simply. “I can put up with a good deal, but when it +comes to beer——” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” said the other, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t want to interfere with anybody’s comfort; we want to make them +happier, that’s all. A little more kindness between man and man; a little more +consideration for each other; a little more brightness in dull lives.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused at the corner of the street, and, with a hearty handshake, went off. +Mr. Billing, a prey to somewhat mixed emotions, continued on his way home. The +little knot of earnest men and women who had settled in the district to spread +light and culture had been angling for him for some time. He wondered, as he +walked, what particular bait it was that had done the mischief. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve got me at last,” he remarked, as he opened the house-door and walked +into his small kitchen. “I couldn’t say ‘no’ to Mr. Purnip.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wish ’em joy,” said Mrs. Billing, briefly. “Did you wipe your boots?” +</p> + +<p> +Her husband turned without a word, and, retreating to the mat, executed a +prolonged double-shuffle. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t wear it out,” said the surprised Mrs. Billing. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got to make people ’appier,” said her husband, seriously; “be kinder to +’em, and brighten up their dull lives a bit. That’s wot Mr. Purnip says.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll brighten ’em up all right,” declared Mrs. Billing, with a sniff. “I +sha’n’t forget last Tuesday week—no, not if I live to be a hundred. You’d ha’ +brightened up the police-station if I ’adn’t got you home just in the nick of +time.” +</p> + +<p> +Her husband, who was by this time busy under the scullery-tap, made no reply. +He came from it spluttering, and, seizing a small towel, stood in the door-way +burnishing his face and regarding his wife with a smile which Mr. Purnip +himself could not have surpassed. He sat down to supper, and between bites +explained in some detail the lines on which his future life was to be run. As +an earnest of good faith, he consented, after a short struggle, to a slip of +oil-cloth for the passage; a pair of vases for the front room; and a new and +somewhat expensive corn-cure for Mrs. Billing. +</p> + +<p> +“And let’s ’ope you go on as you’ve begun,” said that gratified lady. “There’s +something in old Purnip after all. I’ve been worrying you for months for that +oilcloth. Are you going to help me wash up? Mr. Purnip would.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing appeared not to hear, and, taking up his cap, strolled slowly in +the direction of the Blue Lion. It was a beautiful summer evening, and his +bosom swelled as he thought of the improvements that a little brotherliness +might effect in Elk Street. Engrossed in such ideas, it almost hurt him to find +that, as he entered one door of the Blue Lion, two gentlemen, forgetting all +about their beer, disappeared through the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot ’ave they run away like that for?” he demanded, looking round. “I wouldn’t +hurt ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Depends on wot you call hurting, Joe,” said a friend. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing shook his head. “They’ve no call to be afraid of me,” he said, +gravely. “I wouldn’t hurt a fly; I’ve got a new ’art.” +</p> + +<p> +“A new wot?” inquired his friend, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“A new ’art,” repeated the other. “I’ve given up fighting and swearing, and +drinking too much. I’m going to lead a new life and do all the good I can; I’m +going—” +</p> + +<p> +“Glory! Glory!” ejaculated a long, thin youth, and, making a dash for the door, +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll know me better in time,” said Mr. Billing. “Why, I wouldn’t hurt a fly. +I want to do good to people; not to hurt ’em. I’ll have a pint,” he added, +turning to the bar. +</p> + +<p> +“Not here you won’t,” said the landlord, eyeing him coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” demanded the astonished Mr. Billing. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve had all you ought to have already,” was the reply. “And there’s one +thing I’ll swear to—you ain’t had it ’ere.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t ’ad a drop pass my lips began the outraged Mr. Billing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” said the other, wearily, as he shifted one or two glasses and +wiped the counter; “I’ve heard it all before, over and over again. Mind you, +I’ve been in this business thirty years, and if I don’t know when a man’s had +his whack, and a drop more, nobody does. You get off ’ome and ask your missis +to make you a nice cup o’ good strong tea, and then get up to bed and sleep it +off.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” said Mr. Billing, with cold dignity, as he paused at the door—“I +dare say I may give up beer altogether.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood outside pondering over the unforeseen difficulties attendant upon his +new career, moving a few inches to one side as Mr. Ricketts, a foe of long +standing, came towards the public-house, and, halting a yard or two away, eyed +him warily. +</p> + +<p> +“Come along,” said Mr. Billing, speaking somewhat loudly, for the benefit of +the men in the bar; “I sha’n’t hurt you; my fighting days are over.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I dessay,” replied the other, edging away. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right, Bill,” said a mutual friend, through the half-open door; “he’s +got a new ’art.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Ricketts looked perplexed. “’Art disease, d’ye mean?” he inquired, +hopefully. “Can’t he fight no more?” +</p> + +<p> +“A new ’art,” said Mr. Billing. “It’s as strong as ever it was, but it’s +changed—brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you call me ‘brother’ agin I’ll give you something for yourself, and chance +it,” said Mr. Ricketts, ferociously. “I’m a pore man, but I’ve got my pride.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing, with a smile charged with brotherly love, leaned his left cheek +towards him. “Hit it,” he said, gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Give it a smack and run, Bill,” said the voice of a well-wisher inside. +</p> + +<p> +“There’d be no need for ’im to run,” said Mr. Billing. “I wouldn’t hit ’im back +for anything. I should turn the other cheek.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whaffor?” inquired the amazed Mr. Ricketts. +</p> + +<p> +“For another swipe,” said Mr. Billing, radiantly. +</p> + +<p> +In the fraction of a second he got the first, and reeled back staggering. The +onlookers from the bar came out hastily. Mr. Ricketts, somewhat pale, stood his +ground. +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I don’t hit you,” said Mr. Billing, with a ghastly attempt at a +smile. +</p> + +<p> +He stood rubbing his cheek gently, and, remembering Mr. Purnip’s statements, +slowly, inch by inch, turned the other in the direction of his adversary. The +circuit was still incomplete when Mr. Ricketts, balancing himself carefully, +fetched it a smash that nearly burst it. Mr. Billing, somewhat jarred by his +contact with the pavement, rose painfully and confronted him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve only got two cheeks, mind,” he said, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Ricketts sighed. “I wish you’d got a blinking dozen,” he said, wistfully. +“Well, so long. Be good.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked into the Blue Lion absolutely free from that sense of shame which Mr. +Purnip had predicted, and, accepting a pint from an admirer, boasted noisily of +his exploit. Mr. Billing, suffering both mentally and physically, walked slowly +home to his astonished wife. +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps he’ll be ashamed of hisself when ’e comes to think it over,” he +murmured, as Mrs. Billing, rendered almost perfect by practice, administered +first aid. +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pect he’s crying his eyes out,” she said, with a sniff. “Tell me if that +’urts.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing told her, then, suddenly remembering himself, issued an expurgated +edition. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry for the next man that ’its you,” said his wife, as she drew back and +regarded her handiwork. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, you needn’t be,” said Mr. Billing, with dignity. “It would take more +than a couple o’ props in the jaw to make me alter my mind when I’ve made it +up. You ought to know that by this time. Hurry up and finish. I want you to go +to the corner and fetch me a pot.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, ain’t you going out agin?” demanded his astonished wife. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing shook his head. “Somebody else might want to give me one,” he said, +resignedly, “and I’ve ’ad about all I want to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +His face was still painful next morning, but as he sat at breakfast in the +small kitchen he was able to refer to Mr. Ricketts in terms which were an +eloquent testimony to Mr. Purnip’s teaching. Mrs. Billing, unable to contain +herself, wandered off into the front room with a duster. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you nearly ready to go?” she inquired, returning after a short interval. +</p> + +<p> +“Five minutes,” said Mr. Billing, nodding. “I’ll just light my pipe and then +I’m off.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Cos there’s two or three waiting outside for you,” added his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing rose. “Ho, is there?” he said, grimly, as he removed his coat and +proceeded to roll up his shirt-sleeves. “I’ll learn ’em. I’ll give ’em +something to wait for. I’ll——” +</p> + +<p> +His voice died away as he saw the triumph in his wife’s face, and, drawing down +his sleeves again, he took up his coat and stood eyeing her in genuine +perplexity. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell ’em I’ve gorn,” he said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“And what about telling lies?” demanded his wife. “What would your Mr. Purnip +say to that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You do as you’re told,” exclaimed the harassed Mr. Billing. “I’m not going to +tell ’em; it’s you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billing returned to the parlour, and, with Mr. Billing lurking in the +background, busied herself over a china flower-pot that stood in the window, +and turned an anxious eye upon three men waiting outside. After a glance or two +she went to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you want to see my husband?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +The biggest of the three nodded. “Yus,” he said, shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Billing, “but he ’ad to go early this morning. Was it +anything partikler?” +</p> + +<p> +“Gorn?” said the other, in disappointed tones. “Well, you tell ’im I’ll see ’im +later on.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned away, and, followed by the other two, walked slowly up the road. Mr. +Billing, after waiting till the coast was clear, went off in the other +direction. +</p> + +<p> +He sought counsel of his friend and mentor that afternoon, and stood beaming +with pride at the praise lavished upon him. Mr. Purnip’s co-workers were no +less enthusiastic than their chief; and various suggestions were made to Mr. +Billing as to his behaviour in the unlikely event of further attacks upon his +noble person. +</p> + +<p> +He tried to remember the suggestions in the harassing days that followed; +baiting Joe Billing becoming popular as a pastime from which no evil results +need be feared. It was creditable to his fellow-citizens that most of them +refrained from violence with a man who declined to hit back, but as a butt his +success was assured. The night when a gawky lad of eighteen drank up his beer, +and then invited him to step outside if he didn’t like it, dwelt long in his +memory. And Elk Street thrilled one evening at the sight of their erstwhile +champion flying up the road hotly pursued by a foeman half his size. His +explanation to his indignant wife that, having turned the other cheek the night +before, he was in no mood for further punishment, was received in chilling +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll soon get tired of it,” he said, hopefully; “and I ain’t going to be +beat by a lot of chaps wot I could lick with one ’and tied behind me. They’ll +get to understand in time; Mr. Purnip says so. It’s a pity that you don’t try +and do some good yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billing received the suggestion with a sniff; but the seed was sown. She +thought the matter over in private, and came to the conclusion that, if her +husband wished her to participate in good works, it was not for her to deny +him. Hitherto her efforts in that direction had been promptly suppressed; Mr. +Billing’s idea being that if a woman looked after her home and her husband +properly there should be neither time nor desire for anything else. His +surprise on arriving home to tea on Saturday afternoon, and finding a couple of +hard-working neighbours devouring his substance, almost deprived him of speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor things,” said his wife, after the guests had gone; “they did enjoy it. +It’s cheered ’em up wonderful. You and Mr. Purnip are quite right. I can see +that now. You can tell him that it was you what put it into my ’art.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me? Why, I never dreamt o’ such a thing,” declared the surprised Mr. Billing. +“And there’s other ways of doing good besides asking a pack of old women in to +tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know there is,” said his wife. “All in good time,” she added, with a +far-away look in her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing cleared his throat, but nothing came of it. He cleared it again. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t let you do all the good,” said his wife, hastily. “It wouldn’t be +fair. I must help.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing lit his pipe noisily, and then took it out into the back-yard and +sat down to think over the situation. The ungenerous idea that his wife was +making goodness serve her own ends was the first that occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +His suspicions increased with time. Mrs. Billing’s good works seemed to be +almost entirely connected with hospitality. True, she had entertained Mr. +Purnip and one of the ladies from the Settlement to tea, but that only riveted +his bonds more firmly. Other visitors included his sister-in-law, for whom he +had a great distaste, and some of the worst-behaved children in the street. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only high spirits,” said Mrs. Billing; “all children are like that. And I +do it to help the mothers.” +</p> + +<p> +“And ’cos you like children,” said her husband, preserving his good-humour +with an effort. +</p> + +<p> +There was a touch of monotony about the new life, and the good deeds that +accompanied it, which, to a man of ardent temperament, was apt to pall. And Elk +Street, instead of giving him the credit which was his due, preferred to +ascribe the change in his behaviour to what they called being “a bit barmy on +the crumpet.” +</p> + +<p> +He came home one evening somewhat dejected, brightening up as he stood in the +passage and inhaled the ravishing odours from the kitchen. Mrs. Billing, with a +trace of nervousness somewhat unaccountable in view of the excellent quality of +the repast provided, poured him out a glass of beer, and passed flattering +comment upon his appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s the game?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Game?” repeated his wife, in a trembling voice. “Nothing. ’Ow do you find that +steak-pudding? I thought of giving you one every Wednesday.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing put down his knife and fork and sat regarding her thoughtfully. +Then he pushed back his chair suddenly, and, a picture of consternation and +wrath, held up his hand for silence. +</p> + +<p> +“W-w-wot is it?” he demanded. “A cat?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Billing made no reply, and her husband sprang to his feet as a long, thin +wailing sounded through the house. A note of temper crept into it and +strengthened it. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot is it?” demanded Mr. Billing again. “It’s—it’s Mrs. Smith’s Charlie,” +stammered his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“In—in my bedroom?” exclaimed her husband, in incredulous accents. “Wot’s it +doing there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I took it for the night,” said his wife hurriedly. “Poor thing, what with the +others being ill she’s ’ad a dreadful time, and she said if I’d take Charlie +for a few—for a night, she might be able to get some sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing choked. “And what about my sleep?” he shouted. “Chuck it outside at +once. D’ye hear me?” +</p> + +<p> +His words fell on empty air, his wife having already sped upstairs to pacify +Master Smith by a rhythmical and monotonous thumping on the back. Also she +lifted up a thin and not particularly sweet voice and sang to him. Mr. Billing, +finishing his supper in indignant silence, told himself grimly that he was +“beginning to have enough of it.” +</p> + +<p> +He spent the evening at the Charlton Arms, and, returning late, went slowly and +heavily up to bed. In the light of a shaded candle he saw a small, +objectionable-looking infant fast asleep on two chairs by the side of the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“H’sh!” said his wife, in a thrilling whisper. “He’s just gone off.” +</p> + +<p> +“D’ye mean I mustn’t open my mouth in my own bedroom?” demanded the indignant +man, loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“H’sh!” said his wife again. +</p> + +<p> +It was too late. Master Smith, opening first one eye and then the other, +finished by opening his mouth. The noise was appalling. +</p> + +<p> +“H’sh! H’sh!” repeated Mrs. Billing, as her husband began to add to the noise. +“Don’t wake ’im right up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right up?” repeated the astonished man. “Right up? Why, is he doing this in +’is sleep?” +</p> + +<p> +He subsided into silence, and, undressing with stealthy care, crept into bed +and lay there, marvelling at his self-control. He was a sound sleeper, but six +times at least he was awakened by Mrs. Billing slipping out of bed—regardless +of draughts to her liege lord—and marching up and down the room with the +visitor in her arms. He rose in the morning and dressed in ominous silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ope he didn’t disturb you,” said his wife, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve done it,” replied Mr. Billing. “You’ve upset everything now. Since I +joined the Purnip lot everybody’s took advantage of me; now I’m going to get +some of my own back. You wouldn’t ha’ dreamt of behaving like this a few weeks +ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Joe!” said his wife, entreatingly; “and everybody’s been so happy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Except me,” retorted Joe Billing. “You come down and get my breakfast ready. +If I start early I shall catch Mr. Bill Ricketts on ’is way to work. And mind, +if I find that steam-orgin ’ere when I come ’ome to-night you’ll hear of it.” +</p> + +<p> +He left the house with head erect and the light of battle in his eyes, and, +meeting Mr. Ricketts at the corner, gave that justly aggrieved gentleman the +surprise of his life. Elk Street thrilled to the fact that Mr. Billing had +broken out again, and spoke darkly of what the evening might bring forth. +Curious eyes followed his progress as he returned home from work, and a little +later on the news was spread abroad that he was out and paying off old scores +with an ardour that nothing could withstand. +</p> + +<p> +“And wot about your change of ’art?” demanded one indignant matron, as her +husband reached home five seconds ahead of Mr. Billing and hid in the scullery. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s changed agin,” said Mr. Billing, simply. +</p> + +<p> +He finished the evening in the Blue Lion, where he had one bar almost to +himself, and, avoiding his wife’s reproachful glance when he arrived home, +procured some warm water and began to bathe his honourable scars. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Purnip ’as been round with another gentleman,” said his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing said, “Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very much upset they was, and ’ope you’ll go and see them,” she continued. