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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12155-0.txt b/12155-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b95ab5c --- /dev/null +++ b/12155-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,513 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12155 *** + +NIGHT WATCHES + +by W.W. Jacobs + + + + +STEPPING BACKWARDS + +"Wonderful improvement," said Mr. Jack Mills. "Show 'em to me again." + +Mr. Simpson took his pipe from his mouth and, parting his lips, revealed +his new teeth. + +"And you talk better," said Mr. Mills, taking his glass from the counter +and emptying it; "you ain't got that silly lisp you used to have. What +does your missis think of 'em?" + +"She hasn't seen 'em yet," said the other. "I had 'em put in at dinner- +time. I ate my dinner with 'em." + +Mr. Mills expressed his admiration. "If it wasn't for your white hair +and whiskers you'd look thirty again," he said, slowly. "How old are +you?" + +"Fifty-three," said his friend. "If it wasn't for being laughed at I've +often thought of having my whiskers shaved off and my hair dyed black. +People think I'm sixty." + +"Or seventy," continued Mr. Mills. "What does it matter, people +laughing? You've got a splendid head of 'air, and it would dye +beautiful." + +Mr. Simpson shook his head and, ordering a couple of glasses of bitter, +attacked his in silence. + +"It might be done gradual," he said, after a long interval. "It don't +do anybody good at the warehouse to look old." + +"Make a clean job of it," counselled Mr. Mills, who was very fond of a +little cheap excitement. "Get it over and done with. You've got good +features, and you'd look splendid clean-shaved." Mr. Simpson smiled +faintly. "Only on Wednesday the barmaid here was asking after you," +pursued Mr. Mills. Mr. Simpson smiled again. "She says to me, 'Where's +Gran'pa?' she says, and when I says, haughty like, 'Who do you mean?' +she says, 'Father Christmas!' If you was to tell her that you are only +fifty-three, she'd laugh in your face." + +"Let her laugh," said the other, sourly. + +"Come out and get it off," said Mr. Mills, earnestly. "There's a +barber's in Bird Street; you could go in the little back room, where he +charges a penny more, and get it done without anybody being a bit the +wiser." + +He put his hand on Mr. Simpson's shoulder, and that gentleman, with a +glare in the direction of the fair but unconscious offender, rose in a +hypnotized fashion and followed him out. Twice on the way to Bird +Street Mr. Simpson paused and said he had altered his mind, and twice +did the propulsion of Mr. Mills's right hand, and his flattering +argument, make him alter it again. + +It was a matter of relief to Mr. Simpson that the barber took his +instructions without any show of surprise. It appeared, indeed, that an +elderly man of seventy-eight had enlisted his services for a similar +purpose not two months before, and had got married six weeks afterwards. +Age of the bride given as twenty-four, but said to have looked older. + +A snip of the scissors, and six inches of white beard fell to the floor. +For the first time in thirty years Mr. Simpson felt a razor on his face. +Then his hair was cut and shampooed; and an hour later he sat gazing at +a dark-haired, clean-shaven man in the glass who gazed back at him with +wondering eyes--a lean-jawed, good-looking man, who, in a favourable +light, might pass for forty. He turned and met the admiring eyes of Mr. +Mills. + +"What did I tell you?" inquired the latter. "You look young enough to +be your own son." + +"Or grandson," said the barber, with professional pride. + +Mr. Simpson got up slowly from the chair and, accompanied by the +admiring Mr. Mills, passed out into the street. The evening was young, +and, at his friend's suggestion, they returned to the Plume of Feathers. + +"You give the order," said Mr. Mills, "and see whether she recognizes +you." + +Mr. Simpson obeyed. + +"Don't you know him?" inquired Mr. Mills, as the barmaid turned away. + +"I don't think I have that pleasure," said the girl, simpering. + +"Gran'pa's eldest boy," said Mr. Mills. + +"Oh!" said the girl. "Well, I hope he's a better man than his father, +then?" + +"What do you mean by that?" demanded Mr. Simpson, painfully conscious +of his friend's regards. + +"Nothing," said the girl, "nothing. Only we can all be better, can't +we? He's a nice old gentleman; so simple." + +"Don't know you from Adam," said Mr. Mills, as she turned away. "Now, +if you ask me, I don't believe as your own missis will recognize you." + +"Rubbish," said Mr. Simpson. "My wife would know me anywhere. We've +been married over thirty years. Thirty years of sunshine and shadow +together. You're a single man, and don't understand these things." + +"P'r'aps you're right," said his friend. "But it'll be a bit of a shock +to her, anyway. What do you say to me stepping round and breaking the +news to her? It's a bit sudden, you know. She's expecting a white- +haired old gentleman, not a black-haired boy." + +Mr. Simpson looked a bit uneasy. "P'r'aps I ought to have told her +first," he murmured, craning his neck to look in the glass at the back +of the bar. + +"I'll go and put it right for you," said his friend. "You stay here and +smoke your pipe." + +He stepped out briskly, but his pace slackened as he drew near the +house. + +"I--I--came--to see you about your husband," he faltered, as Mrs. +Simpson opened the door and stood regarding him. + +"What's the matter?" she exclaimed, with a faint cry. "What's happened +to him?" + +"Nothing," said Mr. Mills, hastily. "Nothing serious, that is. I just +came round to warn you so that you will be able to know it's him." + +Mrs. Simpson let off a shriek that set his ears tingling. Then, +steadying herself by the wall, she tottered into the front room, +followed by the discomfited Mr. Mills, and sank into a chair. + +"He's dead!" she sobbed. "He's dead!" + +"He is not," said Mr. Mills. + +"Is he much hurt? Is he dying?" gasped Mrs. Simpson. + +"Only his hair," said Mr. Mills, clutching at the opening. "He is not +hurt at all." + +Mrs. Simpson dabbed at her eyes-and sat regarding him in bewilderment. +Her twin chins were still quivering with emotion, but her eyes were +beginning to harden. "What are you talking about?" she inquired, in a +raspy voice. + +"He's been to a hairdresser's," said Mr. Mills. "He's 'ad all his white +whiskers cut off, and his hair cut short and dyed black. And, what with +that and his new teeth, I thought--he thought--p'r'aps you mightn't know +him when he came home." + +"Dyed?" cried Mrs. Simpson, starting to her feet. + +Mr. Mills nodded. "He looks twenty years younger," he said, with a +smile. "He'd pass for his own son anywhere." + +Mrs. Simpson's eyes snapped. "Perhaps he'd pass for my son," she +remarked. + +"Yes, easy," said the tactful Mr. Mills. "You can't think what a +difference it's made to him. That's why I came to see you--so you +shouldn't be startled." + +"Thank you," said Mrs. Simpson. "I'm much obliged. But you might have +spared yourself the trouble. I should know my husband anywhere." + +"Ah, that's what you think," retorted Mr. Mills, with a smile; "but the +barmaid at the Plume didn't. That's what made me come to you." + +Mrs. Simpson gazed at him. + +"I says to myself," continued Mr. Mills, "'If she don't know him, I'm +certain his missis won't, and I'd better----'" + +"You'd better go," interrupted his hostess. + +Mr. Mills started, and then, with much dignity, stalked after her to the +door. + +"As to your story, I don't believe a word of it," said Mrs. Simpson. +"Whatever else my husband is, he isn't a fool, and he'd no more think of +cutting off his whiskers and dyeing his hair than you would of telling +the truth." + +"Seeing is believing," said the offended Mr. Mills, darkly. + +"I'll wait till I do see, and then I sha'n't believe," was the reply. +"It is a put-up job between you and some other precious idiot, I expect. +But you can't deceive me. If your black-haired friend comes here, he'll +get it, I can tell you." + +She slammed the door on his protests and, returning to the parlour, +gazed fiercely into the glass on the mantelpiece. It reflected sixteen +stone of honest English womanhood, a thin wisp of yellowish-grey hair, +and a pair of faded eyes peering through clumsy spectacles. + +"Son, indeed!" she said, her lips quivering. "You wait till you come +home, my lord!" + +Mr. Simpson, with some forebodings, returned home an hour later. To a +man who loved peace and quietness the report of the indignant Mr. Mills +was not of a reassuring nature. He hesitated on the doorstep for a few +seconds while he fumbled for his key, and then, humming unconcernedly, +hung his hat in the passage and walked into the parlour. + +The astonished scream of his wife warned him that Mr. Mills had by no +means exaggerated. She rose from her seat and, crouching by the +fireplace, regarded him with a mixture of anger and dismay. + +"It--it's all right, Milly," said Mr. Simpson, with a smile that +revealed a dazzling set of teeth. + +"Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Simpson. "How dare you call me by my +Christian name. It's a good job for you my husband is not here." + +"He wouldn't hurt me," said Mr. Simpson, with an attempt at +facetiousness. "He's the best friend I ever had. Why, we slept in the +same cradle." + +"I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mrs. Simpson. "You get out of +my house before I send for the police. How dare you come into a +respectable woman's house in this fashion? Be