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing said “Oh!” again; and, after thinking the matter over, called next +day at the Settlement and explained his position. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right for gentlemen like you,” he said civilly. “But a man. like me +can’t call his soul ’is own—or even ’is bedroom. Everybody takes advantage of +’im. Nobody ever gives you a punch, and, as for putting babies in your bedroom, +they wouldn’t dream of it.” +</p> + +<p> +He left amid expressions of general regret, turning a deaf ear to all +suggestions about making another start, and went off exulting in his freedom. +</p> + +<p> +His one trouble was Mr. Purnip, that estimable gentleman, who seemed to have a +weird gift of meeting him at all sorts of times and places, never making any +allusion to his desertion, but showing quite clearly by his manner that he +still hoped for the return of the wanderer. It was awkward for a man of +sensitive disposition, and Mr. Billing, before entering a street, got into the +habit of peering round the corner first. +</p> + +<p> +He pulled up suddenly one evening as he saw his tenacious friend, accompanied +by a lady-member, some little distance ahead. Then he sprang forward with fists +clenched as a passer-by, after scowling at Mr. Purnip, leaned forward and +deliberately blew a mouthful of smoke into the face of his companion. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Billing stopped again and stood gaping with astonishment. The aggressor was +getting up from the pavement, while Mr. Purnip, in an absolutely correct +attitude, stood waiting for him. Mr. Billing in a glow of delight edged +forward, and, with a few other fortunates, stood by watching one of the best +fights that had ever been seen in the district. Mr. Purnip’s foot-work was +excellent, and the way he timed his blows made Mr. Billing’s eyes moist with +admiration. +</p> + +<p> +It was over at last. The aggressor went limping off, and Mr. Purnip, wiping his +bald head, picked up his battered and dusty hat from the roadway and brushed it +on his sleeve. He turned with a start and a blush to meet the delighted gaze of +Mr. Billing. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m ashamed of myself,” he murmured, brokenly—“ashamed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ashamed!” exclaimed the amazed Mr. Billing. “Why, a pro couldn’t ha’ done +better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such an awful example,” moaned the other. “All my good work here thrown away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you believe it, sir,” said Mr. Billing, earnestly. “As soon as this gets +about you’ll get more members than you want a’most. I’m coming back, for one.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Purnip turned and grasped his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I understand things now,” said Mr. Billing, nodding sagely. “Turning the other +cheek’s all right so long as you don’t do it always. If you don’t let ’em know +whether you are going to turn the other cheek or knock their blessed heads off, +it’s all right. ’Arf the trouble in the world is caused by letting people know +too much.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>HUSBANDRY</h2> + +<p> +Dealing with a man, said the night-watchman, thoughtfully, is as easy as a +teetotaller walking along a nice wide pavement; dealing with a woman is like +the same teetotaller, arter four or five whiskies, trying to get up a step that +ain’t there. If a man can’t get ’is own way he eases ’is mind with a little +nasty language, and then forgets all about it; if a woman can’t get ’er own way +she flies into a temper and reminds you of something you oughtn’t to ha’ done +ten years ago. Wot a woman would do whose ’usband had never done anything wrong +I can’t think. +</p> + +<p> +I remember a young feller telling me about a row he ’ad with ’is wife once. He +’adn’t been married long and he talked as if the way she carried on was +unusual. Fust of all, he said, she spoke to ’im in a cooing sort o’ voice and +pulled his moustache, then when he wouldn’t give way she worked herself up into +a temper and said things about ’is sister. Arter which she went out o’ the room +and banged the door so hard it blew down a vase off the fireplace. Four times +she came back to tell ’im other things she ’ad thought of, and then she got so +upset she ’ad to go up to bed and lay down instead of getting his tea. When +that didn’t do no good she refused her food, and when ’e took her up toast and +tea she wouldn’t look at it. Said she wanted to die. He got quite uneasy till +’e came ’ome the next night and found the best part of a loaf o’ bread, a +quarter o’ butter, and a couple o’ chops he ’ad got in for ’is supper had gorn; +and then when he said ’e was glad she ’ad got ’er appetite back she turned +round and said that he grudged ’er the food she ate. +</p> + +<p> +And no woman ever owned up as ’ow she was wrong; and the more you try and prove +it to ’em the louder they talk about something else. I know wot I’m talking +about because a woman made a mistake about me once, and though she was proved +to be in the wrong, and it was years ago, my missus shakes her ’ead about it to +this day. +</p> + +<p> +It was about eight years arter I ’ad left off going to sea and took up +night-watching. A beautiful summer evening it was, and I was sitting by the +gate smoking a pipe till it should be time to light up, when I noticed a woman +who ’ad just passed turn back and stand staring at me. I’ve ’ad that sort o’ +thing before, and I went on smoking and looking straight in front of me. Fat +middle-aged woman she was, wot ’ad lost her good looks and found others. She +stood there staring and staring, and by and by she tries a little cough. +</p> + +<p> +I got up very slow then, and, arter looking all round at the evening, without +seeing ’er, I was just going to step inside and shut the wicket, when she came +closer. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill!” she ses, in a choking sort o’ voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill!” +</p> + +<p> +I gave her a look that made her catch ’er breath, and I was just stepping +through the wicket, when she laid hold of my coat and tried to hold me back. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know wot you’re a-doing of?” I ses, turning on her. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bill dear,” she ses, “don’t talk to me like that. Do you want to break my +’art? Arter all these years!” +</p> + +<p> +She pulled out a dirt-coloured pocket-’ankercher and stood there dabbing her +eyes with it. One eye at a time she dabbed, while she looked at me reproachful +with the other. And arter eight dabs, four to each eye, she began to sob as if +her ’art would break. +</p> + +<p> +“Go away,” I ses, very slow. “You can’t stand making that noise outside my +wharf. Go away and give somebody else a treat.” +</p> + +<p> +Afore she could say anything the potman from the Tiger, a nasty ginger-’aired +little chap that nobody liked, come by and stopped to pat her on the back. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there, don’t take on, mother,” he ses. “Wot’s he been a-doing to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You get off ’ome,” I ses, losing my temper. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot d’ye mean trying to drag me into it? I’ve never seen the woman afore in my +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Bill!” ses the woman, sobbing louder than ever. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow does she know your name, then?” ses the little beast of a potman. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t answer him. I might have told ’im that there’s about five million +Bills in England, but I didn’t. I stood there with my arms folded acrost my +chest, and looked at him, superior. +</p> + +<p> +“Where ’ave you been all this long, long time?” she ses, between her sobs. “Why +did you leave your happy ’ome and your children wot loved you?” +</p> + +<p> +The potman let off a whistle that you could have ’eard acrost the river, and as +for me, I thought I should ha’ dropped. To have a woman standing sobbing and +taking my character away like that was a’most more than I could bear. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he run away from you?” ses the potman. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye-ye-yes,” she ses. “He went off on a vy’ge to China over nine years ago, and +that’s the last I saw of ’im till to-night. A lady friend o’ mine thought she +reckernized ’im yesterday, and told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t cry over ’im,” ses the potman, shaking his ’ead: “he ain’t worth +it. If I was you I should just give ’im a bang or two over the ’ead with my +umberella, and then give ’im in charge.” +</p> + +<p> +I stepped inside the wicket—backwards—and then I slammed it in their faces, and +putting the key in my pocket, walked up the wharf. I knew it was no good +standing out there argufying. I felt sorry for the pore thing in a way. If she +really thought I was her ’usband, and she ’ad lost me—— I put one or two things +straight and then, for the sake of distracting my mind, I ’ad a word or two +with the skipper of the John Henry, who was leaning against the side of his +ship, smoking. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s that tapping noise?” he ses, all of a sudden. “’Ark!” +</p> + +<p> +I knew wot it was. It was the handle of that umberella ’ammering on the gate. I +went cold all over, and then when I thought that the pot-man was most likely +encouraging ’er to do it I began to boil. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody at the gate,” ses the skipper. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye,” I ses. “I know all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +I went on talking until at last the skipper asked me whether he was wandering +in ’is mind, or whether I was. The mate came up from the cabin just then, and +o’ course he ’ad to tell me there was somebody knocking at the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you going to open it?” ses the skipper, staring at me. +</p> + +<p> +“Let ’em ring,” I ses, off-hand. +</p> + +<p> +The words was ’ardly out of my mouth afore they did ring, and if they ’ad been +selling muffins they couldn’t ha’ kept it up harder. And all the time the +umberella was doing rat-a-tat tats on the gate, while a voice— much too loud +for the potman’s—started calling out: “Watch-man ahoy!” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re calling you, Bill,” ses the skipper. “I ain’t deaf,” I ses, very cold. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I wish I was,” ses the skipper. “It’s fair making my ear ache. Why the +blazes don’t you do your dooty, and open the gate?” +</p> + +<p> +“You mind your bisness and I’ll mind mine,” I ses. “I know wot I’m doing. It’s +just some silly fools ’aving a game with me, and I’m not going to encourage +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Game with you?” ses the skipper. “Ain’t they got anything better than that to +play with? Look ’ere, if you don’t open that gate, I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing to do with you,” I ses. “You look arter your ship and I’ll look +arter my wharf. See? If you don’t like the noise, go down in the cabin and +stick your ’ead in a biscuit-bag.” +</p> + +<p> +To my surprise he took the mate by the arm and went, and I was just thinking +wot a good thing it was to be a bit firm with people sometimes, when they came +back dressed up in their coats and bowler-hats and climbed on to the wharf. +</p> + +<p> +“Watchman!” ses the skipper, in a hoity-toity sort o’ voice, “me and the mate +is going as far as Aldgate for a breath o’ fresh air. Open the gate.” +</p> + +<p> +I gave him a look that might ha’ melted a ’art of stone, and all it done to ’im +was to make ’im laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Hurry up,” he ses. “It a’most seems to me that there’s somebody ringing the +bell, and you can let them in same time as you let us out. Is it the bell, or +is it my fancy, Joe?” he ses, turning to the mate. +</p> + +<p> +They marched on in front of me with their noses cocked in the air, and all the +time the noise at the gate got worse and worse. So far as I could make out, +there was quite a crowd outside, and I stood there with the key in the lock, +trembling all over. Then I unlocked it very careful, and put my hand on the +skipper’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Nip out quick,” I ses, in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in no hurry,” ses the skipper. “Here! Halloa, wot’s up?” +</p> + +<p> +It was like opening the door at a theatre, and the fust one through was that +woman, shoved behind by the potman. Arter ’im came a car-man, two big ’ulking +brewers’ draymen, a little scrap of a woman with ’er bonnet cocked over one +eye, and a couple of dirty little boys. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot is it?” ses the skipper, shutting the wicket behind ’em. “A beanfeast?” +</p> + +<p> +“This lady wants her ’usband,” ses the pot-man, pointing at me. “He run away +from her nine years ago, and now he says he ’as never seen ’er before. He ought +to be ’ung.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bill,” ses the skipper, shaking his silly ’ead at me. “I can ’ardly believe +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all a pack o’ silly lies,” I ses, firing up. “She’s made a mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +“She made a mistake when she married you,” ses the thin little woman. “If I was +in ’er shoes I’d take ’old of you and tear you limb from limb.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to hurt ’im, ma’am,” ses the other woman. “I on’y want him to +come ’ome to me and my five. Why, he’s never seen the youngest, little Annie. +She’s as like ’im as two peas.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pore little devil,” ses the carman. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” I ses, “you clear off. All of you. ’Ow dare you come on to my +wharf? If you aren’t gone in two minutes I’ll give you all in charge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who to?” ses one of the draymen, sticking his face into mine. “You go ’ome to +your wife and kids. Go on now, afore I put up my ’ands to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way to talk to ’im,” ses the pot-man, nodding at ’em. +</p> + +<p> +They all began to talk to me then and tell me wot I was to do, and wot they +would do if I didn’t. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. When I reminded the +mate that when he was up in London ’e always passed himself off as a single +man, ’e wouldn’t listen; and when I asked the skipper whether ’is pore missus +was blind, he on’y went on shouting at the top of ’is voice. It on’y showed me +’ow anxious most people are that everybody else should be good. +</p> + +<p> +I thought they was never going to stop, and, if it ’adn’t been for a fit of +coughing, I don’t believe that the scraggy little woman could ha’ stopped. +Arter one o’ the draymen ’ad saved her life and spoilt ’er temper by patting +’er on the back with a hand the size of a leg o’ mutton, the carman turned to +me and told me to tell the truth, if it choked me. +</p> + +<p> +“I have told you the truth,” I ses. “She ses I’m her ’usband and I say I ain’t. +Ow’s she going to prove it? Why should you believe her, and not me?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s got a truthful face,” ses the carman. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” ses the skipper, speaking very slow, “I’ve got an idea, wot’ll +settle it p’raps. You get outside,” he ses, turning sharp on the two little +boys. +</p> + +<p> +One o’ the draymen ’elped ’em to go out, and ’arf a minute arterwards a stone +came over the gate and cut the potman’s lip open. Boys will be boys. +</p> + +<p> +“Now!” ses the skipper, turning to the woman, and smiling with conceitedness. +“Had your ’usband got any marks on ’im? Birth-mark, or moles, or anything of +that sort?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure he is my ’usband,” ses the woman, dabbing her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes,” ses the skipper, “but answer my question. If you can tell us any +marks your ’usband had, we can take Bill down into my cabin and——” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll do WOT?” I ses, in a loud voice. +</p> + +<p> +“You speak when you’re spoke to,” ses the carman. “It’s got nothing to do with +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he ain’t got no birthmarks,” ses the woman, speaking very slow—and I could +see she was afraid of making a mistake and losing me—“but he’s got tattoo +marks. He’s got a mermaid tattooed on ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” ses the skipper, a’most jumping. +</p> + +<p> +I ’eld my breath. Five sailormen out of ten have been tattooed with mermaids, +and I was one of ’em. When she spoke agin I thought I should ha’ dropped. +</p> + +<p> +“On ’is right arm,” she ses, “unless he’s ’ad it rubbed off.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t rub out tattoo marks,” ses the skipper. +</p> + +<p> +They all stood looking at me as if they was waiting for something. I folded my +arms—tight—and stared back at ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“If you ain’t this lady’s ’usband,” ses the skipper, turning to me, “you can +take off your coat and prove it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if you don’t we’ll take it off for you,” ses the carman, coming a bit +closer. +</p> + +<p> +Arter that things ’appened so quick, I hardly knew whether I was standing on my +’cad or my heels. Both, I think. They was all on top o’ me at once, and the +next thing I can remember is sitting on the ground in my shirt-sleeves +listening to the potman, who was making a fearful fuss because somebody ’ad bit +his ear ’arf off. My coat was ripped up the back, and one of the draymen was +holding up my arm and showing them all the mermaid, while the other struck +matches so as they could see better. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s your ’usband right enough,” he ses to the woman. “Take ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“P’raps she’ll carry ’im ’ome,” I ses, very fierce and sarcastic. +</p> + +<p> +“And we don’t want none of your lip,” ses the carman, who was in a bad temper +because he ’ad got a fearful kick on the shin from somewhere. +</p> + +<p> +I got up very slow and began to put my coat on again, and twice I ’ad to tell +that silly woman that when I wanted her ’elp I’d let ’er know. Then I ’eard +slow, heavy footsteps in the road outside, and, afore any of ’em could stop me, +I was calling for the police. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t like policemen as a rule; they’re too inquisitive, but when the wicket +was pushed open and I saw a face with a helmet on it peeping in, I felt quite a +liking for ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s up?” ses the policeman, staring ’ard at my little party. +</p> + +<p> +They all started telling ’im at once, and I should think if the potman showed +him ’is ear once he showed it to ’im twenty times. He lost his temper and +pushed it away at last, and the potman gave a ’owl that set my teeth on edge. I +waited till they was all finished, and the policeman trying to get ’is hearing +back, and then I spoke up in a quiet way and told ’im to clear them all off of +my wharf. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re trespassing,” I ses, “all except the skipper and mate here. They +belong to a little wash-tub that’s laying alongside, and they’re both as +’armless as they look.” +</p> + +<p> +It’s wonderful wot a uniform will do. The policeman just jerked his ’ead and +said “out-side,” and the men went out like a flock of sheep. The on’y man that +said a word was the carman, who was in such a hurry that ’e knocked his bad +shin against my foot as ’e went by. The thin little woman was passed out by the +policeman in the middle of a speech she was making, and he was just going for +the other, when the skipper stopped ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“This lady is coming on my ship,” he ses, puffing out ’is chest. +</p> + +<p> +I looked at ’im, and then I turned to the policeman. “So long as she goes off +my wharf, I don’t mind where she goes,” I ses. “The skipper’s goings-on ’ave +got nothing to do with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she can foller him ’ome in the morning,” ses the skipper. “Good night, +watch-man.” +</p> + +<p> +Him and the mate ’elped the silly old thing to the ship, and, arter I ’ad been +round to the Bear’s Head and fetched a pint for the police-man, I locked up and +sat down to think things out; and the more I thought the worse they seemed. +I’ve ’eard people say that if you have a clear conscience nothing can hurt you. +They didn’t know my missus. +</p> + +<p> +I got up at last and walked on to the jetty, and the woman, wot was sitting on +the deck of the John Henry, kept calling out: “Bill!” like a sick baa-lamb +crying for its ma. I went back, and ’ad four pints at the Bear’s Head, but it +didn’t seem to do me any good, and at last I went and sat down in the office to +wait for morning. +</p> + +<p> +It came at last, a lovely morning with a beautiful sunrise; and that woman +sitting up wide awake, waiting to foller me ’ome. When I opened the gate at six +o’clock she was there with the mate and the skipper, waiting, and when I left +at five minutes past she was trotting along beside me. +</p> + +<p> +Twice I stopped and spoke to ’er, but it was no good. Other people stopped too, +and I ’ad to move on agin; and every step was bringing me nearer to my house +and the missus. +</p> + +<p> +I turned into our street, arter passing it three times, and the first thing I +saw was my missus standing on the doorstep ’aving a few words with the lady +next door. Then she ’appened to look up and see us, just as that silly woman +was trying to walk arm-in-arm. +</p> + +<p> +Twice I knocked her ’and away, and then, right afore my wife and the party next +door, she put her arm round my waist. By the time I got to the ’ouse my legs +was trembling so I could hardly stand, and when I got into the passage I ’ad to +lean up against the wall for a bit. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<img src="images/003.jpg" width="474" height="650" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">Right afore my wife and the party next door, she put her arm +round my waist.</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Keep ’er out,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot do you want?” ses my missus, trembling with passion. “Wot do you think +you’re doing?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want my ’usband, Bill,” ses the woman. +</p> + +<p> +My missus put her ’and to her throat and came in without a word, and the woman +follered ’er. If I hadn’t kept my presence o’ mind and shut the door two or +three more would ’ave come in too. +</p> + +<p> +I went into the kitchen about ten minutes arterwards to see ’ow they was +getting on. Besides which they was both calling for me. +</p> + +<p> +“Now then!” ses my missus, who was leaning up against the dresser with ’er arms +folded, “wot ’ave you got to say for yourself walking in as bold as brass with +this hussy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bill!” ses the woman, “did you hear wot she called me?” +</p> + +<p> +She spoke to me like that afore my wife, and in two minutes they was at it, +hammer and tongs. +</p> + +<p> +Fust of all they spoke about each other, and then my missus started speaking +about me. She’s got a better memory than most people, because she can remember +things that never ’appened, and every time I coughed she turned on me like a +tiger. +</p> + +<p> +“And as for you,” she ses, turning to the woman, “if you did marry ’im you +should ha’ made sure that he ’adn’t got a wife already.” +</p> + +<p> +“He married me fust,” ses the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” ses my wife. “Wot was the date?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot was the date you married ’im?” ses the other one. +</p> + +<p> +They stood looking at each other like a couple o’ game-cocks, and I could see +as plain as a pike-staff ’ow frightened both of ’em was o’ losing me. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here!” I ses at last, to my missus, “talk sense. ’Ow could I be married +to ’er? When I was at sea I was at sea, and when I was ashore I was with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you use to go down to the ship to see ’im off?” ses the woman. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses my wife. “I’d something better to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Neither did I,” ses the woman. “P’raps that’s where we both made a mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +“You get out of my ’ouse!” ses my missus, very sudden. “Go on, afore I put you +out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not without my Bill,” ses the woman. “If you lay a finger on me I’ll scream +the house down.” +</p> + +<p> +“You brought her ’ere,” ses my wife, turning to me, “now you can take ’er +away?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t bring ’er,” I ses. “She follered me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she can foller you agin,” she ses. “Go on!” she ses, trembling all over. +“Git out afore I start on you.” +</p> + +<p> +I was in such a temper that I daren’t trust myself to stop. I just gave ’er one +look, and then I drew myself up and went out. ’Alf the fools in our street was +standing in front of the ’ouse, ’umming like bees, but I took no notice. I held +my ’ead up and walked through them with that woman trailing arter me. +</p> + +<p> +I was in such a state of mind that I went on like a man in a dream. If it had +ha’ been a dream I should ha’ pushed ’er under an omnibus, but you can’t do +things like that in real life. +</p> + +<p> +“Penny for your thoughts, Bill,” she ses. I didn’t answer her. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you speak to me?” she ses. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know wot you’re asking for,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +I was hungry and sleepy, and ’ow I was going to get through the day I couldn’t +think. I went into a pub and ’ad a couple o’ pints o’ stout and a crust o’ +bread and cheese for brekfuss. I don’t know wot she ’ad, but when the barman +tried to take for it out o’ my money, I surprised ’im. +</p> + +<p> +We walked about till I was ready to drop. Then we got to Victoria Park, and I +’ad no sooner got on to the grass than I laid down and went straight off to +sleep. It was two o’clock when I woke, and, arter a couple o’ pork-pies and a +pint or two, I sat on a seat in the Park smoking, while she kep’ dabbing ’er +eyes agin and asking me to come ’ome. +</p> + +<p> +At five o’clock I got up to go back to the wharf, and, taking no notice of ’er, +I walked into the street and jumped on a ’bus that was passing. She jumped too, +and, arter the conductor had ’elped ’er up off of ’er knees and taken her arms +away from his waist, I’m blest if he didn’t turn on me and ask me why I ’adn’t +left her at ’ome. +</p> + +<p> +We got to the wharf just afore six. The John Henry ’ad gorn, but the skipper +’ad done all the ’arm he could afore he sailed, and, if I ’adn’t kept my +temper, I should ha’ murdered arf a dozen of ’em. +</p> + +<p> +The woman wanted to come on to the wharf, but I ’ad a word or two with one o’ +the fore-men, who owed me arf-a-dollar, and he made that all right. +</p> + +<p> +“We all ’ave our faults, Bill,” he ses as ’e went out, “and I suppose she was +better looking once upon a time?” +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t answer ’im. I shut the wicket arter ’im, quick, and turned the key, +and then I went on with my work. For a long time everything was as quiet as the +grave, and then there came just one little pull at the bell. Five minutes +arterwards there was another. +</p> + +<p> +I thought it was that woman, but I ’ad to make sure. When it came the third +time I crept up to the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa!” I ses. “Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Me, darling,” ses a voice I reckernized as the potman’s. “Your missus wants to +come in and sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +I could ’ear several people talking, and it seemed to me there was quite a +crowd out there, and by and by that bell was going like mad. Then people +started kicking the gate, and shouting, but I took no notice until, presently, +it left off all of a sudden, and I ’eard a loud voice asking what it was all +about. I suppose there was about fifty of ’em all telling it at once, and then +there was the sound of a fist on the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Police,” ses the voice. +</p> + +<p> +I opened the wicket then and looked out. A couple o’ policemen was standing by +the gate and arf the riff-raff of Wapping behind ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s all this about?” ses one o’ the policemen. +</p> + +<p> +I shook my ’ead. “Ask me another,” I ses. “Your missus is causing a +disturbance,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s not my missus,” I ses; “she’s a complete stranger to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And causing a crowd to collect and refusing to go away,” ses the other +policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s your business,” I ses. “It’s nothing to do with me.” +</p> + +<p> +They talked to each other for a moment, and then they spoke to the woman. I +didn’t ’ear wot she said, but I saw her shake her ’ead, and a’most direckly +arterwards she was marching away between the two policemen with the crowd +follering and advising ’er where to kick ’em. +</p> + +<p> +I was a bit worried at fust—not about her—and then I began to think that p’raps +it was the best thing that could have ’appened. +</p> + +<p> +I went ’ome in the morning with a load lifted off my mind; but I ’adn’t been in +the ’ouse two seconds afore my missus started to put it on agin. Fust of all +she asked me ’ow I dared to come into the ’ouse, and then she wanted to know +wot I meant by leaving her at ’ome and going out for the day with another +woman. +</p> + +<p> +“You told me to,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” she ses, trembling with temper. “You always do wot I tell you, don’t +you? Al-ways ’ave, especially when it’s anything you like.” +</p> + +<p> +She fetched a bucket o’ water and scrubbed the kitchen while I was having my +brekfuss, but I kept my eye on ’er, and, the moment she ’ad finished, I did the +perlite and emptied the bucket for ’er, to prevent mistakes. +</p> + +<p> +I read about the case in the Sunday paper, and I’m thankful to say my name +wasn’t in it. All the magistrate done was to make ’er promise that she wouldn’t +do it again, and then he let ’er go. I should ha’ felt more comfortable if he +’ad given ’er five years, but, as it turned out, it didn’t matter. Her ’usband +happened to read it, and, whether ’e was tired of living alone, or whether he +was excited by ’caring that she ’ad got a little general shop, ’e went back to +her. +</p> + +<p> +The fust I knew about it was they came round to the wharf to see me. He ’ad +been a fine-looking chap in ’is day, and even then ’e was enough like me for me +to see ’ow she ’ad made the mistake; and all the time she was telling me ’ow it +’appened, he was looking me up and down and sniffing. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ave you got a cold?” I ses, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s that got to do with you?” he ses. “Wot do you mean by walking out with +my wife? That’s what I’ve come to talk about.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment I thought that his bad luck ’ad turned ’is brain. “You’ve got it +wrong,” I ses, as soon as I could speak. “She walked out with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cos she thought you was her ’usband,” he ses, “but you didn’t think you was +me, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Course I didn’t,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Then ’ow dare you walk out with ’er?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere!” I ses. “You get off ’ome as quick as you like. I’ve ’ad about +enough of your family. Go on, hook it.” +</p> + +<p> +Afore I could put my ’ands up he ’it me hard in the mouth, and the next moment +we was at it as ’ard as we could go. Nearly every time I hit ’im he wasn’t +there, and every time ’e hit me I wished I hadn’t ha’ been. When I said I had +’ad enough, ’e contradicted me and kept on, but he got tired of it at last, +and, arter telling me wot he would do if I ever walked ’is wife out agin, they +went off like a couple o’ love-birds. +</p> + +<p> +By the time I got ’ome next morning my eyes was so swelled up I could ’ardly +see, and my nose wouldn’t let me touch it. I was so done up I could ’ardly +speak, but I managed to tell my missus about it arter I had ’ad a cup o’ tea. +Judging by her face anybody might ha’ thought I was telling ’er something +funny, and, when I ’ad finished, she looks up at the ceiling and ses: +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ope it’ll be a lesson to you,” she ses. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>FAMILY CARES</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Jernshaw, who was taking the opportunity of a lull in business to weigh out +pound packets of sugar, knocked his hands together and stood waiting for the +order of the tall bronzed man who had just entered the shop—a well-built man of +about forty—who was regarding him with blue eyes set in quizzical wrinkles. +</p> + +<p> +“What, Harry!” exclaimed Mr. Jernshaw, in response to the wrinkles. “Harry +Barrett!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me,” said the other, extending his hand. “The rolling stone come home +covered with moss.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jernshaw, somewhat excited, shook hands, and led the way into the little +parlour behind the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifteen years,” said Mr. Barrett, sinking into a chair, “and the old place +hasn’t altered a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Smithson told me he had let that house in Webb Street to a Barrett,” said the +grocer, regarding him, “but I never thought of you. I suppose you’ve done well, +then?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett nodded. “Can’t grumble,” he said modestly. “I’ve got enough to live +on. Melbourne’s all right, but I thought I’d come home for the evening of my +life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Evening!” repeated his friend. “Forty-three,” said Mr. Barrett, gravely. “I’m +getting on.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t changed much,” said the grocer, passing his hand through his spare +grey whiskers. “Wait till you have a wife and seven youngsters. Why, boots +alone——” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett uttered a groan intended for sympathy. “Perhaps you could help me +with the furnishing,” he said, slowly. “I’ve never had a place of my own +before, and I don’t know much about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything I can do,” said his friend. “Better not get much yet; you might +marry, and my taste mightn’t be hers.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett laughed. “I’m not marrying,” he said, with conviction. +</p> + +<p> +“Seen anything of Miss Prentice yet?” inquired Mr. Jernshaw. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the other, with a slight flush. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s still single,” said the grocer. +</p> + +<p> +“What of it?” demanded Mr. Barrett, with warmth. “What of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” said Mr. Jernshaw, slowly. “Nothing; only I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said the other, as he paused. +</p> + +<p> +“I—there was an idea that you went to Australia to—to better your condition,” +murmured the grocer. “That—that you were not in a position to marry—that——” +</p> + +<p> +“Boy and girl nonsense,” said Mr. Barrett, sharply. “Why, it’s fifteen years +ago. I don’t suppose I should know her if I saw her. Is her mother alive?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather!” said Mr. Jernshaw, with emphasis. “Louisa is something like what her +mother was when you went away.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett shivered. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll see for yourself,” continued the other. “You’ll have to go and see +them. They’ll wonder you haven’t been before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let ’em wonder,” said the embarrassed Mr. Barrett. “I shall go and see all my +old friends in their turn; casual-like. You might let ’em hear that I’ve been +to see you before seeing them, and then, if they’re thinking any nonsense, +it’ll be a hint. I’m stopping in town while the house is being decorated; next +time I come down I’ll call and see somebody else.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be another hint,” assented Mr. Jernshaw. “Not that hints are much good +to Mrs. Prentice.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see,” said Mr. Barrett. +</p> + +<p> +In accordance with his plan his return to his native town was heralded by a few +short visits at respectable intervals. A sort of human butterfly, he streaked +rapidly across one or two streets, alighted for half an hour to resume an old +friendship, and then disappeared again. Having given at least half-a-dozen +hints of this kind, he made a final return to Ramsbury and entered into +occupation of his new house. +</p> + +<p> +“It does you credit, Jernshaw,” he said, gratefully. “I should have made a rare +mess of it without your help.” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks very nice,” admitted his friend. “Too nice.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all nonsense,” said the owner, irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Mr. Jernshaw. “I don’t know the sex, then, that’s all. If you +think that you’re going to keep a nice house like this all to yourself, you’re +mistaken. It’s a home; and where there’s a home a woman comes in, somehow.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett grunted his disbelief. +</p> + +<p> +“I give you four days,” said Mr. Jernshaw. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of fact, Mrs. Prentice and her daughter came on the fifth. Mr. +Barrett, who was in an easy-chair, wooing slumber with a handkerchief over his +head, heard their voices at the front door and the cordial invitation of his +housekeeper. They entered the room as he sat hastily smoothing his rumpled +hair. +</p> + +<p> +“Good afternoon,” he said, shaking hands. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Prentice returned the greeting in a level voice, and, accepting a chair, +gazed around the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Nice weather,” said Mr. Barrett. +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said Mrs. Prentice. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s—it’s quite a pleasure to see you again,” said Mr. Barrett. +</p> + +<p> +“We thought we should have seen you before,” said Mrs. Prentice, “but I told +Louisa that no doubt you were busy, and wanted to surprise her. I like the +carpet; don’t you, Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Prentice said she did. +</p> + +<p> +“The room is nice and airy,” said Mrs. Prentice, “but it’s a pity you didn’t +come to me before deciding. I could have told you of a better house for the +same money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very well satisfied with this,” said Mr. Barrett. “It’s all I want.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s well enough,” conceded Mrs. Prentice, amiably. “And how have you been all +these years?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett, with some haste, replied that his health and spirits had been +excellent. +</p> + +<p> +“You look well,” said Mrs. Prentice. “Neither of you seem to have changed +much,” she added, looking from him to her daughter. “And I think you did quite +well not to write. I think it was much the best.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett sought for a question: a natural, artless question, that would +neutralize the hideous suggestion conveyed by this remark, but it eluded him. +He sat and gazed in growing fear at Mrs. Prentice. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I couldn’t write,” he said at last, in desperation; “my wife——” +</p> + +<p> +“Your what?” exclaimed Mrs. Prentice, loudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Wife,” said Mr. Barrett, suddenly calm now that he had taken the plunge. “She +wouldn’t have liked it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Prentice tried to control her voice. “I never heard you were married!” she +gasped. “Why isn’t she here?” +</p> + +<p> +“We couldn’t agree,” said the veracious Mr. Barrett. “She was very difficult; +so I left the children with her and——” +</p> + +<p> +“Chil——” said Mrs. Prentice, and paused, unable to complete the word. +</p> + +<p> +“Five,” said Mr. Barrett, in tones of resignation. “It was rather a wrench, +parting with them, especially the baby. He got his first tooth the day I left.” +</p> + +<p> +The information fell on deaf ears. Mrs. Prentice, for once in her life +thoroughly at a loss, sat trying to collect her scattered faculties. She had +come out prepared for a hard job, but not an impossible one. All things +considered, she took her defeat with admirable composure. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt it is much the best thing for the children to remain with +their mother,” she said, rising. +</p> + +<p> +“Much the best,” agreed Mr. Barrett. “Whatever she is like,” continued the old +lady. “Are you ready, Louisa?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett followed them to the door, and then, returning to the room, +watched, with glad eyes, their progress up the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Wonder whether she’ll keep it to herself?” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +His doubts were set at rest next day. All Ramsbury knew by then of his +matrimonial complications, and seemed anxious to talk about them; complications +which tended to increase until Mr. Barrett wrote out a list of his children’s +names and ages and learnt it off by heart. +</p> + +<p> +Relieved of the attentions of the Prentice family, he walked the streets a free +man; and it was counted to him for righteousness that he never said a hard word +about his wife. She had her faults, he said, but they were many thousand miles +away, and he preferred to forget them. And he added, with some truth, that he +owed her a good deal. +</p> + +<p> +For a few months he had no reason to alter his opinion. Thanks to his presence +of mind, the Prentice family had no terrors for him. Heart-whole and fancy +free, he led the easy life of a man of leisure, a condition of things suddenly +upset by the arrival of Miss Grace Lindsay to take up a post at the elementary +school. Mr. Barrett succumbed almost at once, and, after a few encounters in +the street and meetings at mutual friends’, went to unbosom him-self to Mr. +Jernshaw. +</p> + +<p> +“What has she got to do with you?” demanded that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’m rather struck with her,” said Mr. Barrett. +</p> + +<p> +“Struck with her?” repeated his friend, sharply. “I’m surprised at you. You’ve +no business to think of such things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” demanded Mr. Barrett, in tones that were sharper still. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” repeated the other. “Have you forgotten your wife and children?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett, who, to do him justice, had forgotten, fell back in his chair and +sat gazing at him, open-mouthed. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re in a false position—in a way,” said Mr. Jernshaw, sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“False is no name for it,” said Mr. Barrett, huskily. “What am I to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do?” repeated the other, staring at him. “Nothing! Unless, perhaps, you send +for your wife and children. I suppose, in any case, you would have to have the +little ones if anything happened to her?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett grinned ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Think it over,” said Mr. Jernshaw. “I will,” said the other, heartily. +</p> + +<p> +He walked home deep in thought. He was a kindly man, and he spent some time +thinking out the easiest death for Mrs. Barrett. He decided at last upon +heart-disease, and a fort-night later all Ramsbury knew of the letter from +Australia conveying the mournful intelligence. It was generally agreed that the +mourning and the general behaviour of the widower left nothing to be desired. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s at peace at last,” he said, solemnly, to Jernshaw. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you killed her,” said his friend. Mr. Barrett started violently. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean your leaving broke her heart,” explained the other. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett breathed easily again. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your duty to look after the children,” said Jernshaw, firmly. “And I’m +not the only one that thinks so.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are with their grandfather and grand-mother,” said Mr. Barrett. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jernshaw sniffed. +</p> + +<p> +“And four uncles and five aunts,” added Mr. Barrett, triumphantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Think how they would brighten up your house,” said Mr. Jernshaw. +</p> + +<p> +His friend shook his head. “It wouldn’t be fair to their grandmother,” he said, +decidedly. “Besides, Australia wants population.” +</p> + +<p> +He found to his annoyance that Mr. Jernshaw’s statement that he was not alone +in his views was correct. Public opinion seemed to expect the arrival of the +children, and one citizen even went so far as to recommend a girl he knew, as +nurse. +</p> + +<p> +Ramsbury understood at last that his decision was final, and, observing his +attentions to the new schoolmistress, flattered itself that it had discovered +the reason. It is possible that Miss Lindsay shared their views, but if so she +made no sign, and on the many occasions on which she met Mr. Barrett on her way +to and from school greeted him with frank cordiality. Even when he referred to +his loneliness, which he did frequently, she made no comment. +</p> + +<p> +He went into half-mourning at the end of two months, and a month later bore no +outward signs of his loss. Added to that his step was springy and his manner +youthful. Miss Lindsay was twenty-eight, and he persuaded himself that, sexes +considered, there was no disparity worth mentioning. +</p> + +<p> +He was only restrained from proposing by a question of etiquette. Even a +shilling book on the science failed to state the interval that should elapse +between the death of one wife and the negotiations for another. It preferred +instead to give minute instructions with regard to the eating of asparagus. In +this dilemma he consulted Jernshaw. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t know, I’m sure,” said that gentle-man; “besides, it doesn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t matter?” repeated Mr. Barrett. “Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I think Tillett is paying her attentions,” was the reply. “He’s ten +years younger than you are, and a bachelor. A girl would naturally prefer him +to a middle-aged widower with five children.” +</p> + +<p> +“In Australia,” the other reminded him. +</p> + +<p> +“Man for man, bachelor for bachelor,” said Mr. Jernshaw, regarding him, “she +might prefer you; as things are—” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall ask her,” said Mr. Barrett, doggedly. “I was going to wait a bit +longer, but if there’s any chance of her wrecking her prospects for life by +marrying that tailor’s dummy it’s my duty to risk it—for her sake. I’ve seen +him talking to her twice myself, but I never thought he’d dream of such a +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +Apprehension and indignation kept him awake half the night, but when he arose +next morning it was with the firm resolve to put his fortune to the test that +day. At four o’clock he changed his neck-tie for the third time, and at ten +past sallied out in the direction of the school. He met Miss Lindsay just +coming out, and, after a well-deserved compliment to the weather, turned and +walked with her. +</p> + +<p> +“I was hoping to meet you,” he said, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I have been feeling rather lonely to-day,” he continued. +</p> + +<p> +“You often do,” said Miss Lindsay, guardedly. +</p> + +<p> +“It gets worse and worse,” said Mr. Barrett, sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know what is the matter with you,” said the girl, in a soft voice; +“you have got nothing to do all day, and you live alone, except for your +housekeeper.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett assented with some eagerness, and stole a hopeful glance at her. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you miss something,” continued Miss. Lindsay, in a faltering voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” said Mr. Barrett, with ardour. +</p> + +<p> +“You miss”—the girl made an effort—“you miss the footsteps and voices of your +little children.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett stopped suddenly in the street, and then, with a jerk, went blindly +on. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never spoken of it before because it’s your business, not mine,” +continued the girl. “I wouldn’t have spoken now, but when you referred to your +loneliness I thought perhaps you didn’t realize the cause of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett walked on in silent misery. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little motherless things!” said Miss Lindsay, softly. “Motherless +and—fatherless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Better for them,” said Mr. Barrett, finding his voice at last. +</p> + +<p> +“It almost looks like it,” said Miss Lindsay, with a sigh. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett tried to think clearly, but the circumstances were hardly +favourable. “Suppose,” he said, speaking very slowly, “suppose I wanted to get +married?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lindsay started. “What, again?” she said, with an air of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“How could I ask a girl to come and take over five children?” +</p> + +<p> +“No woman that was worth having would let little children be sacrificed for her +sake,” said Miss Lindsay, decidedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think anybody would marry me with five children?” demanded Mr. Barrett. +</p> + +<p> +“She might,” said the girl, edging away from him a little. “It depends on the +woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would—you, for instance?” said Mr. Barrett, desperately. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lindsay shrank still farther away. “I don’t know; it would depend upon +circumstances,” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“I will write and send for them,” said Mr. Barrett, significantly. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lindsay made no reply. They had arrived at her gate by this time, and, +with a hurried handshake, she disappeared indoors. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett, somewhat troubled in mind, went home to tea. +</p> + +<p> +He resolved, after a little natural hesitation, to drown the children, and +reproached himself bitterly for not having disposed of them at the same time as +their mother. Now he would have to go through another period of mourning and +the consequent delay in pressing his suit. Moreover, he would have to allow a +decent interval between his conversation with Miss Lindsay and their untimely +end. +</p> + +<p> +The news of the catastrophe arrived two or three days before the return of the +girl from her summer holidays. She learnt it in the first half-hour from her +landlady, and sat in a dazed condition listening to a description of the +grief-stricken father and the sympathy extended to him by his fellow-citizens. +It appeared that nothing had passed his lips for two days. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus04"></a> +<img src="images/004.jpg" width="482" height="555" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">She learnt the news in the first half-hour from her +landlady.</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Shocking!” said Miss Lindsay, briefly. “Shocking!” +</p> + +<p> +An instinctive feeling that the right and proper thing to do was to nurse his +grief in solitude kept Mr. Barrett out of her way for nearly a week. When she +did meet him she received a limp handshake and a greeting in a voice from which +all hope seemed to have departed. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry,” she said, with a sort of measured gentleness. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett, in his hushed voice, thanked her. +</p> + +<p> +“I am all alone now,” he said, pathetically. “There is nobody now to care +whether I live or die.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lindsay did not contradict him. +</p> + +<p> +“How did it happen?” she inquired, after they had gone some distance in +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“They were out in a sailing-boat,” said Mr. Barrett; “the boat capsized in a +puff of wind, and they were all drowned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was in charge of them?” inquired the girl, after a decent interval. +</p> + +<p> +“Boatman,” replied the other. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had a letter from one of my sisters-in-law, Charlotte,” said Mr. Barrett. “A +most affecting letter. Poor Charlotte was like a second mother to them. She’ll +never be the same woman again. Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see the letter,” said Miss Lindsay, musingly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett suppressed a start. “I should like to show it to you,” he said, +“but I’m afraid I have destroyed it. It made me shudder every time I looked at +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pity,” said the girl, dryly. “I should have liked to see it. I’ve got +my own idea about the matter. Are you sure she was very fond of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“She lived only for them,” said Mr. Barrett, in a rapt voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. I don’t believe they are drowned at all,” said Miss Lindsay, +suddenly. “I believe you have had all this terrible anguish for nothing. It’s +too cruel.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett stared at her in anxious amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“I see it all now,” continued the girl. “Their Aunt Charlotte was devoted to +them. She always had the fear that some day you would return and claim them, +and to prevent that she invented the story of their death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Charlotte is the most truthful woman that ever breathed,” said the distressed +Mr. Barrett. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Lindsay shook her head. “You are like all other honourable, truthful +people,” she said, looking at him gravely. “You can’t imagine anybody else +telling a falsehood. I don’t believe you could tell one if you tried.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett gazed about him with the despairing look of a drowning mariner. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m certain I’m right,” continued the girl. “I can see Charlotte exulting in +her wickedness. Why!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” inquired Mr. Barrett, greatly worried. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just thought of it,” said Miss Lindsay. “She’s told you that your +children are drowned, and she has probably told them you are dead. A woman like +that would stick at nothing to gain her ends.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know Charlotte,” said Mr. Barrett, feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I do,” was the reply. “However, we’ll make sure. I suppose you’ve got +friends in Melbourne?” +</p> + +<p> +“A few,” said Mr. Barrett, guardedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come down to the post-office and cable to one of them.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett hesitated. “I’ll write,” he said, slowly. “It’s an awkward thing to +cable; and there’s no hurry. I’ll write to Jack Adams, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good writing,” said Miss Lindsay, firmly. “You ought to know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” demanded the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Because, you foolish man,” said the girl, calmly, “before your letter got +there, there would be one from Melbourne saying that he had been choked by a +fish-bone, or died of measles, or something of that sort.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Barrett, hardly able to believe his ears, stopped short and looked at her. +The girl’s eyes were moist with mirth and her lips trembling. He put out his +hand and took her wrist in a strong grip. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” he said, with a great gasp of relief. “Phew! At one time I +thought I had lost you.” +</p> + +<p> +“By heart-disease, or drowning?” inquired Miss Lindsay, softly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>THE WINTER OFFENSIVE</h2> + +<p> +N.B.—Having regard to the eccentricities of the Law of Libel it must be +distinctly understood that the following does not refer to the distinguished +officer, Lieut. Troup Horne, of the Inns of Court. Anybody trying to cause +mischief between a civilian of eight stone and a soldier of seventeen by a +statement to the contrary will hear from my solicitors. +</p> + +<p> +Aug. 29, 1916.—We returned from the sea to find our house still our own, and +the military still in undisputed possession of the remains of the grass in the +fields of Berkhamsted Place. As in previous years, it was impossible to go in +search of wild-flowers without stumbling over sleeping members of the Inns of +Court; but war is war, and we grumble as little as possible. +</p> + +<p> +Sept. 28.—Unpleasant rumours to the effect that several members of the Inns of +Court had attributed cases of curvature of the spine to sleeping on ground that +had been insufficiently rolled. Also that they had been heard to smack their +lips and speak darkly of featherbeds. Respected neighbour of gloomy disposition +said that if Pharaoh were still alive he could suggest an eleventh plague to +him beside which frogs and flies were an afternoon’s diversion. +</p> + +<p> +Oct. 3.—Householders of Berkhamsted busy mending bedsteads broken by last +year’s billets, and buying patent taps for their beer-barrels. +</p> + +<p> +Oct. 15.—Informed that a representative of the Army wished to see me. Instead +of my old friend Q.M.S. Beddem, who generally returns to life at this time of +year, found that it was an officer of magnificent presence and two pips. A fine +figure of a man, with a great resemblance to the late lamented Bismarck, minus +the moustache and the three hairs on the top of the head. Asked him to be +seated. He selected a chair that was all arms and legs and no hips to speak of +and crushed himself into it. After which he unfastened his belt and “swelled +wisibly afore my werry eyes.” Said that his name was True Born and asked if it +made any difference to me whether I had one officer or half-a-dozen men +billeted on me. Said that he was the officer, and that as the rank-and-file +were not allowed to pollute the same atmosphere, thought I should score. After +a mental review of all I could remember of the Weights and Measures Table, +accepted him. He bade a lingering farewell to the chair, and departed. +</p> + +<p> +Oct. 16.—Saw Q.M.S. Beddem on the other side of the road and gave him an +absolutely new thrill by crossing to meet him. Asked diffidently—as diffidently +as he could, that is—how many men my house would hold. Replied eight—or ten at +a pinch. He gave me a surprised and beaming smile and whipped out a huge +note-book. Informed him with as much regret as I could put into a voice not +always under perfect control, that I had already got an officer. Q.M.S., +favouring me with a look very appropriate to the Devil’s Own, turned on his +heel and set off in pursuit of a lady-billetee, pulling up short on the +threshold of the baby-linen shop in which she took refuge. Left him on guard +with a Casablanca-like look on his face. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 1.—Lieut. True Born took up his quarters with us. Gave him my +dressing-room for bedchamber. Was awakened several times in the night by what I +took to be Zeppelins, flying low. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 2.—Lieut. True Born offered to bet me five pounds to twenty that the war +would be over by 1922. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 3.—Offered to teach me auction-bridge. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 4.—Asked me whether I could play “shove ha’penny.” +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 10.—Lieut. True Born gave one of the regimental horses a riding-lesson. +Came home grumpy and went to bed early. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 13.—Another riding-lesson. Over-heard him asking one of the maids whether +there was such a thing as a water-bed in the house. +</p> + +<p> +Nov. 17.—Complained bitterly of horse-copers. Said that his poor mount was +discovered to be suffering from saddle-soreness, broken wind, splints, weak +hocks, and two bones of the neck out of place. +</p> + +<p> +Dec. 9.—7 p.m.—One of last year’s billets, Private Merited, on leave from a +gunnery course, called to see me and to find out whether his old bed had +improved since last year. Left his motor-bike in the garage, and the smell in +front of the dining-room window. +</p> + +<p> +8 to 12 p.m.—Sat with Private Merited, listening to Lieut. True Born on the +mistakes of Wellington. +</p> + +<p> +12.5 a.m.—Rose to go to bed. Was about to turn out gas in hall when I +discovered the lieutenant standing with his face to the wall playing pat-a-cake +with it. Gave him three-parts of a tumbler of brandy. Said he felt better and +went upstairs. Arrived in his bed-room, he looked about him carefully, and +then, with a superb sweep of his left arm, swept the best Chippendale +looking-glass in the family off the dressing table and dived face down-wards to +the floor, missing death and the corner of the chest of drawers by an inch. +</p> + +<p> +12:15 a.m.—Rolled him on to his back and got his feet on the bed. They fell off +again as soon as they were cleaner than the quilt. The lieutenant, startled by +the crash, opened his eyes and climbed into bed unaided. +</p> + +<p> +12.20 a.m.—Sent Private Merited for the M.O., Captain Geranium. +</p> + +<p> +12.25 a.m.—Mixed a dose of brandy and castor-oil in a tumbler. Am told it slips +down like an oyster that way—bad oyster, I should think. Lieut. True Born +jibbed. Reminded him that England expects that every man will take his +castor-oil. Reply unprintable. Apologized a moment later. Said that his mind +was wandering and that he thought he was a colonel. Reassured him. +</p> + +<p> +12.40 a.m.