off with you." + +"Now, look here, Milly----" began Mr. Simpson. + +His wife drew herself up to her full height of four feet eleven. + +"I've had a hair-cut and a shave," pursued her husband; "also I've had +my hair restored to its natural colour. But I'm the same man, and you +know it." + +"I know nothing of the kind," said his wife, doggedly. "I don't know +you from Adam. I've never seen you before, and I don't want to see you +again. You go away." + +"I'm your husband, and my place is at home," replied Mr. Simpson. "A +man can have a shave if he likes, can't he? Where's my supper?" + +"Go on," said his wife. "Keep it up. But be careful my husband don't +come in and catch you, that's all." + +Mr. Simpson gazed at her fixedly, and then, with an impatient +exclamation, walked into the small kitchen and began to set the supper. +A joint of cold beef, a jar of pickles, bread, butter, and cheese made +an appetizing display. Then he took a jug from the dresser and +descended to the cellar. + +A musical trickling fell on the ear of Mrs. Simpson as she stood at the +parlour door, and drew her stealthily to the cellar. The key was in the +lock, and, with a sudden movement, she closed the door and locked it. A +sharp cry from Mr. Simpson testified to his discomfiture. + +"Now I'm off for the police," cried his wife. + +"Don't be a fool," shouted Mr. Simpson, tugging wildly at the door- +handle. "Open the door." + +Mrs. Simpson remained silent, and her husband resumed his efforts until +the door-knob, unused to such treatment, came off in his hand. A sudden +scrambling noise on the cellar stairs satisfied the listener that he had +not pulled it off intentionally. + +She stood for a few moments, considering. It was a stout door and +opened inwards. She took her bonnet from its nail in the kitchen and, +walking softly to the street-door, set off to lay the case before a +brother who lived a few doors away. + +"Poor old Bill," said Mr. Cooper, when she had finished. "Still, it +might be worse; he's got the barrel o' beer with him." + +"It's not Bill," said Mrs. Simpson. + +Mr. Cooper scratched his whiskers and looked at his wife. + +"She ought to know," said the latter. "We'll come and have a look at +him," said Mr. Cooper. + +Mrs. Simpson pondered, and eyed him dubiously. + +"Come in and have a bit of supper," she said at last. "There's a nice +piece of beef and pickles." + +"And Bill--I mean the stranger--sitting on the beer-barrel," said Mr. +Cooper, gloomily. + +"You can bring your beer with you," said his sister, sharply. "Come +along." + +Mr. Cooper grinned, and, placing a couple of bottles in his coat +pockets, followed the two ladies to the house. Seated at the kitchen +table, he grinned again, as a persistent drumming took place on the +cellar door. His wife smiled, and a faint, sour attempt in the same +direction appeared on the face of Mrs. Simpson. + +"Open the door!" bellowed an indignant voice. "Open the door!" + +Mrs. Simpson, commanding silence with an uplifted finger, proceeded to +carve the beef. A rattle of knives and forks succeeded. + +"O-pen-the-door!" said the voice again. + +"Not so much noise," commanded Mr. Cooper. "I can't hear myself eat." + +"Bob!" said the voice, in relieved accents, "Bob! Come and let me +out." + +Mr. Cooper, putting a huge hand over his mouth, struggled nobly with his +feelings. + +"Who are you calling 'Bob'?" he demanded, in an unsteady voice. "You +keep yourself to yourself. I've heard all about you. You've got to +stay there till my brother-in-law comes home." + +"It's me, Bob," said Mr. Simpson--"Bill." + +"Yes, I dare say," said Mr. Cooper; "but if you're Bill, why haven't you +got Bill's voice?" + +"Let me out and look at me," said Mr. Simpson. + +There was a faint scream from both ladies, followed by protests. + +"Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Cooper, reassuringly. "I wasn't born +yesterday. I don't want to get a crack over the head." + +"It's all a mistake, Bob," said the prisoner, appealingly. "I just had +a shave and a haircut and--and a little hair-dye. If you open the door +you'll know me at once." + +"How would it be," said Mr. Cooper, turning to his sister, and speaking +with unusual distinctness--"how would it be if you opened the door, and +just as he put his head out I hit it a crack with the poker?" + +"You try it on," said the voice behind the door, hotly. "You know who I +am well enough, Bob Cooper. I don't want any more of your nonsense. +Milly has put you up to this!" + +"If your wife don't know you, how do you think I can?" said Mr. Cooper. +"Now, look here; you keep quiet till my brother-in-law comes home. If +he don't come home perhaps we shall be more likely to think you're him. +If he's not home by to-morrow morning we--Hsh! Hsh! Don't you know +there's ladies present?" + +"That settles it," said Mrs. Cooper, speaking for the first time. "My +brother-in-law would never talk like that." + +"I should never forgive him if he did," said her husband, piously. + +He poured himself out another glass of beer and resumed his supper with +relish. Conversation turned on the weather, and from that to the price +of potatoes. Frantic efforts on the part of the prisoner to join in the +conversation and give it a more personal turn were disregarded. Finally +he began to kick with monotonous persistency on the door. + +"Stop it!" shouted Mr. Cooper. + +"I won't," said Mr. Simpson. + +The noise became unendurable. Mr. Cooper, who had just lit his pipe, +laid it on the table and looked round at his companions. + +"He'll have the door down soon," he said, rising. "Halloa, there!" + +"Halloa!" said the other. + +"You say you're Bill Simpson," said Mr. Cooper, holding up a forefinger +at Mrs. Simpson, who was about to interrupt. "If you are, tell us +something you know that only you could know; something we know, so as to +identify you. Things about your past." + +A strange noise sounded behind the door. + +"Sounds as though he is smacking his lips," said Mrs. Cooper to her +sister-in-law, who was eyeing Mr. Cooper restlessly. + +"Very good," said Mr. Simpson; "I agree. Who is there?" + +"Me and my wife and Mrs. Simpson," said Mr. Cooper. + +"He is smacking his lips," whispered Mrs. Cooper. "Having a go at the +beer, perhaps." + +"Let's go back fifteen years," said Mr. Simpson in meditative tones. +"Do you remember that girl with copper-coloured hair that used to live +in John Street?" + +"No!" said Mr. Cooper, loudly and suddenly. + +"Do you remember coming to me one day--two days after Valentine Day, it +was--white as chalk and shaking like a leaf, and--" + +"NO!" roared Mr. Cooper. + +"Very well, I must try something else, then," said Mr. Simpson, +philosophically. "Carry your mind back ten years, Bob Cooper--" + +"Look here!" said Mr. Cooper, turning round with a ghastly smile. +"We'd better get off home, Mary. I don't like interfering in other +people's concerns. Never did." + +"You stay where you are," said his wife. + +"Ten years," repeated the voice behind the door. "There was a new +barmaid at the Crown, and one night you----" + +"If I listen to any more of this nonsense I shall burst," remarked Mr. +Cooper, plaintively. + +"Go on," prompted Mrs. Cooper, grimly. "One night----" + +"Never mind," said Mr. Simpson. "It doesn't matter. But does he +identify me? Because if not I've got a lot more things I can try." + +The harassed Mr. Cooper looked around appealingly. + +"How do you expect me to recognize you--" he began, and stopped +suddenly. + +"Go back to your courting days, then," said Mr. Simpson, "when Mrs. +Cooper wasn't Mrs. Cooper, but only wanted to be." + +Mrs. Cooper shivered; so did Mr. Cooper. + +"And you came round to me for advice," pursued Mr. Simpson, in +reminiscent accents, "because there was another girl you wasn't sure of, +and you didn't want to lose them both. Do you remember sitting with the +two photographs--one on each knee--and trying to make up your mind?" + +"Wonderful imagination," said Mr. Cooper, smiling in a ghastly fashion +at his wife. "Hark at him!" + +"I am harking," said Mrs. Cooper. + +"Am I Bill Simpson or am I not?" demanded Mr. Simpson. + +"Bill was always fond of his joke," said Mr. Cooper, with a glance at +the company that would have moved an oyster. "He was always fond of +making up things. You're like him in that. What do you think, Milly?" + +"It's not my husband," said Mrs. Simpson. + +"Tell us something about her," said Mr. Cooper, hastily. + +"I daren't," said Mr. Simpson. "Doesn't that prove I'm her husband? +But I'll tell you things about your wife, if you like." + +"You dare!" said Mrs. Cooper, turning crimson, as she realized what +confidences might have passed between husband and wife. "If you say a +word of your lies about me, I don't know what I won't do to you." + +"Very well, I must go on about Bob, then--till he recognizes me," said +Mr. Simpson, patiently. "Carry your mind--" + +"Open the door and let him out," shouted Mr. Cooper, turning to his +sister. "How can I recognize a man through a deal door?" + +Mrs. Simpson, after a little hesitation, handed him the key, and the +next moment her husband stepped out and stood blinking in the gas-light. + +"Do you recognize me?" he asked, turning to Mr. Cooper. + +"I do," said that gentleman, with a ferocious growl. + +"I'd know you anywhere," said Mrs. Cooper, with emphasis. + +"And you?" said Mr. Simpson, turning to his wife. + +"You're not my husband," she said, obstinately. + +"Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Cooper. + +"Certain." + +"Very good, then," said her brother. "If he's not your husband