—Private Merited returned with the M.O. Latter nicely dressed in +musical-comedy pyjamas of ravishing hue, and great-coat, with rose-tinted feet +thrust into red morocco slippers. Held consultation and explained my treatment. +M.O. much impressed, anxious to know whether I was a doctor. Told him “No,” but +that I knew all the ropes. First give patient castor-oil, then diet him and +call every day to make sure that he doesn’t like his food. After that, if he +shows signs of getting well too soon, give him a tonic. . . . M.O. stuffy. +</p> + +<p> +Dec. 10.—M.O. diagnosed attack as due to something which True Born believes to +be tobacco, with which he disinfects the house, the mess-sheds, and the streets +of Berkhamsted. +</p> + +<p> +Dec. 11.—True Born, shorn of thirteen pipes a day out of sixteen, disparages +the whole race of M.O.’s. +</p> + +<p> +Dec. 14.—He obtains leave to attend wedding of a great-aunt and ransacks London +for a specialist who advocates strong tobacco. +</p> + +<p> +Dec. 15.—He classes specialists with M.O.’s. Is surprised (and apparently +disappointed) that, so far, the breaking of the looking-glass has brought me no +ill-luck. Feel somewhat uneasy myself until glass is repaired by local +cabinet-maker. +</p> + +<p> +Jan. 10, 1917.—Lieut. True Born starts to break in another horse. +</p> + +<p> +Feb. 1.—Horse broken. +</p> + +<p> +March 3.—Running short of tobacco, go to my billet’s room and try a pipe of +his. Take all the remedies except the castor-oil. +</p> + +<p> +April 4, 8.30 a.m.—Awakened by an infernal crash and discover that my poor +looking-glass is in pieces again on the floor. True Born explains that its +position, between the open door and the open window, was too much for it. Don’t +believe a word of it. Shall believe to my dying day that it burst in a frantic +but hopeless attempt to tell Lieut. True Born the truth, the whole truth, and +nothing but the truth. +</p> + +<p> +April 6.—The lieutenant watching for some sign of misfortune to me. Says that I +can’t break a mirror twice without ill-luck following it. Me! +</p> + +<p> +April 9.—Lieut. True Born comes up to me with a face full of conflicting +emotions. “Your ill-luck has come at last,” he says with gloomy satisfaction. +“We go under canvas on the 23rd. You are losing me!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>THE SUBSTITUTE</h2> + +<p> +The night watchman had just returned to the office fire after leaving it to +attend a ring at the wharf bell. He sat for some time puffing fiercely at his +pipe and breathing heavily. +</p> + +<p> +“Boys!” he said, at last. “That’s the third time this week, and yet if I was to +catch one and skin ’im alive I suppose I should get into trouble over it. Even +’is own father and mother would make a fuss, most like. Some people have boys, +and other people ’ave the trouble of ’em. Our street’s full of ’em, and the way +they carry on would make a monkey-’ouse ashamed of itself. The man next door to +me’s got seven of ’em, and when I spoke to ’im friendly about it over a pint +one night, he put the blame on ’is wife. +</p> + +<p> +“The worst boy I ever knew used to be office-boy in this ’ere office, and I +can’t understand now why I wasn’t ’ung for him. Undersized little chap he was, +with a face the colour o’ bad pie-crust, and two little black eyes like +shoe-buttons. To see ’im with his little white cuffs, and a stand-up collar, +and a little black bow, and a little bowler-’at, was enough to make a cat +laugh. I told ’im so one day, and arter that we knew where we was. Both of us. +</p> + +<p> +“By rights he ought to ’ave left the office at six—just my time for coming on. +As it was, he used to stay late, purtending to work ’ard so as to get a rise. +Arter all the clerks ’ad gorn ’ome he used to sit perched up on a stool yards +too ’igh for him, with one eye on the ledger and the other looking through the +winder at me. I remember once going off for ’arf a pint, and when I come back I +found ’im with a policeman, two carmen, and all the hands off of the Maid +Marian, standing on the edge of the jetty, waiting for me to come up. He said +that, not finding me on the wharf, ’e made sure that I must ’ave tumbled +overboard, as he felt certain that I wouldn’t neglect my dooty while there was +breath in my body; but ’e was sorry to find ’e was mistook. He stood there +talking like a little clergyman, until one of the carmen knocked his ’at over +’is eyes, and then he forgot ’imself for a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Arter that I used to wait until he ’ad gorn afore I ’ad my arf-pint. I didn’t +want my good name taken away, and I had to be careful, and many’s the good +arf-pint I ’ad to refuse because that little imitation monkey was sitting in +the office drawing faces on ’is blotting-paper. But sometimes it don’t matter +’ow careful you are, you make a mistake. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a little steamer, called the Eastern Monarch, used to come up here +in them days, once a week. Fat little tub she was, with a crew o’ fattish old +men, and a skipper that I didn’t like. He’d been in the coasting trade all ’is +life, while I’ve knocked about all over the world, but to hear ’im talk you’d +think he knew more about things than I did. +</p> + +<p> +“Eddication, Bill,’ he ses one evening, ‘that’s the thing! You can’t argufy +without it; you only talk foolish, like you are doing now.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘There’s eddication and there’s common sense,’ I ses. ‘Some people ’as one and +some people ’as the other. Give me common sense.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘That’s wot you want,’ he ses, nodding. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And, o’ course,’ I ses, looking at ’im, ‘there’s some people ’asn’t got +either one or the other.’ +</p> + +<p> +“The office-boy came out of the office afore he could think of an answer, and +the pair of ’em stood there talking to show off their cleverness, till their +tongues ached. I took up my broom and went on sweeping, and they was so busy +talking long words they didn’t know the meaning of to each other that they was +arf choked with dust afore they noticed it. When they did notice it they left +off using long words, and the skipper tried to hurt my feelings with a few +short ones ’e knew. +</p> + +<p> +“‘It’s no good wasting your breath on ’im,’ ses the boy. ‘You might as well +talk to a beer-barrel.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He went off, dusting ’imself down with his little pocket-’ankercher, and arter +the skipper ’ad told me wot he’d like to do, only he was too sorry for me to do +it, ’e went back to the ship to put on a clean collar, and went off for the +evening. +</p> + +<p> +“He always used to go off by hisself of a evening, and I used to wonder ’ow he +passed the time. Then one night I found out. +</p> + +<p> +“I had just come out of the Bear’s Head, and stopped to look round afore going +back to the wharf, when I see a couple o’ people standing on the swing-bridge +saying ‘Good-bye’ to each other. One of ’em was a man and the other wasn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Evening, cap’n,’ I ses, as he came towards me, and gave a little start. ‘I +didn’t know you ’ad brought your missis up with you this trip.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Evening, Bill,’ he ses, very peaceful. ‘Wot a lovely evening!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Bee-utiful!’ I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“‘So fresh,’ ses the skipper, sniffing in some of the air. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Makes you feel quite young agin,’ I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t say nothing to that, except to look at me out of the corner of ’is +eye; and stepping on to the wharf had another look at the sky to admire it, and +then went aboard his ship. If he ’ad only stood me a pint, and trusted me, +things might ha’ turned out different. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite by chance I happened to be in the Bear’s Head a week arterwards, and, +quite by chance, as I came out I saw the skipper saying ‘Good-bye’ on the +bridge agin. He seemed to be put out about something, and when I said ‘Wot a +lovely evening it would be if only it wasn’t raining ’ard!’ he said something +about knocking my ’ead off. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And you keep your nose out o’ my bisness,’ he ses, very fierce. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Your bisness!’ I ses. ‘Wot bisness?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘There’s some people as might like to know that you leave the wharf to look +arter itself while you’re sitting in a pub swilling gallons and gallons o’ +beer,’ he ses, in a nasty sort o’ way. ‘Live and let live, that’s my motter.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘I don’t know wot you’re talking about,’ I ses, ‘but it don’t matter anyways. +I’ve got a clear conscience; that’s the main thing. I’m as open as the day, and +there’s nothing about me that I’d mind anybody knowing. Wot a pity it is +everybody can’t say the same!’ +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t see ’im saying ‘Good-bye’ the next week or the week arter that +either, but the third week, arter just calling in at the Bear’s Head, I +strolled on casual-like and got as far as the bottom of Tower Hill afore I +remembered myself. Turning the corner, I a’most fell over the skipper, wot was +right in the fair way, shaking ’ands with his lady-friend under the lamp-post. +Both of ’em started, and I couldn’t make up my mind which gave me the most +unpleasant look. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Peep-bo!’ I ses, cheerful-like. +</p> + +<p> +“He stood making a gobbling noise at me, like a turkey. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Give me quite a start, you did,’ I ses. ‘I didn’t dream of you being there.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Get off!’ he ses, spluttering. ‘Get off, afore I tear you limb from limb! ’Ow +dare you follow me about and come spying round corners at me? Wot d’ye mean by +it?’ +</p> + +<p> +“I stood there with my arms folded acrost my chest, as calm as a cucumber. The +other party stood there watching us, and wot ’e could ’ave seen in her, I can’t +think. She was dressed more like a man than a woman, and it would have taken +the good looks of twenty like her to ’ave made one barmaid. I stood looking at +’er like a man in a dream. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well, will you know me agin?’ she ses, in a nasty cracked sort of voice. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I could pick you out of a million,’ I ses—‘if I wanted to.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Clear out!’ ses the skipper. ‘Clear out! And thank your stars there’s a lady +present.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Don’t take no notice of ’im, Captain Pratt,’ ses the lady. ‘He’s beneath you. +You only encourage people like that by taking notice of ’em. Good-bye.’ +</p> + +<p> +“She held out her ’and, and while the skipper was shaking it I began to walk +back to the wharf. I ’adn’t gorn far afore I heard ’im coming up behind me, and +next moment ’e was walking alongside and saying things to try and make me lose +my temper. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ah, it’s a pity your pore missis can’t ’ear you!’ I ses. ‘I expect she thinks +you are stowed away in your bunk dreaming of ’er, instead of saying things +about a face as don’t belong to you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You mind your bisness,’ he ses, shouting. ‘And not so much about my missis! +D’ye hear? Wot’s it got to do with you? Who asked you to shove your oar in?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You’re quite mistook,’ I ses, very calm. ‘I’d no idea that there was anything +on as shouldn’t be. I was never more surprised in my life. If anybody ’ad told +me, I shouldn’t ’ave believed ’em. I couldn’t. Knowing you, and knowing ’ow +respectable you ’ave always purtended to be, and also and likewise that you +ain’t no chicken——’ +</p> + +<p> +“I thought ’e was going to ’ave a fit. He ’opped about, waving his arms and +stuttering and going on in such a silly way that I didn’t like to be seen with +’im. Twice he knocked my ’at off, and arter telling him wot would ’appen if ’e +did it agin, I walked off and left him. +</p> + +<p> +“Even then ’e wasn’t satisfied, and arter coming on to the wharf and following +me up and down like a little dog, he got in front of me and told me some more +things he ’ad thought of. +</p> + +<p> +“‘If I catch you spying on me agin,’ he ses, ‘you’ll wish you’d never been +born!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You get aboard and ’ave a quiet sleep,’ I ses. ‘You’re wandering in your +mind.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘The lady you saw me with,’ he ses, looking at me very fierce, ’is a friend o’ +mine that I meet sometimes for the sake of her talk.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Talk!’ I ses, staring at ’im. ‘Talk! Wot, can’t one woman talk enough for +you? Is your missis dumb? or wot?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You don’t understand,’ he ses, cocking up ’is nose at me. ‘She’s a +interleckshal woman; full of eddication and information. When my missis talks, +she talks about the price o’ things and says she must ’ave more money. Or else +she talks about things I’ve done, or sometimes things I ’aven’t done. It’s all +one to her. There’s no pleasure in that sort o’ talk. It don’t help a man.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I never ’eard of any talk as did,’ I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I don’t suppose you did,’ he ses, sneering-like. ‘Now, to-night, fust of all, +we talked about the House of Lords and whether it ought to be allowed; and +arter that she gave me quite a little lecture on insecks.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘It don’t seem proper to me,’ I ses. ‘I ’ave spoke to my wife about ’em once +or twice, but I should no more think of talking about such things to a single +lady——’ +</p> + +<p> +“He began to jump about agin as if I’d bit ’im, and he ’ad so much to say about +my ’ed and blocks of wood that I pretty near lost my temper. I should ha’ lost +it with some men, but ’e was a very stiff-built chap and as hard as nails. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Beer’s your trouble,’ he ses, at last. ‘Fust of all you put it down, and then +it climbs up and soaks wot little brains you’ve got. Wot you want is a kind +friend to prevent you from getting it.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know wot it was, but I ’ad a sort of sinking feeling inside as ’e +spoke, and next evening, when I saw ’im walk to the end of the jetty with the +office-boy and stand there talking to ’im with his ’and on his shoulder, it +came on worse than ever. And I put two and two together when the guv’nor came +up to me next day, and, arter talking about ‘dooty’ and ’ow easy it was to get +night-watchmen, mentioned in ’a off-’and sort of way that, if I left the wharf +at all between six and six, I could stay away altogether. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t answer ’im a word. I might ha’ told ’im that there was plenty of +people arter me ready to give me double the money, but I knew he could never +get anybody to do their dooty by the wharf like I ’ad done, so I kept quiet. +It’s the way I treat my missis nowadays, and it pays; in the old days I used to +waste my breath answering ’er back. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t ha’ minded so much if it ’adn’t ha’ been for that boy. He used to +pass me, as ’e went off of a evening, with a little sly smile on ’is ugly +little face, and sometimes when I was standing at the gate he’d give a sniff or +two and say that he could smell beer, and he supposed it came from the Bear’s +Head. +</p> + +<p> +“It was about three weeks arter the guv’nor ’ad forgot ’imself, and I was +standing by the gate one evening, when I saw a woman coming along carrying a +big bag in her ’and. I ’adn’t seen ’er afore, and when she stopped in front of +me and smiled I was on my guard at once. I don’t smile at other people, and I +don’t expect them to smile at me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘At last!’ she ses, setting down ’er bag and giving me another smile. ‘I +thought I was never going to get ’ere.” +</p> + +<p> +“I coughed and backed inside a little bit on to my own ground. I didn’t want to +’ave that little beast of a office-boy spreading tales about me. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ve come up to ’ave a little fling,’ she ses, smiling away harder than ever. +‘My husband don’t know I’m ’ere. He thinks I’m at ’ome.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I think I went back pretty near three yards. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I come up by train,’ she ses, nodding. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Yes,’ I ses, very severe, ‘and wot about going back by it?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, I shall go back by ship,’ she ses. ‘Wot time do you expect the Eastern +Monarch up?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Well,’ I ses, ’ardly knowing wot to make of ’er, ‘she ought to be up this +tide; but there’s no reckoning on wot an old washtub with a engine like a +sewing-machine inside ’er will do.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, indeed!’ she ses, leaving off smiling very sudden. ‘Oh, indeed! My +husband might ’ave something to say about that.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Your ’usband?’ I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Captain Pratt,’ she ses, drawing ’erself up. ‘I’m Mrs. Pratt. He left +yesterday morning, and I’ve come up ’ere by train to give ’im a little +surprise.’ +</p> + +<p> +“You might ha’ knocked me down with a feather, and I stood there staring at her +with my mouth open, trying to think. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Take care,’ I ses at last. ‘Take care as you don’t give ’im too much of a +surprise!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Wot do you mean?’ she ses, firing up. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Nothing,’ I ses. ‘Nothing, only I’ve known ’usbands in my time as didn’t like +being surprised—that’s all. If you take my advice, you’ll go straight back home +agin.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ll tell ’im wot you say,’ she ses, ’as soon as ’is ship comes in.’ +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a woman all over; the moment they get into a temper they want to hurt +somebody; and I made up my mind at once that, if anybody was going to be ’urt, +it wasn’t me. And, besides, I thought it might be for the skipper’s good—in the +long run. +</p> + +<p> +“I broke it to her as gentle as I could. I didn’t tell ’er much, I just gave +her a few ’ints. Just enough to make her ask for more. +</p> + +<p> +“‘And mind,’ I ses, ‘I don’t want to be brought into it. If you should ’appen +to take a fancy into your ’ed to wait behind a pile of empties till the ship +comes in, and then slip out and foller your ’usband and give ’im the little +surprise you spoke of, it’s nothing to do with me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I understand,’ she ses, biting her lip. ‘There’s no need for ’im to know that +I’ve been on the wharf at all.’ +</p> + +<p> +“I gave ’er a smile—I thought she deserved it—but she didn’t smile back. She +was rather a nice-looking woman in the ordinary way, but I could easy see ’ow +temper spoils a woman’s looks. She stood there giving little shivers and +looking as if she wanted to bite somebody. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ll go and hide now,’ she ses. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Not yet,’ I ses. ‘You’ll ’ave to wait till that little blackbeetle in the +office ’as gorn.’ ‘Blackbeetle?’ she ses, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Office-boy,’ I ses. ‘He’d better not see you at all. S’pose you go off for a +bit and come back when I whistle?’ +</p> + +<p> +“Afore she could answer the boy came out of the office, ready to go ’ome. He +gave a little bit of a start when ’e saw me talking to a lady, and then ’e nips +down sudden, about a couple o’ yards away, and begins to do ’is bootlace up. It +took ’im some time, because he ’ad to undo it fust, but ’e finished it at last, +and arter a quick look at Mrs. Pratt, and one at me that I could ha’ smacked +his ’ed for, ’e went off whistling and showing ’is little cuffs. +</p> + +<p> +“I stepped out into the road and watched ’im out o’ sight. Then I told Mrs. +Pratt to pick up ’er bag and foller me. +</p> + +<p> +“As it ’appened there was a big pile of empties in the corner of the ware’ouse +wall, just opposite the Eastern Monarch’s berth. It might ha’ been made for the +job, and, arter I ’ad tucked her away behind and given ’er a box to sit on, I +picked up my broom and began to make up for lost time. +</p> + +<p> +“She sat there as quiet as a cat watching a mouse’ole, and I was going on with +my work, stopping every now and then to look and see whether the Monarch was in +sight, when I ’appened to turn round and see the office-boy standing on the +edge of the wharf with his back to the empties, looking down at the water. I +nearly dropped my broom. +</p> + +<p> +“‘’Ullo!’ I ses, going up to ’im. ‘I thought you ’ad gorn ’ome.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I was going,’ he ses, with a nasty oily little smile, ‘and then it struck me +all of a sudden ’ow lonely it was for you all alone ’ere, and I come back to +keep you company.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He winked at something acrost the river as ’e spoke, and I stood there +thinking my ’ardest wot was the best thing to be done. I couldn’t get Mrs. +Pratt away while ’e was there; besides which I felt quite sartain she wouldn’t +go. The only ’ope I ’ad was that he’d get tired of spying on me and go away +before he found out she was ’iding on the wharf. +</p> + +<p> +“I walked off in a unconcerned way—not too far—and, with one eye on ’im and the +other on where Mrs. Pratt was ’iding, went on with my work. There’s nothing +like ’ard work when a man is worried, and I was a’most forgetting my troubles, +when I looked up and saw the Monarch coming up the river. +</p> + +<p> +“She turned to come into ’er berth, with the skipper shouting away on the +bridge and making as much fuss as if ’e was berthing a liner. I helped to make +’er fast, and the skipper, arter ’e had ’ad a good look round to see wot ’e +could find fault with, went below to clean ’imself. +</p> + +<p> +“He was up agin in about ten minutes, with a clean collar and a clean face, and +a blue neck-tie that looked as though it ’ad got yeller measles. Good temper ’e +was in, too, and arter pulling the office-boy’s ear, gentle, as ’e was passing, +he stopped for a moment to ’ave a word with ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Bit late, ain’t you?’ he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ve been keeping a eye on the watchman,’ ses the boy. ‘He works better when +’e knows there’s somebody watching ’im.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Look ’ere!’ I ses. ‘You take yourself off; I’ve had about enough of you. You +take your little face ’ome and ask your mother to wipe its nose. Strickly +speaking, you’ve no right to be on the wharf at all at this time.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘I’ve as much right as other people,’ he ses, giving me a wicked look. ‘I’ve +got more right than some people, p’r’aps.’ +</p> + +<p> +“He stooped down deliberate and, picking up a bit o’ coke from the ’eap by the +crane, pitched it over at the empties. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Stop that!’ I ses, shouting at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“‘What for?’ ’e ses, shying another piece. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ +</p> + +<p> +“’Cos I won’t ’ave it,’ I ses. ‘D’ye hear? Stop it!’ +</p> + +<p> +“I rushed at ’im as he sent another piece over, and for the next two or three +minutes ’e was dodging me and chucking coke at the empties, with the fool of a +skipper standing by laughing, and two or three of the crew leaning over the +side and cheering ’im on. +</p> + +<p> +“‘All right,’ he ses, at last, dusting ’is hands together. ‘I’ve finished. +There’s no need to make such a fuss over a bit of coke.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘You’ve wasted pretty near arf a ’undered-weight,’ I ses. ‘I’ve a good mind to +report you.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Don’t do that, watchman!’ he ses, in a pitiful voice. ‘Don’t do that! ’Ere, I +tell you wot I’ll do. I’ll pick it all up agin.’ +</p> + +<p> +“Afore I could move ’and or foot he ’ad shifted a couple o’ cases out of ’is +way and was in among the empties. I stood there dazed-like while two bits o’ +coke came flying back past my ’ed; then I ’eard a loud whistle, and ’e came out +agin with ’is eyes rolling and ’is mouth wide open. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Wot’s the matter?’ ses the skipper, staring at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“‘I—I—I’m sorry, watchman,’ ses that beast of a boy, purtending ’e was ’ardly +able to speak. ‘I’d no idea——’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘All right,’ I ses, very quick. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Wot’s the matter?’ ses the skipper agin; and as ’e spoke it came over me like +a flash wot a false persition I was in, and wot a nasty-tempered man ’e could +be when ’e liked. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d got a lady-friend there?’ ses the boy, shaking +his ’ed at me. ‘Why, I might ’ave hit ’er with a bit o’ coke, and never +forgiven myself!’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Lady-friend!’ ses the skipper, with a start. ‘Oh, Bill, I am surprised!’ +</p> + +<p> +“My throat was so dry I couldn’t ’ardly speak. ‘It’s my missis,’ I ses, at +last. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Your missis?’ ses the skipper. ‘Woes she ’iding behind there for?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘She—she’s shy,’ I ses. ‘Always was, all ’er life. She can’t bear other +people. She likes to be alone with me.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, watchman!’ ses the boy. ‘I wonder where you expect to go to?’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Missis my grandmother!’ ses the skipper, with a wink. ‘I’m going to ’ave a +peep.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Stand back!’ I ses, pushing ’im off. ‘I don’t spy on you, and I don’t want +you to come spying on me. You get off! D’ye hear me? Get off!’ +</p> + +<p> +“We had a bit of a struggle, till my foot slipped, and while I was waving my +arms and trying to get my balance back ’e made a dash for the empties. Next +moment he was roaring like a mad bull that ’ad sat down in a sorsepan of +boiling water, and rushing back agin to kill me. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe that if it ’adn’t ha’ been for a couple o’ lightermen wot ’ad just +come on to the jetty from their skiff, and two of his own ’ands, he’d ha’ done +it. Crazy with passion ’e was, and it was all the four of ’em could do to hold +’im. Every now and then he’d get a yard nearer to me, and then they’d pull ’im +back a couple o’ yards and beg of ’im to listen to reason and ’ear wot I ’ad to +say. And as soon as I started and began to tell ’em about ’is lady-friend he +broke out worse than ever. People acrost the river must ha’ wondered wot was +’appening. There was two lightermen, two sailormen, me and the skipper, and +Mrs. Pratt all talking at once, and nobody listening but the office-boy. And in +the middle of it all the wicket was pushed open and the ’ed of the lady wot all +the trouble was about peeped in, and drew back agin. +</p> + +<p> +“‘There you are!’ I ses, shouting my ’ardest. ‘There she is. That’s the lady I +was telling you about. Now, then: put ’em face to face and clear my character. +Don’t let ’er escape.’ +</p> + +<p> +“One o’ the lightermen let go o’ the skipper and went arter ’er, and, just as I +was giving the other three a helping ’and, ’e came back with ’er. Mrs. Pratt +caught ’er breath, and as for the skipper, ’e didn’t know where to look, as the +saying is. I just saw the lady give ’im one quick look, and then afore I could +dream of wot was coming, she rushes up to me and flings ’er long, bony arms +round my neck. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Why, William!’ she ses, ‘wot’s the matter? Why didn’t you meet me? Didn’t you +get my letter? Or ’ave you ceased to care for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Let go!’ I ses, struggling. ‘Let go! D’ye ’ear? Wot d’ye mean by it? You’ve +got ’old of the wrong one.’ +</p> + +<p> +“‘Oh, William!’ she ses, arf strangling me. ‘’Ow can you talk to me like that? +Where’s your ’art?’ +</p> + +<p> +“I never knew a woman so strong. I don’t suppose she’d ever ’ad the chance of +getting ’er arms round a man’s neck afore, and she hung on to me as if she’d +never let go. And all the time I was trying to explain things to them over ’er +shoulder I could see they didn’t believe a word I was saying. One o’ the +lightermen said I was a ‘wonder,’ and the other said I was a ‘fair cough-drop.’ +Me! +</p> + +<p> +“She got tired of it at last, but by that time I was so done up I couldn’t say +a word. I just dropped on to a box and sat there getting my breath back while +the skipper forgave ’is wife for ’er unjust suspicions of ’im—but told ’er not +to do it agin—and the office-boy was saying I’d surprised even ’im. The last I +saw of the lady-friend, the two lightermen was helping ’er to walk to the gate, +and the two sailormen was follering ’er up behind, carrying ’er +pocket-’ankercher and upberella.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>STRIKING HARD</h2> + +<p> +You’ve what?” demanded Mrs. Porter, placing the hot iron carefully on its stand +and turning a heated face on the head of the family. +</p> + +<p> +“Struck,” repeated Mr. Porter; “and the only wonder to me is we’ve stood it so +long as we have. If I was to tell you all we’ve ’ad to put up with I don’t +suppose you’d believe me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely,” was the reply. “You can keep your fairy-tales for them that like +’em. They’re no good to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“We stood it till flesh and blood could stand it no longer,” declared her +husband, “and at last we came out, shoulder to shoulder, singing. The people +cheered us, and one of our leaders made ’em a speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should have liked to ’ave heard the singing,” remarked his wife. “If they +all sang like you, it must ha’ been as good as a pantermime! Do you remember +the last time you went on strike?” +</p> + +<p> +“This is different,” said Mr. Porter, with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“All our things went, bit by bit,” pursued his wife, “all the money we had put +by for a rainy day, and we ’ad to begin all over again. What are we going to +live on? O’ course, you might earn something by singing in the street; people +who like funny faces might give you something! Why not go upstairs and put your +’ead under the bed-clothes and practise a bit?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter coughed. “It’ll be all right,” he said, confidently. “Our committee +knows what it’s about; Bert Robinson is one of the best speakers I’ve ever +’eard. If we don’t all get five bob a week more I’ll eat my ’ead.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the best thing you could do with it,” snapped his wife. She took up her +iron again, and turning an obstinate back to his remarks resumed her work. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter lay long next morning, and, dressing with comfortable slowness, +noticed with pleasure that the sun was shining. Visions of a good breakfast and +a digestive pipe, followed by a walk in the fresh air, passed before his eyes +as he laced his boots. Whistling cheerfully he went briskly downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +It was an October morning, but despite the invigorating chill in the air the +kitchen-grate was cold and dull. Herring-bones and a disorderly collection of +dirty cups and platters graced the table. Perplexed and angry, he looked around +for his wife, and then, opening the back-door, stood gaping with astonishment. +The wife of his bosom, who should have had a bright fire and a good breakfast +waiting for him, was sitting on a box in the sunshine, elbows on knees and +puffing laboriously at a cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“Susan!” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Porter turned, and, puffing out her lips, blew an immense volume of smoke. +“Halloa!” she said, carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot—wot does this mean?” demanded her husband. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Porter smiled with conscious pride. “I made it come out of my nose just +now,” she replied. “At least, some of it did, and I swallowed the rest. Will it +hurt me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s my breakfast?” inquired the other, hotly. “Why ain’t the kitchen-fire +alight? Wot do you think you’re doing of?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not doing anything,” said his wife, with an aggrieved air. “I’m on +strike.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter reeled against the door-post. “Wot!” he stammered. “On strike? +Nonsense! You can’t be.” +</p> + +<p> +“O, yes, I can,” retorted Mrs. Porter, closing one eye and ministering to it +hastily with the corner of her apron. “Not ’aving no Bert Robinson to do it for +me, I made a little speech all to myself, and here I am.” +</p> + +<p> +She dropped her apron, replaced the cigarette, and, with her hands on her plump +knees, eyes him steadily. +</p> + +<p> +“But—but this ain’t a factory,” objected the dismayed man; “and, besides —I +won’t ’ave it!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Porter laughed—a fat, comfortable laugh, but with a touch of hardness in +it. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, mate,” she said, comfortably. “What are you out on strike for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shorter hours and more money,” said Mr. Porter, glaring at her. +</p> + +<p> +His wife nodded. “So am I,” she said. “I wonder who gets it first?” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled agreeably at the bewildered Mr. Porter, and, extracting a paper +packet of cigarettes from her pocket, lit a fresh one at the stub of the first. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the worst of a woman,” said her husband, avoiding her eye and +addressing a sanitary dustbin of severe aspect; “they do things without +thinking first. That’s why men are superior; before they do a thing they look +at it all round, and upside down, and—and—make sure it can be done. Now, you +get up in a temper this morning, and the first thing you do—not even waiting to +get my breakfast ready first—is to go on strike. If you’d thought for two +minutes you’d see as ’ow it’s impossible for you to go on strike for more than +a couple of hours or so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” inquired Mrs. Porter. +</p> + +<p> +“Kids,” replied her husband, triumphantly. “They’ll be coming ’ome from school +soon, won’t they? And they’ll be wanting their dinner, won’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” murmured the other, vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +“After which, when night comes,” pursued Mr. Porter, “they’ll ’ave to be put to +bed. In the morning they’ll ’ave to be got up and washed and dressed and given +their breakfast and sent off to school. Then there’s shopping wot must be done, +and beds wot must be made.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make ours,” said his wife, decidedly. “For my own sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“And wot about the others?” inquired Mr. Porter. +</p> + +<p> +“The others’ll be made by the same party as washes the children, and cooks +their dinner for ’em, and puts ’em to bed, and cleans the ’ouse,” was the +reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to have your mother ’ere,” exclaimed Mr. Porter, with sudden +heat. “Mind that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want her,” said Mrs. Porter. “It’s a job for a strong, healthy man, +not a pore old thing with swelled legs and short in the breath.” +</p> + +<p> +“Strong—’ealthy—man!” repeated her husband, in a dazed voice. “Strong—’eal—— +Wot are you talking about?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Porter beamed on him. “You,” she said, sweetly. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long silence, broken at last by a firework display of expletives. +Mrs. Porter, still smiling, sat unmoved. +</p> + +<p> +“You may smile!” raved the indignant Mr. Porter. “You may sit there smiling and +smoking like a—like a man, but if you think that I’m going to get the meals +ready, and soil my ’ands with making beds and washing-up, you’re mistook. +There’s some ’usbands I know as would set about you!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Porter rose. “Well, I can’t sit here gossiping with you all day,” she +said, entering the house. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot are you going to do?” demanded her husband, following her. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to see Aunt Jane and ’ave a bit o’ dinner with her,” was the reply. “And +after that I think I shall go to the ‘pictures.’ If you ’ave bloaters for +dinner be very careful with little Jemmy and the bones.” +</p> + +<p> +“I forbid you to leave this ’ouse!” said Mr. Porter, in a thrilling voice. “If +you do you won’t find nothing done when you come home, and all the kids dirty +and starving.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cheerio!” said Mrs. Porter. +</p> + +<p> +Arrayed in her Sunday best she left the house half an hour later. A glance over +her shoulder revealed her husband huddled up in a chair in the dirty kitchen, +gazing straight before him at the empty grate. +</p> + +<p> +He made a hearty breakfast at a neighbouring coffee-shop, and, returning home, +lit the fire and sat before it, smoking. The return of the four children from +school, soon after midday, found him still wrestling with the difficulties of +the situation. His announcement that their mother was out and that there would +be no dinner was received at first in stupefied silence. Then Jemmy, opening +his mouth to its widest extent, acted as conductor to an all-too-willing +chorus. +</p> + +<p> +The noise was unbearable, and Mr. Porter said so. Pleased with the tribute, the +choir re-doubled its efforts, and Mr. Porter, vociferating orders for silence, +saw only too clearly the base advantage his wife had taken of his affection for +his children. He took some money from his pocket and sent the leading treble +out marketing, after which, with the assistance of a soprano aged eight, he +washed up the breakfast things and placed one of them in the dustbin. +</p> + +<p> +The entire family stood at his elbow as he cooked the dinner, and watched, with +bated breath, his frantic efforts to recover a sausage which had fallen out of +the frying-pan into the fire. A fourfold sigh of relief heralded its return to +the pan. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother always—” began the eldest boy. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter took his scorched fingers out of his mouth and smacked the critic’s +head. +</p> + +<p> +The dinner was not a success. Portions of half-cooked sausages returned to the +pan, and coming back in the guise of cinders failed to find their rightful +owners. +</p> + +<p> +“Last time we had sausages,” said the eight-year-old Muriel, “they melted in +your mouth.” Mr. Porter glowered at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Instead of in the fire,” said the eldest boy, with a mournful snigger. +</p> + +<p> +“If I get up to you, my lad,” said the harassed Mr. Porter, “you’ll know it! +Pity you don’t keep your sharpness for your lessons! Wot country is Africa in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Africa’s a continent!” said the startled youth. +</p> + +<p> +“Jes so,” said his father; “but wot I’m asking you is: wot country is it in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Asia,” said the reckless one, with a side-glance at Muriel. +</p> + +<p> +“And why couldn’t you say so before?” demanded Mr. Porter, sternly. “Now, you +go to the sink and give yourself a thorough good wash. And mind you come +straight home from school. There’s work to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +He did some of it himself after the children had gone, and finished up the +afternoon with a little shopping, in the course of which he twice changed his +grocer and was threatened with an action for slander by his fishmonger. He +returned home with his clothes bulging, although a couple of eggs in the +left-hand coat-pocket had done their best to accommodate themselves to his +figure. +</p> + +<p> +He went to bed at eleven o’clock, and at a quarter past, clad all too lightly +for the job, sped rapidly downstairs to admit his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“Some ’usbands would ’ave let you sleep on the doorstep all night,” he said, +crisply. +</p> + +<p> +“I know they would,” returned his wife, cheerfully. “That’s why I married you. +I remember the first time I let you come ’ome with me, mother ses: ‘There ain’t +much of ’im, Susan,’ she ses; ‘still, arf a loaf is better than—’” +</p> + +<p> +The bedroom-door slammed behind the indignant Mr. Porter, and the three lumps +and a depression which had once been a bed received his quivering frame again. +With the sheet obstinately drawn over his head he turned a deaf ear to his +wife’s panegyrics on striking and her heartfelt tribute to the end of a perfect +day. Even when standing on the cold floor while she remade the bed he +maintained an attitude of unbending dignity, only relaxing when she smote him +light-heartedly with the bolster. In a few ill-chosen words he expressed his +opinion of her mother and her deplorable methods of bringing up her daughters. +</p> + +<p> +He rose early next morning, and, after getting his own breakfast, put on his +cap and went out, closing the street-door with a bang that awoke the entire +family and caused the somnolent Mrs. Porter to open one eye for the purpose of +winking with it. Slowly, as became a man of leisure, he strolled down to the +works, and, moving from knot to knot of his colleagues, discussed the prospects +of victory. Later on, with a little natural diffidence, he drew Mr. Bert +Robinson apart and asked his advice upon a situation which was growing more and +more difficult. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got my hands pretty full as it is, you know,” said Mr. Robinson, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you ’ave, Bert,” murmured the other. “But, you see, she told me last +night she’s going to try and get some of the other chaps’ wives to join ’er, so +I thought I ought to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Robinson started. “Have you tried giving her a hiding?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter shook his head. “I daren’t trust myself,” he replied. “I might go +too far, once I started.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about appealing to her better nature?” inquired the other. +</p> + +<p> +“She ain’t got one,” said the unfortunate. “Well, I’m sorry for you,” said Mr. +Robinson, “but I’m busy. I’ve got to see a Labour-leader this afternoon, and +two reporters, and this evening there’s the meeting. Try kindness first, and if +that don’t do, lock her up in her bedroom and keep her on bread and water.” +</p> + +<p> +He moved off to confer with his supporters, and Mr. Porter, after wandering +aimlessly about for an hour or two, returned home at mid-day with a faint hope +that his wife might have seen the error of her ways and provided dinner for +him. He found the house empty and the beds unmade. The remains of breakfast +stood on the kitchen-table, and a puddle of cold tea decorated the floor. The +arrival of the children from school, hungry and eager, completed his +discomfiture. +</p> + +<p> +For several days he wrestled grimly with the situation, while Mrs. Porter, who +had planned out her week into four days of charing, two of amusement, and +Sunday in bed, looked on with smiling approval. She even offered to give him a +little instruction—verbal—in scrubbing the kitchen-floor. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter, who was on his knees at the time, rose slowly to his full height, +and, with a superb gesture, emptied the bucket, which also contained a +scrubbing-brush and lump of soap, into the back-yard. Then he set off down the +street in quest of a staff. +</p> + +<p> +He found it in the person of Maudie Stevens, aged fourteen, who lived a few +doors lower down. Fresh from school the week before, she cheerfully undertook +to do the housework and cooking, and to act as nursemaid in her spare time. Her +father, on his part, cheerfully under-took to take care of her wages for her, +the first week’s, payable in advance, being banked the same evening at the Lord +Nelson. +</p> + +<p> +It was another mouth to feed, but the strike-pay was coming in very well, and +Mr. Porter, relieved from his unmanly tasks, walked the streets a free man. +Beds were made without his interference, meals were ready (roughly) at the +appointed hour, and for the first time since the strike he experienced +satisfaction in finding fault with the cook. The children’s content was not so +great, Maudie possessing a faith in the virtues of soap and water that they +made no attempt to share. They were greatly relieved when their mother returned +home after spending a couple of days with Aunt Jane. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s all this?” she demanded, as she entered the kitchen, followed by a +lady-friend. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s all what?” inquired Mr. Porter, who was sitting at dinner with the +family. +</p> + +<p> +“That,” said his wife, pointing at the cook-general. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter put down his knife and fork. “Got ’er in to help,” he replied, +uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear that?” demanded his wife, turning to her friend, Mrs. Gorman. “Oh, +these masters!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said her friend, vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +“A strike-breaker!” said Mrs. Porter, rolling her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Shame!” said Mrs. Gorman, beginning to understand. +</p> + +<p> +“Coming after my job, and taking the bread out of my mouth,” continued Mrs. +Porter, fluently. “Underselling me too, I’ll be bound. That’s what comes of not +having pickets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unskilled labour,” said Mrs. Gorman, tightening her lips and shaking her head. +</p> + +<p> +“A scab!” cried Mrs. Porter, wildly. “A scab!” +</p> + +<p> +“Put her out,” counselled her friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Put her out!” repeated Mrs. Porter, in a terrible voice. “Put her out! I’ll +tear her limb from limb! I’ll put her in the copper and boil her!” +</p> + +<p> +Her voice was so loud and her appearance so alarming that the unfortunate +Maudie, emitting three piercing shrieks, rose hastily from the table and looked +around for a way of escape. The road to the front-door was barred, and with a +final yelp that set her employer’s teeth on edge she dashed into the yard and +went home via the back-fences. Housewives busy in their kitchens looked up in +amazement at the spectacle of a pair of thin black legs descending one fence, +scudding across the yard to the accompaniment of a terrified moaning, and +scrambling madly over the other. At her own back-door Maudie collapsed on the +step, and, to the intense discomfort and annoyance of her father, had her first +fit of hysterics. +</p> + +<p> +“And the next scab that comes into my house won’t get off so easy,” said Mrs. +Porter to her husband. “D’you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you ’ad some husbands—” began Mr. Porter, trembling with rage. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know,” said his wife, nodding. “Don’t cry, Jemmy,” she added, taking +the youngest on her knee. “Mother’s only having a little game. She and dad are +both on strike for more pay and less work.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter got up, and without going through the formality of saying good-bye +to the hard-featured Mrs. Gorman, put on his cap and went out. Over a couple of +half-pints taken as a sedative, he realized the growing seriousness of his +position. +</p> + +<p> +In a dull resigned fashion he took up his household duties again, made harder +now than before by the scandalous gossip of the aggrieved Mr. Stevens. The +anonymous present of a much-worn apron put the finishing touch to his +discomfiture; and the well-meant offer of a fair neighbour to teach him how to +shake a mat without choking himself met with a reception that took her breath +away. +</p> + +<p> +It was a surprise to him one afternoon to find that his wife had so far unbent +as to tidy up the parlour. Ornaments had been dusted and polished and the +carpet swept. She had even altered the position of the furniture. The table had +been pushed against the wall, and the easy-chair, with its back to the window, +stood stiffly confronting six or seven assorted chairs, two of which at least +had been promoted from a lower sphere. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s for the meeting,” said Muriel, peeping in. +</p> + +<p> +“Meeting?” repeated her father, in a dazed voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Strike-meetings,” was the reply. “Mrs. Gorman and some other ladies are coming +at four o’clock. Didn’t mother tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Porter, staring helplessly at the row of chairs, shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Evans is coming,” continued Muriel, in a hushed voice—“the lady what +punched Mr. Brown because he kept Bobbie Evans in one day. He ain’t been kept +in since. I wish you——” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped suddenly, and, held by her father’s gaze, backed slowly out of the +room. Mr. Porter, left with the chairs, stood regarding them thoughtfully. +Their emptiness made an appeal that no right-minded man could ignore. He put +his hand over his mouth and his eyes watered. +</p> + +<p> +He spent the next half-hour in issuing invitations, and at half-past three +every chair was filled by fellow-strikers. Three cans of beer, clay pipes, and +a paper of shag stood on the table. Mr. Benjamin Todd, an obese, fresh-coloured +gentleman of middle age, took the easy-chair. Glasses and teacups were filled. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Todd, lighting his pipe, “afore we get on to the business +of this meeting I want to remind you that there is another meeting, of ladies, +at four o’clock; so we’ve got to hurry up. O’ course, if it should happen that +we ain’t finished——” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on, Bennie!” said a delighted admirer. “I see a female ’ead peeping in at +the winder already,” said a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Let ’em peep,” said Mr. Todd, benignly. “Then p’r’aps they’ll be able to see +how to run a meeting.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s two more ’eads,” said the other. “Oh, Lord, I know I sha’n’t be able +to keep a straight face!” +</p> + +<p> +“H’sh!” commanded Mr. Todd, sternly, as the street-door was heard to open. +“Be’ave yourself. As I was saying, the thing we’ve got to consider about this +strike——” +</p> + +<p> +The door opened, and six ladies, headed by Mrs. Porter, entered the room in +single file and ranged themselves silently along the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Strike,” proceeded Mr. Todd, who found himself gazing uneasily into the eyes +of Mrs. Gorman——“strike—er—strike——” +</p> + +<p> +“He said that before,” said a stout lady, in a loud whisper; “I’m sure he did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is,” continued Mr. Todd, “that we have got to keep this—this—er—” +</p> + +<p> +“Strike,” prompted the same voice. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Todd paused, and, wiping his mouth with a red pocket-handkerchief, sat +staring straight before him. +</p> + +<p> +“I move,” said Mrs. Evans, her sharp features twitching with excitement, “that +Mrs. Gorman takes the chair.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow can I take it when he’s sitting in it?” demanded that lady. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a lady that knows what she wants and how to get it,” pursued Mrs. Evans, +unheeding. “She understands men—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve buried two ’usbands,” murmured Mrs. Gorman, nodding. +</p> + +<p> +“And how to manage them,” continued Mrs. Evans. “I move that Mrs. Gorman takes +the chair. Those in favour—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Todd, leaning back in his chair and gripping the arms, gazed defiantly at a +row of palms. +</p> + +<p> +“Carried unanimously!” snapped Mrs. Evans. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gorman, tall and bony, advanced and stood over Mr. Todd. Strong men held +their breath. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my chair,” she said, gruffly. “I’ve been moved into it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Possession,” said Mr. Todd, in as firm a voice as he could manage, “is nine +points of the law. I’m here and—” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gorman turned, and, without the slightest warning, sat down suddenly and +heavily in his lap. A hum of admiration greeted the achievement. +</p> + +<p> +“Get up!” shouted the horrified Mr. Todd. “Get up!” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gorman settled herself more firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me get up,” said Mr. Todd, panting. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gorman rose, but remained in a hovering position, between which and the +chair Mr. Todd, flushed and dishevelled, extricated himself in all haste. A +shrill titter of laughter and a clapping of hands greeted his appearance. He +turned furiously on the pallid Mr. Porter. +</p> + +<p> +“What d’you mean by it?” he demanded. “Are you the master, or ain’t you? A man +what can’t keep order in his own house ain’t fit to be called a man. If my wife +was carrying on like this——” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I was your wife,” said Mrs. Gorman, moistening her lips. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Todd turned slowly and surveyed her. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” he said, simply, and, being by this time near the door, faded gently +from the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Order!” cried Mrs. Gorman, thumping the arm of her chair with a large, +hard-working fist. “Take your seats, ladies.” +</p> + +<p> +A strange thrill passed through the bodies of her companions and communicated +itself to the men in the chairs. There was a moment’s tense pause, and then the +end man, muttering something about “going to see what had happened to poor old +Ben Todd,” rose slowly and went out. His companions, with heads erect and a +look of cold disdain upon their faces, followed him. +</p> + +<p> +It was Mr. Porter’s last meeting, but his wife had several more. They lasted, +in fact, until the day, a fortnight later, when he came in with flushed face +and sparkling eyes to announce that the strike was over and the men victorious. +</p> + +<p> +“Six bob a week more!” he said, with enthusiasm. “You see, I was right to +strike, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Porter eyed him. “I am out for four bob a week more,” she said, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +Her husband swallowed. “You—you don’t understand ’ow these things are done,” he +said, at last. “It takes time. We ought to ne—negotiate.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Mrs. Porter, readily. “Seven shillings a week, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s say four and have done with it,” exclaimed the other, hastily. +</p> + +<p> +And Mrs. Porter said it. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>DIRTY WORK</h2> + +<p> +It was nearly high-water, and the night-watchman, who had stepped aboard a +lighter lying alongside the wharf to smoke a pipe, sat with half-closed eyes +enjoying the summer evening. The bustle of the day was over, the wharves were +deserted, and hardly a craft moved on the river. Perfumed clouds of shag, +hovering for a time over the lighter, floated lazily towards the Surrey shore. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one thing about my job,” said the night-watchman, slowly, “it’s done +all alone by yourself. There’s no foreman a-hollering at you and offering you a +penny for your thoughts, and no mates to run into you from behind with a loaded +truck and then ask you why you didn’t look where you’re going to. From six +o’clock in the evening to six o’clock next morning I’m my own master.” +</p> + +<p> +He rammed down the tobacco with an experienced forefinger and puffed +contentedly. +</p> + +<p> +People like you ’ud find it lonely (he continued, after a pause); I did at +fust. I used to let people come and sit ’ere with me of an evening talking, but +I got tired of it arter a time, and when one chap fell overboard while ’e was +showing me ’ow he put his wife’s mother in ’er place, I gave it up altogether. +There was three foot o’ mud in the dock at the time, and arter I ’ad got ’im +out, he fainted in my arms. +</p> + +<p> +Arter that I kept myself to myself. Say wot you like, a man’s best friend is +’imself. There’s nobody else’ll do as much for ’im, or let ’im off easier when +he makes a mistake. If I felt a bit lonely I used to open the wicket in the +gate and sit there watching the road, and p’r’aps pass a word or two with the +policeman. Then something ’appened one night that made me take quite a dislike +to it for a time. +</p> + +<p> +I was sitting there with my feet outside, smoking a quiet pipe, when I ’eard a +bit of a noise in the distance. Then I ’eard people running and shouts of +“Stop, thief!” A man came along round the corner full pelt, and, just as I got +up, dashed through the wicket and ran on to the wharf. I was arter ’im like a +shot and got up to ’im just in time to see him throw something into the dock. +And at the same moment I ’eard the other people run past the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s up?” I ses, collaring ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” he ses, breathing ’ard and struggling. “Let me go.” +</p> + +<p> +He was a little wisp of a man, and I shook ’im like a dog shakes a rat. I +remembered my own pocket being picked, and I nearly shook the breath out of +’im. +</p> + +<p> +“And now I’m going to give you in charge,” I ses, pushing ’im along towards the +gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot for?” he ses, purtending to be surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Stealing,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve made a mistake,” he ses; “you can search me if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“More use to search the dock,” I ses. “I see you throw it in. Now you keep +quiet, else you’ll get ’urt. If you get five years I shall be all the more +pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t know ’ow he did it, but ’e did. He seemed to sink away between my legs, +and afore I knew wot was ’appening, I was standing upside down with all the +blood rushing to my ’ead. As I rolled over he bolted through the wicket, and +was off like a flash of lightning. +</p> + +<p> +A couple o’ minutes arterwards the people wot I ’ad ’eard run past came back +agin. There was a big fat policeman with ’em—a man I’d seen afore on the +beat—and, when they ’ad gorn on, he stopped to ’ave a word with me. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ot work,” he ses, taking off his ’elmet and wiping his bald ’ead with a large +red handkerchief. “I’ve lost all my puff.” +</p> + +<p> +“Been running?” I ses, very perlite. +</p> + +<p> +“Arter a pickpocket,” he ses. “He snatched a lady’s purse just as she was +stepping aboard the French boat with her ’usband. ‘Twelve pounds in it in gold, +two peppermint lozenges, and a postage stamp.’” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his ’ead, and put his ’elmet on agin. +</p> + +<p> +“Holding it in her little ’and as usual,” he ses. “Asking for trouble, I call +it. I believe if a woman ’ad one hand off and only a finger and thumb left on +the other, she’d carry ’er purse in it.” +</p> + +<p> +He knew a’most as much about wimmen as I do. When ’is fust wife died, she said +’er only wish was that she could take ’im with her, and she made ’im promise +her faithful that ’e’d never marry agin. His second wife, arter a long illness, +passed away while he was playing hymns on the concertina to her, and ’er +mother, arter looking at ’er very hard, went to the doctor and said she wanted +an inquest. +</p> + +<p> +He went on talking for a long time, but I was busy doing a bit of ’ead-work +and didn’t pay much attention to ’im. I was thinking o’ twelve pounds, two +lozenges, and a postage stamp laying in the mud at the bottom of my dock, and +arter a time ’e said ’e see as ’ow I was waiting to get back to my night’s +rest, and went off—stamping. +</p> + +<p> +I locked the wicket when he ’ad gorn away, and then I went to the edge of the +dock and stood looking down at the spot where the purse ’ad been chucked in. +The tide was on the ebb, but there was still a foot or two of water atop of the +mud. I walked up and down, thinking. +</p> + +<p> +I thought for a long time, and then I made up my mind. If I got the purse and +took it to the police-station, the police would share the money out between +’em, and tell me they ’ad given it back to the lady. If I found it and put a +notice in the newspaper—which would cost money—very likely a dozen or two +ladies would come and see me and say it was theirs. Then if I gave it to the +best-looking one and the one it belonged to turned up, there’d be trouble. My +idea was to keep it—for a time—and then if the lady who lost it came to me and +asked me for it I would give it to ’er. +</p> + +<p> +Once I had made up my mind to do wot was right I felt quite ’appy, and arter a +look up and down, I stepped round to the Bear’s Head and ’ad a couple o’ goes +o’ rum to keep the cold out. There was nobody in there but the landlord, and ’e +started at once talking about the thief, and ’ow he ’ad run arter him in ’is +shirt-sleeves. +</p> + +<p> +“My opinion is,” he ses, “that ’e bolted on one of the wharves and ’id ’imself. +He disappeared like magic. Was that little gate o’ yours open?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was on the wharf,” I ses, very cold. +</p> + +<p> +“You might ha’ been on the wharf and yet not ’ave seen anybody come on,” he +ses, nodding. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot d’ye mean?” I ses, very sharp. “Nothing,” he ses. “Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you trying to take my character away?” I ses, fixing ’im with my eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Lo’ bless me, no!” he ses, staring at me. “It’s no good to me.