I'm +going to knock his head off for telling them lies about me." + +He sprang forward and, catching Mr. Simpson by the collar, shook him +violently until his head banged against the dresser. The next moment +the hands of Mrs. Simpson were in the hair of Mr. Cooper. + +"How dare you knock my husband about!" she screamed, as Mr. Cooper let +go and caught her fingers. "You've hurt him." + +"Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind. + +His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap, +tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by +watching until his wife touched him on the arm. + +"You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are +you going to stay here all night?" + +"I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stepping Backwards, by W.W. Jacobs + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12155 *** diff --git a/12155-h.zip b/12155-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f26fd91 --- /dev/null +++ b/12155-h.zip diff --git a/12155-h/12155-h.htm b/12155-h/12155-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..532ef7b --- /dev/null +++ b/12155-h/12155-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1160 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" + content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of + Night Watches:STEPPING BACKWARDS + by W.W. Jacobs. +</title> + + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {background:#faebd7;} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin: 15%; + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; } + PRE { font-family: cursive} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + // --> +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stepping Backwards, by W.W. Jacobs + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Stepping Backwards + Night Watches, Part 5. + +Author: W.W. Jacobs + +Release Date: April 26, 2004 [EBook #12155] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPPING BACKWARDS *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="cover (127K)" src="cover.jpg" height="899" width="725" /> +</center> +<br><br> + + + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="title (37K)" src="title.jpg" height="655" width="462" /> +</center> +<br><br> + + + + +<a name="2H_4_5"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h1> + STEPPING BACKWARDS +</h1> +<br /><br /> +<p> + "Wonderful improvement," said Mr. Jack Mills. "Show 'em to me again." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson took his pipe from his mouth and, parting his lips, revealed + his new teeth. +</p> +<p> + "And you talk better," said Mr. Mills, taking his glass from the counter + and emptying it; "you ain't got that silly lisp you used to have. What + does your missis think of 'em?" +</p> +<p> + "She hasn't seen 'em yet," said the other. "I had 'em put in at dinner- + time. I ate my dinner with 'em." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Mills expressed his admiration. "If it wasn't for your white hair + and whiskers you'd look thirty again," he said, slowly. "How old are + you?" +</p> +<p> + "Fifty-three," said his friend. "If it wasn't for being laughed at I've + often thought of having my whiskers shaved off and my hair dyed black. + People think I'm sixty." +</p> +<p> + "Or seventy," continued Mr. Mills. "What does it matter, people + laughing? You've got a splendid head of 'air, and it would dye + beautiful." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson shook his head and, ordering a couple of glasses of bitter, + attacked his in silence. +</p> +<p> + "It might be done gradual," he said, after a long interval. "It don't do + anybody good at the warehouse to look old." +</p> +<p> + "Make a clean job of it," counselled Mr. Mills, who was very fond of a + little cheap excitement. "Get it over and done with. You've got good + features, and you'd look splendid clean-shaved." Mr. Simpson smiled + faintly. "Only on Wednesday the barmaid here was asking after you," + pursued Mr. Mills. Mr. Simpson smiled again. "She says to me, 'Where's + Gran'pa?' she says, and when I says, haughty like, 'Who do you mean?' she + says, 'Father Christmas!' If you was to tell her that you are only + fifty-three, she'd laugh in your face." +</p> +<p> + "Let her laugh," said the other, sourly. +</p> +<p> + "Come out and get it off," said Mr. Mills, earnestly. "There's a + barber's in Bird Street; you could go in the little back room, where he + charges a penny more, and get it done without anybody being a bit the + wiser." +</p> +<p> + He put his hand on Mr. Simpson's shoulder, and that gentleman, with a + glare in the direction of the fair but unconscious offender, rose in a + hypnotized fashion and followed him out. Twice on the way to Bird Street + Mr. Simpson paused and said he had altered his mind, and twice did the + propulsion of Mr. Mills's right hand, and his flattering argument, make + him alter it again. +</p> +<p> + It was a matter of relief to Mr. Simpson that the barber took his + instructions without any show of surprise. It appeared, indeed, that an + elderly man of seventy-eight had enlisted his services for a similar + purpose not two months before, and had got married six weeks afterwards. + Age of the bride given as twenty-four, but said to have looked older. +</p> +<p> + A snip of the scissors, and six inches of white beard fell to the floor. + For the first time in thirty years Mr. Simpson felt a razor on his face. + Then his hair was cut and shampooed; and an hour later he sat gazing at a + dark-haired, clean-shaven man in the glass who gazed back at him with + wondering eyes—a lean-jawed, good-looking man, who, in a favourable + light, might pass for forty. He turned and met the admiring eyes of Mr. + Mills. +</p> +<p> + "What did I tell you?" inquired the latter. "You look young enough to + be your own son." +</p> +<p> + "Or grandson," said the barber, with professional pride. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson got up slowly from the chair and, accompanied by the admiring + Mr. Mills, passed out into the street. The evening was young, and, at + his friend's suggestion, they returned to the Plume of Feathers. +</p> +<p> + "You give the order," said Mr. Mills, "and see whether she recognizes + you." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson obeyed. +</p> +<p> + "Don't you know him?" inquired Mr. Mills, as the barmaid turned away. +</p> +<p> + "I don't think I have that pleasure," said the girl, simpering. +</p> +<p> + "Gran'pa's eldest boy," said Mr. Mills. +</p> +<p> + "Oh!" said the girl. "Well, I hope he's a better man than his father, + then?" +</p> +<p> + "What do you mean by that?" demanded Mr. Simpson, painfully conscious of + his friend's regards. +</p> +<p> + "Nothing," said the girl, "nothing. Only we can all be better, can't we? + He's a nice old gentleman; so simple." +</p> +<p> + "Don't know you from Adam," said Mr. Mills, as she turned away. "Now, if + you ask me, I don't believe as your own missis will recognize you." +</p> +<p> + "Rubbish," said Mr. Simpson. "My wife would know me anywhere. We've + been married over thirty years. Thirty years of sunshine and shadow + together. You're a single man, and don't understand these things." +</p> +<p> + "P'r'aps you're right," said his friend. "But it'll be a bit of a shock + to her, anyway. What do you say to me stepping round and breaking the + news to her? It's a bit sudden, you know. She's expecting a white- + haired old gentleman, not a black-haired boy." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson looked a bit uneasy. "P'r'aps I ought to have told her + first," he murmured, craning his neck to look in the glass at the back of + the bar. +</p> +<p> + "I'll go and put it right for you," said his friend. "You stay here and + smoke your pipe." +</p> +<p> + He stepped out briskly, but his pace slackened as he drew near the house. +</p> +<p> + "I—I—came—to see you about your husband," he faltered, as Mrs. Simpson + opened the door and stood regarding him. +</p> +<p> + "What's the matter?" she exclaimed, with a faint cry. "What's happened + to him?" +</p> +<p> + "Nothing," said Mr. Mills, hastily. "Nothing serious, that is. I just + came round to warn you so that you will be able to know it's him." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson let off a shriek that set his ears tingling. Then, + steadying herself by the wall, she tottered into the front room, followed + by the discomfited Mr. Mills, and sank into a chair. +</p> +<p> + "He's dead!" she sobbed. "He's dead!" +</p> +<p> + "He is not," said Mr. Mills. +</p> +<p> + "Is he much hurt? Is he dying?" gasped Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Only his hair," said Mr. Mills, clutching at the opening. "He is not + hurt at all." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson dabbed at her eyes-and sat regarding him in bewilderment. + Her twin chins were still quivering with emotion, but her eyes were + beginning to harden. "What are you talking about?" she inquired, in a + raspy voice. +</p> +<p> + "He's been to a hairdresser's," said Mr. Mills. "He's 'ad all his white + whiskers cut off, and his hair cut short and dyed black. And, what with + that and his new teeth, I thought—he thought—p'r'aps you mightn't know + him when he came home." +</p> +<p> + "Dyed?" cried Mrs. Simpson, starting to her feet. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Mills nodded. "He looks twenty years younger," he said, with a + smile. "He'd pass for his own son anywhere." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson's eyes snapped. "Perhaps he'd pass for my son," she + remarked. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, easy," said the tactful Mr. Mills. "You can't think what a + difference it's made to him. That's why I came to see you—so you + shouldn't be startled." +</p> +<p> + "Thank you," said Mrs. Simpson. "I'm much obliged. But you might have + spared yourself the trouble. I should know my husband anywhere." +</p> +<p> + "Ah, that's what you think," retorted Mr. Mills, with a smile; "but the + barmaid at the Plume didn't. That's what made me come to you." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson gazed at him. +</p> +<p> + "I says to myself," continued Mr. Mills, "'If she don't know him, I'm + certain his missis won't, and I'd better——'" +</p> +<p> + "You'd better go," interrupted his hostess. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Mills started, and then, with much dignity, stalked after her to the + door. +</p> +<p> + "As to your story, I don't believe a word of it," said Mrs. Simpson. + "Whatever else my husband is, he isn't a fool, and he'd no more think of + cutting off his whiskers and dyeing his hair than you would of telling + the truth." +</p> +<p> + "Seeing is believing," said the offended Mr. Mills, darkly. +</p> +<p> + "I'll wait till I do see, and then I sha'n't believe," was the reply. + "It is a put-up job between you and some other precious idiot, I expect. + But you can't deceive me. If your black-haired friend comes here, he'll + get it, I can tell you." +</p> +<p> + She slammed the door on his protests and, returning to the parlour, gazed + fiercely into the glass on the mantelpiece. It reflected sixteen stone + of honest English womanhood, a thin wisp of yellowish-grey hair, and a + pair of faded eyes peering through clumsy spectacles. +</p> +<p> + "Son, indeed!" she said, her lips quivering. "You wait till you come + home, my lord!" +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson, with some forebodings, returned home an hour later. To a + man who loved peace and quietness the report of the indignant Mr. Mills + was not of a reassuring nature. He hesitated on the doorstep for a few + seconds while he fumbled for his key, and then, humming unconcernedly, + hung his hat in the passage and walked into the parlour. +</p> +<p> + The astonished scream of his wife warned him that Mr. Mills had by no + means exaggerated. She rose from her seat and, crouching by the + fireplace, regarded him with a mixture of anger and dismay. +</p> +<p> + "It—it's all right, Milly," said Mr. Simpson, with a smile that revealed + a dazzling set of teeth. +</p> +<p> + "Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Simpson. "How dare you call me by my + Christian name. It's a good job for you my husband is not here." +</p> +<p> + "He wouldn't hurt me," said Mr. Simpson, with an attempt at + facetiousness. "He's the best friend I ever had. Why, we slept in the + same cradle." +</p> +<p> + "I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mrs. Simpson. "You get out of + my house before I send for the police. How dare you come into a + respectable woman's house in this fashion? Be off with you." +</p> +<p> + "Now, look here, Milly——" began Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + His wife drew herself up to her full height of four feet eleven. +</p> +<p> + "I've had a hair-cut and a shave," pursued her husband; "also I've had my + hair restored to its natural colour. But I'm the same man, and you know + it." +</p> +<p> + "I know nothing of the kind," said his wife, doggedly. "I don't know you + from Adam. I've never seen you before, and I don't want to see you + again. You go away." +</p> +<p> + "I'm your husband, and my place is at home," replied Mr. Simpson. "A man + can have a shave if he likes, can't he? Where's my supper?" +</p> +<p> + "Go on," said his wife. "Keep it up. But be careful my husband don't + come in and catch you, that's all." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson gazed at her fixedly, and then, with an impatient + exclamation, walked into the small kitchen and began to set the supper. + A joint of cold beef, a jar of pickles, bread, butter, and cheese made an + appetizing display. Then he took a jug from the dresser and descended to + the cellar. +</p> +<p> + A musical trickling fell on the ear of Mrs. Simpson as she stood at the + parlour door, and drew her stealthily to the cellar. The key was in the + lock, and, with a sudden movement, she closed the door and locked it. A + sharp cry from Mr. Simpson testified to his discomfiture. +</p> +<p> + "Now I'm off for the police," cried his wife. +</p> +<p> + "Don't be a fool," shouted Mr. Simpson, tugging wildly at the door- + handle. "Open the door." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson remained silent, and her husband resumed his efforts until + the door-knob, unused to such treatment, came off in his hand. A sudden + scrambling noise on the cellar stairs satisfied the listener that he had + not pulled it off intentionally. +</p> +<p> + She stood for a few moments, considering. It was a stout door and opened + inwards. She took her bonnet from its nail in the kitchen and, walking + softly to the street-door, set off to lay the case before a brother who + lived a few doors away. +</p> +<p> + "Poor old Bill," said Mr. Cooper, when she had finished. "Still, it + might be worse; he's got the barrel o' beer with him." +</p> +<p> + "It's not Bill," said Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Cooper scratched his whiskers and looked at his wife. +</p> +<p> + "She ought to know," said the latter. "We'll come and have a look at + him," said Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson pondered, and eyed him dubiously. +</p> +<p> + "Come in and have a bit of supper," she said at last. "There's a nice + piece of beef and pickles." +</p> +<p> + "And Bill—I mean the stranger—sitting on the beer-barrel," said Mr. + Cooper, gloomily. +</p> +<p> + "You can bring your beer with you," said his sister, sharply. "Come + along." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Cooper grinned, and, placing a couple of bottles in his coat pockets, + followed the two ladies to the house. Seated at the kitchen table, he + grinned again, as a persistent drumming took place on the cellar door. + His wife smiled, and a faint, sour attempt in the same direction appeared + on the face of Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Open the door!" bellowed an indignant voice. "Open the door!" +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson, commanding silence with an uplifted finger, proceeded to + carve the beef. A rattle of knives and forks succeeded. +</p> +<p> + "O-pen-the-door!" said the voice again. +</p> +<p> + "Not so much noise," commanded Mr. Cooper. "I can't hear myself eat." +</p> +<p> + "Bob!" said the voice, in relieved accents, "Bob! Come and let me out." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Cooper, putting a huge hand over his mouth, struggled nobly with his + feelings. +</p> +<p> + "Who are you calling 'Bob'?" he demanded, in an unsteady voice. "You + keep yourself to yourself. I've heard all about you. You've got to stay + there till my brother-in-law comes home." +</p> +<p> + "It's me, Bob," said Mr. Simpson—"Bill." +</p> +<p> + "Yes, I dare say," said Mr. Cooper; "but if you're Bill, why haven't you + got Bill's voice?" +</p> +<p> + "Let me out and look at me," said Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + There was a faint scream from both ladies, followed by protests. +</p> +<p> + "Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Cooper, reassuringly. "I wasn't born + yesterday. I don't want to get a crack over the head." +</p> +<p> + "It's all a mistake, Bob," said the prisoner, appealingly. "I just had a + shave and a haircut and—and a little hair-dye. If you open the door + you'll know me at once." +</p> +<p> + "How would it be," said Mr. Cooper, turning to his sister, and speaking + with unusual distinctness—"how would it be if you opened the door, and + just as he put his head out I hit it a crack with the poker?" +</p> +<p> + "You try it on," said the voice behind the door, hotly. "You know who I + am well enough, Bob Cooper. I don't want any more of your nonsense. + Milly has put you up to this!" +</p> +<p> + "If your wife don't know you, how do you think I can?" said Mr. Cooper. + "Now, look here; you keep quiet till my brother-in-law comes home. If he + don't come home perhaps we shall be more likely to think you're him. If + he's not home by to-morrow morning we—Hsh! Hsh! Don't you know there's + ladies present?" +</p> +<p> + "That settles it," said Mrs. Cooper, speaking for the first time. "My + brother-in-law would never talk like that." +</p> +<p> + "I should never forgive him if he did," said her husband, piously. +</p> +<p> + He poured himself out another glass of beer and resumed his supper with + relish. Conversation turned on the weather, and from that to the price + of potatoes. Frantic efforts on the part of the prisoner to join in the + conversation and give it a more personal turn were disregarded. Finally + he began to kick with monotonous persistency on the door. +</p> +<p> + "Stop it!" shouted Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "I won't," said Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + The noise became unendurable. Mr. Cooper, who had just lit his pipe, + laid it on the table and looked round at his companions. +</p> +<p> + "He'll have the door down soon," he said, rising. "Halloa, there!" +</p> +<p> + "Halloa!" said the other. +</p> +<p> + "You say you're Bill Simpson," said Mr. Cooper, holding up a forefinger + at Mrs. Simpson, who was about to interrupt. "If you are, tell us + something you know that only you could know; something we know, so as + to identify you. Things about your past." +</p> +<p> + A strange noise sounded behind the door. +</p> +<p> + "Sounds as though he is smacking his lips," said Mrs. Cooper to her + sister-in-law, who was eyeing Mr. Cooper restlessly. +</p> +<p> + "Very good," said Mr. Simpson; "I agree. Who is there?" +</p> +<p> + "Me and my wife and Mrs. Simpson," said Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "He is smacking his lips," whispered Mrs. Cooper. "Having a go at the + beer, perhaps." +</p> +<p> + "Let's go back fifteen years," said Mr. Simpson in meditative tones. "Do + you remember that girl with copper-coloured hair that used to live in + John Street?" +</p> +<p> + "No!" said Mr. Cooper, loudly and suddenly. +</p> +<p> + "Do you remember coming to me one day—two days after Valentine Day, it + was—white as chalk and shaking like a leaf, and—" +</p> +<p> + "NO!" roared Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "Very well, I must try something else, then," said Mr. Simpson, + philosophically. "Carry your mind back ten years, Bob Cooper—" +</p> +<p> + "Look here!" said Mr. Cooper, turning round with a ghastly smile. "We'd + better get off home, Mary. I don't like interfering in other people's + concerns. Never did." +</p> +<p> + "You stay where you are," said his wife. +</p> +<p> + "Ten years," repeated the voice behind the door. "There was a new + barmaid at the Crown, and one night you——" +</p> +<p> + "If I listen to any more of this nonsense I shall burst," remarked Mr. + Cooper, plaintively. +</p> +<p> + "Go on," prompted Mrs. Cooper, grimly. "One night——" +</p> +<p> + "Never mind," said Mr. Simpson. "It doesn't matter. But does he + identify me? Because if not I've got a lot more things I can try." +</p> +<p> + The harassed Mr. Cooper looked around appealingly. +</p> +<p> + "How do you expect me to recognize you—" he began, and stopped suddenly. +</p> +<p> + "Go back to your courting days, then," said Mr. Simpson, "when Mrs. + Cooper wasn't Mrs. Cooper, but only wanted to be." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Cooper shivered; so did Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "And you came round to me for advice," pursued Mr. Simpson, in + reminiscent accents, "because there was another girl you wasn't sure of, + and you didn't want to lose them both. Do you remember sitting with the + two photographs—one on each knee—and trying to make up your mind?" +</p> +<p> + "Wonderful imagination," said Mr. Cooper, smiling in a ghastly fashion at + his wife. "Hark at him!" +</p> +<p> + "I am harking," said Mrs. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "Am I Bill Simpson or am I not?" demanded Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Bill was always fond of his joke," said Mr. Cooper, with a glance at the + company that would have moved an oyster. "He was always fond of making + up things. You're like him in that. What do you think, Milly?" +</p> +<p> + "It's not my husband," said Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Tell us something about her," said Mr. Cooper, hastily. +</p> +<p> + "I daren't," said Mr. Simpson. "Doesn't that prove I'm her husband? But + I'll tell you things about your wife, if you like." +</p> +<p> + "You dare!" said Mrs. Cooper, turning crimson, as she realized what + confidences might have passed between husband and wife. "If you say a + word of your lies about me, I don't know what I won't do to you." +</p> +<p> + "Very well, I must go on about Bob, then—till he recognizes me," said + Mr. Simpson, patiently. "Carry your mind—" +</p> +<p> + "Open the door and let him out," shouted Mr. Cooper, turning to his + sister. "How can I recognize a man through a deal door?" +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson, after a little hesitation, handed him the key, and the next + moment her husband stepped out and stood blinking in the gas-light. +</p> +<p> + "Do you recognize me?" he asked, turning to Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "I do," said that gentleman, with a ferocious growl. +</p> +<p> + "I'd know you anywhere," said Mrs. Cooper, with emphasis. +</p> +<p> + "And you?" said Mr. Simpson, turning to his wife. +</p> +<p> + "You're not my husband," she said, obstinately. +</p> +<p> + "Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "Certain." +</p> +<p> + "Very good, then," said her brother. "If he's not your husband I'm going + to knock his head off for telling them lies about me." +</p> +<p> + He sprang forward and, catching Mr. Simpson by the collar, shook him + violently until his head banged against the dresser. The next moment the + hands of Mrs. Simpson were in the hair of Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "How dare you knock my husband about!" she screamed, as Mr. Cooper let go + and caught her fingers. "You've hurt him." +</p> +<p> + "Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind. +</p> +<p> + His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap, + tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by + watching until his wife touched him on the arm. +</p> +<p> + "You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are + you going to stay here all night?" +</p> +<p> + "I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully. +</p> + + + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stepping Backwards, by W.W. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Stepping Backwards + Night Watches, Part 5. + +Author: W.W. Jacobs + +Release Date: April 26, 2004 [EBook #12155] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPPING BACKWARDS *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +NIGHT WATCHES + +by W.W. Jacobs + + + + +STEPPING BACKWARDS + +"Wonderful improvement," said Mr. Jack Mills. "Show 'em to me again." + +Mr. Simpson took his pipe from his mouth and, parting his lips, revealed +his new teeth. + +"And you talk better," said Mr. Mills, taking his glass from the counter +and emptying it; "you ain't got that silly lisp you used to have. What +does your missis think of 'em?" + +"She hasn't seen 'em yet," said the other. "I had 'em put in at dinner- +time. I ate my dinner with 'em." + +Mr. Mills expressed his admiration. "If it wasn't for your white hair +and whiskers you'd look thirty again," he said, slowly. "How old are +you?" + +"Fifty-three," said his friend. "If it wasn't for being laughed at I've +often thought of having my whiskers shaved off and my hair dyed black. +People think I'm sixty." + +"Or seventy," continued Mr. Mills. "What does it matter, people +laughing? You've got a splendid head of 'air, and it would dye +beautiful." + +Mr. Simpson shook his head and, ordering a couple of glasses of bitter, +attacked his in silence. + +"It might be done gradual," he said, after a long interval. "It don't +do anybody good at the warehouse to look old." + +"Make a clean job of it," counselled Mr. Mills, who was very fond of a +little cheap excitement. "Get it over and done with. You've got good +features, and you'd look splendid clean-shaved." Mr. Simpson smiled +faintly. "Only on Wednesday the barmaid here was asking after you," +pursued Mr. Mills. Mr. Simpson smiled again. "She says to me, 'Where's +Gran'pa?' she says, and when I says, haughty like, 'Who do you mean?' +she says, 'Father Christmas!' If you was to tell her that you are only +fifty-three, she'd laugh in your face." + +"Let her laugh," said the other, sourly. + +"Come out and get it off," said Mr. Mills, earnestly. "There's a +barber's in Bird Street; you could go in the little back room, where he +charges a penny more, and get it done without anybody being a bit the +wiser." + +He put his hand on Mr. Simpson's shoulder, and that gentleman, with a +glare in the direction of the fair but unconscious offender, rose in a +hypnotized fashion and followed him out. Twice on the way to Bird +Street Mr. Simpson paused and said he had altered his mind, and twice +did the propulsion of Mr. Mills's right hand, and his flattering +argument, make him alter it again. + +It was a matter of relief to Mr. Simpson that the barber took his +instructions without any show of surprise. It appeared, indeed, that an +elderly man of seventy-eight had enlisted his services for a similar +purpose not two months before, and had got married six weeks afterwards. +Age of the bride given as twenty-four, but said to have looked older. + +A snip of the scissors, and six inches of white beard fell to the floor. +For the first time in thirty years Mr. Simpson felt a razor on his face. +Then his hair was cut and shampooed; and an hour later he sat gazing at +a dark-haired, clean-shaven man in the glass who gazed back at him with +wondering eyes--a lean-jawed, good-looking man, who, in a favourable +light, might pass for forty. He turned and met the admiring eyes of Mr. +Mills. + +"What did I tell you?" inquired the latter. "You look young enough to +be your own son." + +"Or grandson," said the barber, with professional pride. + +Mr. Simpson got up slowly from the chair and, accompanied by the +admiring Mr. Mills, passed out into the street. The evening was young, +and, at his friend's suggestion, they returned to the Plume of Feathers. + +"You give the order," said Mr. Mills, "and see whether she recognizes +you." + +Mr. Simpson obeyed. + +"Don't you know him?" inquired Mr. Mills, as the barmaid turned away. + +"I don't