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat down in ’is chair behind the bar and went straight off to sleep with his +eyes screwed up as tight as they would go. Then ’e opened his mouth and snored +till the glasses shook. I suppose I’ve been one of the best customers he ever +’ad, and that’s the way he treated me. For two pins I’d ha’ knocked ’is ugly +’ead off, but arter waking him up very sudden by dropping my glass on the floor +I went off back to the wharf. +</p> + +<p> +I locked up agin, and ’ad another look at the dock. The water ’ad nearly gone +and the mud was showing in patches. My mind went back to a sailorman wot had +dropped ’is watch over-board two years before, and found it by walking about in +the dock in ’is bare feet. He found it more easy because the glass broke when +he trod on it. +</p> + +<p> +The evening was a trifle chilly for June, but I’ve been used to roughing it all +my life, especially when I was afloat, and I went into the office and began to +take my clothes off. I took off everything but my pants, and I made sure o’ +them by making braces for ’em out of a bit of string. Then I turned the gas +low, and, arter slipping on my boots, went outside. +</p> + +<p> +It was so cold that at fust I thought I’d give up the idea. The longer I stood +on the edge looking at the mud the colder it looked, but at last I turned round +and went slowly down the ladder. I waited a moment at the bottom, and was just +going to step off when I remembered that I ’ad got my boots on, and I ’ad to go +up agin and take ’em off. +</p> + +<p> +I went down very slow the next time, and anybody who ’as been down an iron +ladder with thin, cold rungs, in their bare feet, will know why, and I had just +dipped my left foot in, when the wharf-bell rang. +</p> + +<p> +I ’oped at fust that it was a runaway-ring, but it kept on, and the longer it +kept on, the worse it got. I went up that ladder agin and called out that I was +coming, and then I went into the office and just slipped on my coat and +trousers and went to the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot d’you want?” I ses, opening the wicket three or four inches and looking +out at a man wot was standing there. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you old Bill?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m the watchman,” I ses, sharp-like. “Wot d’you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t bite me!” he ses, purtending to draw back. “I ain’t done no ’arm. I’ve +come round about that glass you smashed at the Bear’s Head.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glass!” I ses, ’ardly able to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, glass,” he ses—“thing wot yer drink out of. The landlord says it’ll cost +you a tanner, and ’e wants it now in case you pass away in your sleep. He +couldn’t come ’imself cos he’s got nobody to mind the bar, so ’e sent me. Why! +Halloa! Where’s your boots? Ain’t you afraid o’ ketching cold?” +</p> + +<p> +“You clear off,” I ses, shouting at him. “D’ye ’ear me? Clear off while you’re +safe, and you tell the landlord that next time ’e insults me I’ll smash every +glass in ’is place and then sit ’im on top of ’cm! Tell ’im if ’e wants a +tanner out o’ me, to come round ’imself, and see wot he gets.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a silly thing to say, and I saw it arterwards, but I was in such a +temper I ’ardly knew wot I was saying. I slammed the wicket in ’is face and +turned the key and then I took off my clothes and went down that ladder agin. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed colder than ever, and the mud when I got fairly into it was worse +than I thought it could ha’ been. It stuck to me like glue, and every step I +took seemed colder than the one before. ’Owever, when I make up my mind to do a +thing, I do it. I fixed my eyes on the place where I thought the purse was, and +every time I felt anything under my foot I reached down and picked it up—and +then chucked it away as far as I could so as not to pick it up agin. Dirty job +it was, too, and in five minutes I was mud up to the neck, a’most. And I ’ad +just got to wot I thought was the right place, and feeling about very careful, +when the bell rang agin. +</p> + +<p> +I thought I should ha’ gorn out o’ my mind. It was just a little tinkle at +first, then another tinkle, but, as I stood there all in the dark and cold +trying to make up my mind to take no notice of it, it began to ring like mad. I +’ad to go—I’ve known men climb over the gate afore now—and I didn’t want to be +caught in that dock. +</p> + +<p> +The mud seemed stickier than ever, but I got out at last, and, arter scraping +some of it off with a bit o’ stick, I put on my coat and trousers and boots +just as I was and went to the gate, with the bell going its ’ardest all the +time. +</p> + +<p> +When I opened the gate and see the landlord of the Bear’s Head standing there I +turned quite dizzy, and there was a noise in my ears like the roaring of the +sea. I should think I stood there for a couple o’ minutes without being able to +say a word. I could think of ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be frightened, Bill,” ses the landlord. “I’m not going to eat you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He looks as if he’s walking in ’is sleep,” ses the fat policeman, wot was +standing near by. “Don’t startle ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“He always looks like that,” ses the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +I stood looking at ’im. I could speak then, but I couldn’t think of any words +good enough; not with a policeman standing by with a notebook in ’is pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot was you ringing my bell for?” I ses, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you answer it before?” ses the landlord. “D’you think I’ve got +nothing better to do than to stand ringing your bell for three-quarters of an +hour? Some people would report you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know my dooty,” I ses; “there’s no craft up to-night, and no reason for +anybody to come to my bell. If I was to open the gate every time a parcel of +overgrown boys rang my bell I should ’ave enough to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll overlook it this time, seeing as you’re an old man and couldn’t get +another sleeping-in job,” he ses, looking at the policeman for him to see ’ow +clever ’e was. “Wot about that tanner? That’s wot I’ve come for.” +</p> + +<p> +“You be off,” I ses, starting to shut the wicket. “You won’t get no tanner out +of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” he ses, “I shall stand here and go on ringing the bell till you +pay up, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +He gave it another tug, and the policeman instead of locking ’im up for it +stood there laughing. +</p> + +<p> +I gave ’im the tanner. It was no use standing there arguing over a tanner, with +a purse of twelve quid waiting for me in the dock, but I told ’im wot people +thought of ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Arf a second, watchman,” ses the policeman, as I started to shut the wicket +agin. “You didn’t see anything of that pickpocket, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not,” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“’Cos this gentleman thought he might ’ave come in here,” ses the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow could he ’ave come in here without me knowing it?” I ses, firing up. +</p> + +<p> +“Easy,” ses the landlord, “and stole your boots into the bargain!” +</p> + +<p> +“He might ’ave come when your back was turned,” ses the policeman, “and if so, +he might be ’iding there now. I wonder whether you’d mind me having a look +round?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you he ain’t ’ere,” I ses, very short, “but, to ease your mind, I’ll +’ave a look round myself arter you’ve gorn.” +</p> + +<p> +The policeman shook his ’ead. “Well, o’ course, I can’t come in without your +permission,” he ses, with a little cough, “but I ’ave an idea, that if it was +your guv’nor ’ere instead of you he’d ha’ been on’y too pleased to do anything +’e could to help the law. I’ll beg his pardon tomorrow for asking you, in case +he might object.” +</p> + +<p> +That settled it. That’s the police all over, and that’s ’ow they get their way +and do as they like. I could see ’im in my mind’s eye talking to the guv’nor, +and letting out little things about broken glasses and such-like by accident. I +drew back to let ’im pass, and I was so upset that when that little rat of a +landlord follered ’im I didn’t say a word. +</p> + +<p> +I stood and watched them poking and prying about the wharf as if it belonged to +’em, with the light from the policeman’s lantern flashing about all over the +place. I was shivering with cold and temper. The mud was drying on me. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ve finished ’unting for the pickpocket I’ll let you out and get on with +my work,” I ses, drawing myself up. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” ses the policeman, moving off. “Good night, dear,” ses the +landlord. “Mind you tuck yourself up warm.” +</p> + +<p> +I lost my temper for the moment and afore I knew wot I was doing I ’ad got hold +of him and was shoving ’im towards the gate as ’ard as I could shove. He pretty +near got my coat off in the struggle, and next moment the police-man ’ad turned +his lantern on me and they was both staring at me as if they couldn’t believe +their eyesight. +</p> + +<p> +“He—he’s turning black!” ses the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s turned black!” ses the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +They both stood there looking at me with their mouths open, and then afore I +knew wot he was up to, the policeman came close up to me and scratched my chest +with his finger-nail. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s mud!” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“You keep your nails to yourself,” I ses. “It’s nothing to do with you.” and I +couldn’t ’elp noticing the smell of it. Nobody could. And wot was worse than +all was, that the tide ’ad turned and was creeping over the mud in the dock. +</p> + +<p> +They got tired of it at last and came back to where I was and stood there +shaking their ’eads at me. +</p> + +<p> +“If he was on the wharf ’e must ’ave made his escape while you was in the +Bear’s Head,” ses the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“He was in my place a long time,” ses the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk,” ses the policeman. “Funny smell +about ’ere, ain’t there?” he ses, sniffing, and turning to the landlord. “Wot +is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dunno,” ses the landlord. “I noticed it while we was talking to ’im at the +gate. It seems to foller ’im about.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve smelt things I like better,” ses the policeman, sniffing agin. “It’s just +like the foreshore when somebody ’as been stirring the mud up a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless it’s a case of ’tempted suicide,” he ses, looking at me very ’ard. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” ses the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no mud on ’is clothes,” ses the policeman, looking me over with his +lantern agin. +</p> + +<p> +“He must ’ave gone in naked, but I should like to see ’is legs to make— All +right! All right! Keep your ’air on.” +</p> + +<p> +“You look arter your own legs, then,” I ses, very sharp, “and mind your own +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my business,” he ses, turning to the landlord. “Was ’e strange in his +manner at all when ’e was in your place to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“He smashed one o’ my best glasses,” ses the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“So he did,” ses the policeman. “So he did. I’d forgot that. Do you know ’im +well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more than I can ’elp,” ses the landlord. “He’s been in my place a good +bit, but I never knew of any reason why ’e should try and do away with ’imself. +If he’s been disappointed in love, he ain’t told me anything about it.” +</p> + +<p> +I suppose that couple o’ fools ’ud ’ave stood there talking about me all night +if I’d ha’ let ’em, but I had about enough of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere,” I ses, “you’re very clever, both of you, but you needn’t worry +your ’eads about me. I’ve just been having a mud-bath, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“A mud-bath!” ses both of ’em, squeaking like a couple o’ silly parrots. +</p> + +<p> +“For rheumatics,” I ses. “I ’ad it some-thing cruel to-night, and I thought +that p’r’aps the mud ’ud do it good. I read about it in the papers. There’s +places where you pay pounds and pounds for ’em, but, being a pore man, I ’ad to +’ave mine on the cheap.” +</p> + +<p> +The policeman stood there looking at me for a moment, and then ’e began to +laugh till he couldn’t stop ’imself. +</p> + +<p> +“Love-a-duck!” he ses, at last, wiping his eyes. “I wish I’d seen it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must ha’ looked like a fat mermaid,” ses the landlord, wagging his silly ’ead +at me. “I can just see old Bill sitting in the mud a-combing his ’air and +singing.” +</p> + +<p> +They ’ad some more talk o’ that sort, just to show each other ’ow funny they +was, but they went off at last, and I fastened up the gate and went into the +office to clean myself up as well as I could. One comfort was they ’adn’t got +the least idea of wot I was arter, and I ’ad a fancy that the one as laughed +last would be the one as got that twelve quid. +</p> + +<p> +I was so tired that I slept nearly all day arter I ’ad got ’ome, and I ’ad no +sooner got back to the wharf in the evening than I see that the landlord ’ad +been busy. If there was one silly fool that asked me the best way of making +mud-pies, I should think there was fifty. Little things please little minds, +and the silly way some of ’em went on made me feel sorry for my sects. +</p> + +<p> +By eight o’clock, ’owever, they ’ad all sheered off, and I got a broom and +began to sweep up to ’elp pass the time away until low-water. On’y one craft +’ad come up that day—a ketch called the Peewit—and as she was berthed at the +end of the jetty she wasn’t in my way at all. +</p> + +<p> +Her skipper came on to the wharf just afore ten. Fat, silly old man ’e was, +named Fogg. Always talking about ’is ’ealth and taking medicine to do it good. +He came up to me slow like, and, when ’e stopped and asked me about the +rheumatics, the broom shook in my ’and. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” I ses, “if you want to be funny, go and be funny with them as +likes it. I’m fair sick of it, so I give you warning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Funny?” he ses, staring at me with eyes like a cow. “Wot d’ye mean? There’s +nothing funny about rheumatics; I ought to know; I’m a martyr to it. Did you +find as ’ow the mud did you any good?” +</p> + +<p> +I looked at ’im hard, but ’e stood there looking at me with his fat baby-face, +and I knew he didn’t mean any harm; so I answered ’im perlite and wished ’im +good night. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve ’ad pretty near everything a man can have,” he ses, casting anchor on a +empty box, “but I think the rheumatics was about the worst of ’em all. I even +tried bees for it once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bees!” I ses. “Bees!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bee-stings,” he ses. “A man told me that if I could on’y persuade a few bees +to sting me, that ’ud cure me. I don’t know what ’e meant by persuading! they +didn’t want no persuading. I took off my coat and shirt and went and rocked one +of my neighbour’s bee-hives next door, and I thought my last hour ’ad come.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat on that box and shivered at the memory of it. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I take Dr. Pepper’s pellets instead,” he ses. “I’ve got a box in my +state-room, and if you’d like to try ’em you’re welcome.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat there talking about the complaints he had ’ad and wot he ’ad done for +them till I thought I should never have got rid of ’im. He got up at last, +though, and, arter telling me to always wear flannel next to my skin, climbed +aboard and went below. +</p> + +<p> +I knew the hands was aboard, and arter watching ’is cabin-skylight until the +light was out, I went and undressed. Then I crept back on to the jetty, and +arter listening by the Peewit to make sure that they was all asleep, I went +back and climbed down the ladder. +</p> + +<p> +It was colder than ever. The cold seemed to get into my bones, but I made up my +mind to ’ave that twelve quid if I died for it. I trod round and round the +place where I ’ad seen that purse chucked in until I was tired, and the rubbish +I picked up by mistake you wouldn’t believe. +</p> + +<p> +I suppose I ’ad been in there arf an hour, and I was standing up with my teeth +clenched to keep them from chattering, when I ’appened to look round and see +something like a white ball coming down the ladder. My ’art seemed to stand +still for a moment, and then it began to beat as though it would burst. The +white thing came down lower and lower, and then all of a sudden it stood in the +mud and said, “Ow!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it?” I ses. “Who are you?” “Halloa, Bill!” it ses. “Ain’t it perishing +cold?” +</p> + +<p> +It was the voice o’ Cap’n Fogg, and if ever I wanted to kill a fellow-creetur, +I wanted to then. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ave you been in long, Bill?” he ses. “About ten minutes,” I ses, grinding my +teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it doing you good?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +I didn’t answer ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I was just going off to sleep,” he ses, “when I felt a sort of hot pain in my +left knee. O’ course, I knew what it meant at once, and instead o’ taking some +of the pellets I thought I’d try your remedy instead. It’s a bit nippy, but I +don’t mind that if it does me good.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed a silly sort o’ laugh, and then I’m blest if ’e didn’t sit down in +that mud and waller in it. Then he’d get up and come for’ard two or three steps +and sit down agin. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you sitting down, Bill?” he ses, arter a time. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” I ses, “I’m not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you can expect to get the full benefit unless you do,” he ses, +coming up close to me and sitting down agin. “It’s a bit of a shock at fust, +but Halloa!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s up?” I ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Sitting on something hard,” he ses. “I wish people ’ud be more careful.” +</p> + +<p> +He took a list to port and felt under the star-board side. Then he brought his +’and up and tried to wipe the mud off and see wot he ’ad got. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot is it?” I ses, with a nasty sinking sort o’ feeling inside me. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” he ses, going on wiping. “It’s soft outside and ’ard inside. +It——” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s ’ave a look at it,” I ses, holding out my ’and. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing,” he ses, in a queer voice, getting up and steering for the +ladder. “Bit of oyster-shell, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +He was up that ladder hand over fist, with me close behind ’im, and as soon as +he ’ad got on to the wharf started to run to ’is ship. +</p> + +<p> +“Good night, Bill,” he ses, over ’is shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Arf a moment.” I ses, follering ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I must get aboard,” he ses; “I believe I’ve got a chill,” and afore I could +stop ’im he ’ad jumped on and run down to ’is cabin. +</p> + +<p> +I stood on the jetty for a minute or two, trembling all over with cold and +temper. Then I saw he ’ad got a light in ’is cabin, and I crept aboard and +peeped down the skylight. And I just ’ad time to see some sovereigns on the +table, when he looked up and blew out the light. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11482 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> diff --git a/11482-h/images/001.jpg b/11482-h/images/001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7d4ce7 --- /dev/null +++ b/11482-h/images/001.jpg diff --git a/11482-h/images/002.jpg b/11482-h/images/002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fad687e --- /dev/null +++ b/11482-h/images/002.jpg diff --git a/11482-h/images/003.jpg b/11482-h/images/003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b9056a --- /dev/null +++ b/11482-h/images/003.jpg diff --git a/11482-h/images/004.jpg b/11482-h/images/004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f70dc9b --- /dev/null +++ b/11482-h/images/004.jpg diff --git a/11482-h/images/cover.jpg b/11482-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..90c40a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/11482-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/11482-h/images/title.jpg b/11482-h/images/title.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6f25786 --- /dev/null +++ b/11482-h/images/title.jpg |