think I have that pleasure," said the girl, simpering. + +"Gran'pa's eldest boy," said Mr. Mills. + +"Oh!" said the girl. "Well, I hope he's a better man than his father, +then?" + +"What do you mean by that?" demanded Mr. Simpson, painfully conscious +of his friend's regards. + +"Nothing," said the girl, "nothing. Only we can all be better, can't +we? He's a nice old gentleman; so simple." + +"Don't know you from Adam," said Mr. Mills, as she turned away. "Now, +if you ask me, I don't believe as your own missis will recognize you." + +"Rubbish," said Mr. Simpson. "My wife would know me anywhere. We've +been married over thirty years. Thirty years of sunshine and shadow +together. You're a single man, and don't understand these things." + +"P'r'aps you're right," said his friend. "But it'll be a bit of a shock +to her, anyway. What do you say to me stepping round and breaking the +news to her? It's a bit sudden, you know. She's expecting a white- +haired old gentleman, not a black-haired boy." + +Mr. Simpson looked a bit uneasy. "P'r'aps I ought to have told her +first," he murmured, craning his neck to look in the glass at the back +of the bar. + +"I'll go and put it right for you," said his friend. "You stay here and +smoke your pipe." + +He stepped out briskly, but his pace slackened as he drew near the +house. + +"I--I--came--to see you about your husband," he faltered, as Mrs. +Simpson opened the door and stood regarding him. + +"What's the matter?" she exclaimed, with a faint cry. "What's happened +to him?" + +"Nothing," said Mr. Mills, hastily. "Nothing serious, that is. I just +came round to warn you so that you will be able to know it's him." + +Mrs. Simpson let off a shriek that set his ears tingling. Then, +steadying herself by the wall, she tottered into the front room, +followed by the discomfited Mr. Mills, and sank into a chair. + +"He's dead!" she sobbed. "He's dead!" + +"He is not," said Mr. Mills. + +"Is he much hurt? Is he dying?" gasped Mrs. Simpson. + +"Only his hair," said Mr. Mills, clutching at the opening. "He is not +hurt at all." + +Mrs. Simpson dabbed at her eyes-and sat regarding him in bewilderment. +Her twin chins were still quivering with emotion, but her eyes were +beginning to harden. "What are you talking about?" she inquired, in a +raspy voice. + +"He's been to a hairdresser's," said Mr. Mills. "He's 'ad all his white +whiskers cut off, and his hair cut short and dyed black. And, what with +that and his new teeth, I thought--he thought--p'r'aps you mightn't know +him when he came home." + +"Dyed?" cried Mrs. Simpson, starting to her feet. + +Mr. Mills nodded. "He looks twenty years younger," he said, with a +smile. "He'd pass for his own son anywhere." + +Mrs. Simpson's eyes snapped. "Perhaps he'd pass for my son," she +remarked. + +"Yes, easy," said the tactful Mr. Mills. "You can't think what a +difference it's made to him. That's why I came to see you--so you +shouldn't be startled." + +"Thank you," said Mrs. Simpson. "I'm much obliged. But you might have +spared yourself the trouble. I should know my husband anywhere." + +"Ah, that's what you think," retorted Mr. Mills, with a smile; "but the +barmaid at the Plume didn't. That's what made me come to you." + +Mrs. Simpson gazed at him. + +"I says to myself," continued Mr. Mills, "'If she don't know him, I'm +certain his missis won't, and I'd better----'" + +"You'd better go," interrupted his hostess. + +Mr. Mills started, and then, with much dignity, stalked after her to the +door. + +"As to your story, I don't believe a word of it," said Mrs. Simpson. +"Whatever else my husband is, he isn't a fool, and he'd no more think of +cutting off his whiskers and dyeing his hair than you would of telling +the truth." + +"Seeing is believing," said the offended Mr. Mills, darkly. + +"I'll wait till I do see, and then I sha'n't believe," was the reply. +"It is a put-up job between you and some other precious idiot, I expect. +But you can't deceive me. If your black-haired friend comes here, he'll +get it, I can tell you." + +She slammed the door on his protests and, returning to the parlour, +gazed fiercely into the glass on the mantelpiece. It reflected sixteen +stone of honest English womanhood, a thin wisp of yellowish-grey hair, +and a pair of faded eyes peering through clumsy spectacles. + +"Son, indeed!" she said, her lips quivering. "You wait till you come +home, my lord!" + +Mr. Simpson, with some forebodings, returned home an hour later. To a +man who loved peace and quietness the report of the indignant Mr. Mills +was not of a reassuring nature. He hesitated on the doorstep for a few +seconds while he fumbled for his key, and then, humming unconcernedly, +hung his hat in the passage and walked into the parlour. + +The astonished scream of his wife warned him that Mr. Mills had by no +means exaggerated. She rose from her seat and, crouching by the +fireplace, regarded him with a mixture of anger and dismay. + +"It--it's all right, Milly," said Mr. Simpson, with a smile that +revealed a dazzling set of teeth. + +"Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Simpson. "How dare you call me by my +Christian name. It's a good job for you my husband is not here." + +"He wouldn't hurt me," said Mr. Simpson, with an attempt at +facetiousness. "He's the best friend I ever had. Why, we slept in the +same cradle." + +"I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mrs. Simpson. "You get out of +my house before I send for the police. How dare you come into a +respectable woman's house in this fashion? Be off with you." + +"Now, look here, Milly----" began Mr. Simpson. + +His wife drew herself up to her full height of four feet eleven. + +"I've had a hair-cut and a shave," pursued her husband; "also I've had +my hair restored to its natural colour. But I'm the same man, and you +know it." + +"I know nothing of the kind," said his wife, doggedly. "I don't know +you from Adam. I've never seen you before, and I don't want to see you +again. You go away." + +"I'm your husband, and my place is at home," replied Mr. Simpson. "A +man can have a shave if he likes, can't he? Where's my supper?" + +"Go on," said his wife. "Keep it up. But be careful my husband don't +come in and catch you, that's all." + +Mr. Simpson gazed at her fixedly, and then, with an impatient +exclamation, walked into the small kitchen and began to set the supper. +A joint of cold beef, a jar of pickles, bread, butter, and cheese made +an appetizing display. Then he took a jug from the dresser and +descended to the cellar. + +A musical trickling fell on the ear of Mrs. Simpson as she stood at the +parlour door, and drew her stealthily to the cellar. The key was in the +lock, and, with a sudden movement, she closed the door and locked it. A +sharp cry from Mr. Simpson testified to his discomfiture. + +"Now I'm off for the police," cried his wife. + +"Don't be a fool," shouted Mr. Simpson, tugging wildly at the door- +handle. "Open the door." + +Mrs. Simpson remained silent, and her husband resumed his efforts until +the door-knob, unused to such treatment, came off in his hand. A sudden +scrambling noise on the cellar stairs satisfied the listener that he had +not pulled it off intentionally. + +She stood for a few moments, considering. It was a stout door and +opened inwards. She took her bonnet from its nail in the kitchen and, +walking softly to the street-door, set off to lay the case before a +brother who lived a few doors away. + +"Poor old Bill," said Mr. Cooper, when she had finished. "Still, it +might be worse; he's got the barrel o' beer with him." + +"It's not Bill," said Mrs. Simpson. + +Mr. Cooper scratched his whiskers and looked at his wife. + +"She ought to know," said the latter. "We'll come and have a look at +him," said Mr. Cooper. + +Mrs. Simpson pondered, and eyed him dubiously. + +"Come in and have a bit of supper," she said at last. "There's a nice +piece of beef and pickles." + +"And Bill--I mean the stranger--sitting on the beer-barrel," said Mr. +Cooper, gloomily. + +"You can bring your beer with you," said his sister, sharply. "Come +along." + +Mr. Cooper grinned, and, placing a couple of bottles in his coat +pockets, followed the two ladies to the house. Seated at the kitchen +table, he grinned again, as a persistent drumming took place on the +cellar door. His wife smiled, and a faint, sour attempt in the same +direction appeared on the face of Mrs. Simpson. + +"Open the door!" bellowed an indignant voice. "Open the door!" + +Mrs. Simpson, commanding silence with an uplifted finger, proceeded to +carve the beef. A rattle of knives and forks succeeded. + +"O-pen-the-door!" said the voice again. + +"Not so much noise," commanded Mr. Cooper. "I can't hear myself eat." + +"Bob!" said the voice, in relieved accents, "Bob! Come and let me +out." + +Mr. Cooper, putting a huge hand over his mouth, struggled nobly with his +feelings. + +"Who are you calling 'Bob'?" he demanded, in an unsteady voice. "You +keep yourself to yourself. I've heard all about you. You've got to +stay there till my brother-in-law comes home." + +"It's me, Bob," said Mr. Simpson--"Bill." + +"Yes, I dare say," said Mr. Cooper; "but if you're Bill, why haven't you +got Bill's voice?" + +"Let me out and look at me," said Mr. Simpson. + +There was a faint scream from both ladies, followed by protests. + +"Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Cooper, reassuringly. "I wasn't born +yesterday. I don't want to get a crack over the head." + +"It's all a mistake, Bob," said the prisoner, appealingly. "I just had +a shave and a haircut and--and a little hair-dye. If you open the door +you'll know me at once." + +"How would it be," said Mr. Cooper, turning to his sister, and speaking +with unusual distinctness--"how would it be if you opened the door, and +just as he put his head out I hit it a crack with the poker?" + +"You try it on," said the voice behind the door, hotly. "You know who I +am well enough, Bob Cooper. I don't want any more of your nonsense. +Milly has put you up to this!" + +"If your wife don't know you, how do you think I can?" said Mr. Cooper. +"Now, look here; you keep quiet till my brother-in-law comes home. If +he don't come home perhaps we shall be more likely to think you're him. +If he's not home by to-morrow morning we--Hsh! Hsh! Don't you know +there's ladies present?" + +"That settles it," said Mrs. Cooper, speaking for the first time. "My +brother-in-law would never talk like that." + +"I should never forgive him if he did," said her husband, piously. + +He poured himself out another glass of beer and resumed his supper with +relish. Conversation turned on the weather, and from that to the price +of potatoes. Frantic efforts on the part of the prisoner to join in the +conversation and give it a more personal turn were disregarded. Finally +he began to kick with monotonous persistency on the door. + +"Stop it!" shouted Mr. Cooper. + +"I won't," said Mr. Simpson. + +The noise became unendurable. Mr. Cooper, who had just lit his pipe, +laid it on the table and looked round at his companions. + +"He'll have the door down soon," he said, rising. "Halloa, there!" + +"Halloa!" said the other. + +"You say you're Bill Simpson," said Mr. Cooper, holding up a forefinger +at Mrs. Simpson, who was about to interrupt. "If you are, tell us +something you know that only you could know; something we know, so as to +identify you. Things about your past." + +A strange noise sounded behind the door. + +"Sounds as though he is smacking his lips," said Mrs. Cooper to her +sister-in-law, who was eyeing Mr. Cooper restlessly. + +"Very good," said Mr. Simpson; "I agree. Who is there?" + +"Me and my wife and Mrs. Simpson," said Mr. Cooper. + +"He is smacking his lips," whispered Mrs. Cooper. "Having a go at the +beer, perhaps." + +"Let's go back fifteen years," said Mr. Simpson in meditative tones. +"Do you remember that girl with copper-coloured hair that used to live +in John Street?" + +"No!" said Mr. Cooper, loudly and suddenly. + +"Do you remember coming to me one day--two days after Valentine Day, it +was--white as chalk and shaking like a leaf, and--" + +"NO!" roared Mr. Cooper. + +"Very well, I must try something else, then," said Mr. Simpson, +philosophically. "Carry your mind back ten years, Bob Cooper--" + +"Look here!" said Mr. Cooper, turning round with a ghastly smile. +"We'd better get off home, Mary. I don't like interfering in other +people's concerns. Never did." + +"You stay where you are," said his wife. + +"Ten years," repeated the voice behind the door. "There was a new +barmaid at the Crown, and one night you----" + +"If I listen to any more of this nonsense I shall burst," remarked Mr. +Cooper, plaintively. + +"Go on," prompted Mrs. Cooper, grimly. "One night----" + +"Never mind," said Mr. Simpson. "It doesn't matter. But does he +identify me? Because if not I've got a lot more things I can try." + +The harassed Mr. Cooper looked around appealingly. + +"How do you expect me to recognize you--" he began, and stopped +suddenly. + +"Go back to your courting days, then," said Mr. Simpson, "when Mrs. +Cooper wasn't Mrs. Cooper, but only wanted to be." + +Mrs. Cooper shivered; so did Mr. Cooper. + +"And you came round to me for advice," pursued Mr. Simpson, in +reminiscent accents, "because there was another girl you wasn't sure of, +and you didn't want to lose them both. Do you remember sitting with the +two photographs--one on each knee--and trying to make up your mind?" + +"Wonderful imagination," said Mr. Cooper, smiling in a ghastly fashion +at his wife. "Hark at him!" + +"I am harking," said Mrs. Cooper. + +"Am I Bill Simpson or am I not?" demanded Mr. Simpson. + +"Bill was always fond of his joke," said Mr. Cooper, with a glance at +the company that would have moved an oyster. "He was always fond of +making up things. You're like him in that. What do you think, Milly?" + +"It's not my husband," said Mrs. Simpson. + +"Tell us something about her," said Mr. Cooper, hastily. + +"I daren't," said Mr. Simpson. "Doesn't that prove I'm her husband? +But I'll tell you things about your wife, if you like." + +"You dare!" said Mrs. Cooper, turning crimson, as she realized what +confidences might have passed between husband and wife. "If you say a +word of your lies about me, I don't know what I won't do to you." + +"Very well, I must go on about Bob, then--till he recognizes me," said +Mr. Simpson, patiently. "Carry your mind--" + +"Open the door and let him out," shouted Mr. Cooper, turning to his +sister. "How can I recognize a man through a deal door?" + +Mrs. Simpson, after a little hesitation, handed him the key, and the +next moment her husband stepped out and stood blinking in the gas-light. + +"Do you recognize me?" he asked, turning to Mr. Cooper. + +"I do," said that gentleman, with a ferocious growl. + +"I'd know you anywhere," said Mrs. Cooper, with emphasis. + +"And you?" said Mr. Simpson, turning to his wife. + +"You're not my husband," she said, obstinately. + +"Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Cooper. + +"Certain." + +"Very good, then," said her brother. "If he's not your husband I'm +going to knock his head off for telling them lies about me." + +He sprang forward and, catching Mr. Simpson by the collar, shook him +violently until his head banged against the dresser. The next moment +the hands of Mrs. Simpson were in the hair of Mr. Cooper. + +"How dare you knock my husband about!" she screamed, as Mr. Cooper let +go and caught her fingers. "You've hurt him." + +"Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind. + +His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap, +tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by +watching until his wife touched him on the arm. + +"You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are +you going to stay here all night?" + +"I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stepping Backwards, by W.W. 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Jacobs. +</title> + + +<style type="text/css"> + <!-- + body {background:#faebd7;} + P { text-indent: 1em; + margin: 15%; + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; } + HR { width: 33%; } + PRE { font-family: cursive} + .toc { margin-left: 15%; margin-bottom: 0em;} + CENTER { padding: 10px;} + // --> +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Stepping Backwards, by W.W. Jacobs + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Stepping Backwards + Night Watches, Part 5. + +Author: W.W. Jacobs + +Release Date: April 26, 2004 [EBook #12155] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPPING BACKWARDS *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="cover (127K)" src="cover.jpg" height="899" width="725" /> +</center> +<br><br> + + + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="title (37K)" src="title.jpg" height="655" width="462" /> +</center> +<br><br> + + + + +<a name="2H_4_5"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h1> + STEPPING BACKWARDS +</h1> +<br /><br /> +<p> + "Wonderful improvement," said Mr. Jack Mills. "Show 'em to me again." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson took his pipe from his mouth and, parting his lips, revealed + his new teeth. +</p> +<p> + "And you talk better," said Mr. Mills, taking his glass from the counter + and emptying it; "you ain't got that silly lisp you used to have. What + does your missis think of 'em?" +</p> +<p> + "She hasn't seen 'em yet," said the other. "I had 'em put in at dinner- + time. I ate my dinner with 'em." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Mills expressed his admiration. "If it wasn't for your white hair + and whiskers you'd look thirty again," he said, slowly. "How old are + you?" +</p> +<p> + "Fifty-three," said his friend. "If it wasn't for being laughed at I've + often thought of having my whiskers shaved off and my hair dyed black. + People think I'm sixty." +</p> +<p> + "Or seventy," continued Mr. Mills. "What does it matter, people + laughing? You've got a splendid head of 'air, and it would dye + beautiful." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson shook his head and, ordering a couple of glasses of bitter, + attacked his in silence. +</p> +<p> + "It might be done gradual," he said, after a long interval. "It don't do + anybody good at the warehouse to look old." +</p> +<p> + "Make a clean job of it," counselled Mr. Mills, who was very fond of a + little cheap excitement. "Get it over and done with. You've got good + features, and you'd look splendid clean-shaved." Mr. Simpson smiled + faintly. "Only on Wednesday the barmaid here was asking after you," + pursued Mr. Mills. Mr. Simpson smiled again. "She says to me, 'Where's + Gran'pa?' she says, and when I says, haughty like, 'Who do you mean?' she + says, 'Father Christmas!' If you was to tell her that you are only + fifty-three, she'd laugh in your face." +</p> +<p> + "Let her laugh," said the other, sourly. +</p> +<p> + "Come out and get it off," said Mr. Mills, earnestly. "There's a + barber's in Bird Street; you could go in the little back room, where he + charges a penny more, and get it done without anybody being a bit the + wiser." +</p> +<p> + He put his hand on Mr. Simpson's shoulder, and that gentleman, with a + glare in the direction of the fair but unconscious offender, rose in a + hypnotized fashion and followed him out. Twice on the way to Bird Street + Mr. Simpson paused and said he had altered his mind, and twice did the + propulsion of Mr. Mills's right hand, and his flattering argument, make + him alter it again. +</p> +<p> + It was a matter of relief to Mr. Simpson that the barber took his + instructions without any show of surprise. It appeared, indeed, that an + elderly man of seventy-eight had enlisted his services for a similar + purpose not two months before, and had got married six weeks afterwards. + Age of the bride given as twenty-four, but said to have looked older. +</p> +<p> + A snip of the scissors, and six inches of white beard fell to the floor. + For the first time in thirty years Mr. Simpson felt a razor on his face. + Then his hair was cut and shampooed; and an hour later he sat gazing at a + dark-haired, clean-shaven man in the glass who gazed back at him with + wondering eyes—a lean-jawed, good-looking man, who, in a favourable + light, might pass for forty. He turned and met the admiring eyes of Mr. + Mills. +</p> +<p> + "What did I tell you?" inquired the latter. "You look young enough to + be your own son." +</p> +<p> + "Or grandson," said the barber, with professional pride. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson got up slowly from the chair and, accompanied by the admiring + Mr. Mills, passed out into the street. The evening was young, and, at + his friend's suggestion, they returned to the Plume of Feathers. +</p> +<p> + "You give the order," said Mr. Mills, "and see whether she recognizes + you." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson obeyed. +</p> +<p> + "Don't you know him?" inquired Mr. Mills, as the barmaid turned away. +</p> +<p> + "I don't think I have that pleasure," said the girl, simpering. +</p> +<p> + "Gran'pa's eldest boy," said Mr. Mills. +</p> +<p> + "Oh!" said the girl. "Well, I hope he's a better man than his father, + then?" +</p> +<p> + "What do you mean by that?" demanded Mr. Simpson, painfully conscious of + his friend's regards. +</p> +<p> + "Nothing," said the girl, "nothing. Only we can all be better, can't we? + He's a nice old gentleman; so simple." +</p> +<p> + "Don't know you from Adam," said Mr. Mills, as she turned away. "Now, if + you ask me, I don't believe as your own missis will recognize you." +</p> +<p> + "Rubbish," said Mr. Simpson. "My wife would know me anywhere. We've + been married over thirty years. Thirty years of sunshine and shadow + together. You're a single man, and don't understand these things." +</p> +<p> + "P'r'aps you're right," said his friend. "But it'll be a bit of a shock + to her, anyway. What do you say to me stepping round and breaking the + news to her? It's a bit sudden, you know. She's expecting a white- + haired old gentleman, not a black-haired boy." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson looked a bit uneasy. "P'r'aps I ought to have told her + first," he murmured, craning his neck to look in the glass at the back of + the bar. +</p> +<p> + "I'll go and put it right for you," said his friend. "You stay here and + smoke your pipe." +</p> +<p> + He stepped out briskly, but his pace slackened as he drew near the house. +</p> +<p> + "I—I—came—to see you about your husband," he faltered, as Mrs. Simpson + opened the door and stood regarding him. +</p> +<p> + "What's the matter?" she exclaimed, with a faint cry. "What's happened + to him?" +</p> +<p> + "Nothing," said Mr. Mills, hastily. "Nothing serious, that is. I just + came round to warn you so that you will be able to know it's him." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson let off a shriek that set his ears tingling. Then, + steadying herself by the wall, she tottered into the front room, followed + by the discomfited Mr. Mills, and sank into a chair. +</p> +<p> + "He's dead!" she sobbed. "He's dead!" +</p> +<p> + "He is not," said Mr. Mills. +</p> +<p> + "Is he much hurt? Is he dying?" gasped Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Only his hair," said Mr. Mills, clutching at the opening. "He is not + hurt at all." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson dabbed at her eyes-and sat regarding him in bewilderment. + Her twin chins were still quivering with emotion, but her eyes were + beginning to harden. "What are you talking about?" she inquired, in a + raspy voice. +</p> +<p> + "He's been to a hairdresser's," said Mr. Mills. "He's 'ad all his white + whiskers cut off, and his hair cut short and dyed black. And, what with + that and his new teeth, I thought—he thought—p'r'aps you mightn't know + him when he came home." +</p> +<p> + "Dyed?" cried Mrs. Simpson, starting to her feet. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Mills nodded. "He looks twenty years younger," he said, with a + smile. "He'd pass for his own son anywhere." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson's eyes snapped. "Perhaps he'd pass for my son," she + remarked. +</p> +<p> + "Yes, easy," said the tactful Mr. Mills. "You can't think what a + difference it's made to him. That's why I came to see you—so you + shouldn't be startled." +</p> +<p> + "Thank you," said Mrs. Simpson. "I'm much obliged. But you might have + spared yourself the trouble. I should know my husband anywhere." +</p> +<p> + "Ah, that's what you think," retorted Mr. Mills, with a smile; "but the + barmaid at the Plume didn't. That's what made me come to you." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson gazed at him. +</p> +<p> + "I says to myself," continued Mr. Mills, "'If she don't know him, I'm + certain his missis won't, and I'd better——'" +</p> +<p> + "You'd better go," interrupted his hostess. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Mills started, and then, with much dignity, stalked after her to the + door. +</p> +<p> + "As to your story, I don't believe a word of it," said Mrs. Simpson. + "Whatever else my husband is, he isn't a fool, and he'd no more think of + cutting off his whiskers and dyeing his hair than you would of telling + the truth." +</p> +<p> + "Seeing is believing," said the offended Mr. Mills, darkly. +</p> +<p> + "I'll wait till I do see, and then I sha'n't believe," was the reply. + "It is a put-up job between you and some other precious idiot, I expect. + But you can't deceive me. If your black-haired friend comes here, he'll + get it, I can tell you." +</p> +<p> + She slammed the door on his protests and, returning to the parlour, gazed + fiercely into the glass on the mantelpiece. It reflected sixteen stone + of honest English womanhood, a thin wisp of yellowish-grey hair, and a + pair of faded eyes peering through clumsy spectacles. +</p> +<p> + "Son, indeed!" she said, her lips quivering. "You wait till you come + home, my lord!" +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson, with some forebodings, returned home an hour later. To a + man who loved peace and quietness the report of the indignant Mr. Mills + was not of a reassuring nature. He hesitated on the doorstep for a few + seconds while he fumbled for his key, and then, humming unconcernedly, + hung his hat in the passage and walked into the parlour. +</p> +<p> + The astonished scream of his wife warned him that Mr. Mills had by no + means exaggerated. She rose from her seat and, crouching by the + fireplace, regarded him with a mixture of anger and dismay. +</p> +<p> + "It—it's all right, Milly," said Mr. Simpson, with a smile that revealed + a dazzling set of teeth. +</p> +<p> + "Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Simpson. "How dare you call me by my + Christian name. It's a good job for you my husband is not here." +</p> +<p> + "He wouldn't hurt me," said Mr. Simpson, with an attempt at + facetiousness. "He's the best friend I ever had. Why, we slept in the + same cradle." +</p> +<p> + "I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mrs. Simpson. "You get out of + my house before I send for the police. How dare you come into a + respectable woman's house in this fashion? Be off with you." +</p> +<p> + "Now, look here, Milly——" began Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + His wife drew herself up to her full height of four feet eleven. +</p> +<p> + "I've had a hair-cut and a shave," pursued her husband; "also I've had my + hair restored to its natural colour. But I'm the same man, and you know + it." +</p> +<p> + "I know nothing of the kind," said his wife, doggedly. "I don't know you + from Adam. I've never seen you before, and I don't want to see you + again. You go away." +</p> +<p> + "I'm your husband, and my place is at home," replied Mr. Simpson. "A man + can have a shave if he likes, can't he? Where's my supper?" +</p> +<p> + "Go on," said his wife. "Keep it up. But be careful my husband don't + come in and catch you, that's all." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Simpson gazed at her fixedly, and then, with an impatient + exclamation, walked into the small kitchen and began to set the supper. + A joint of cold beef, a jar of pickles, bread, butter, and cheese made an + appetizing display. Then he took a jug from the dresser and descended to + the cellar. +</p> +<p> + A musical trickling fell on the ear of Mrs. Simpson as she stood at the + parlour door, and drew her stealthily to the cellar. The key was in the + lock, and, with a sudden movement, she closed the door and locked it. A + sharp cry from Mr. Simpson testified to his discomfiture. +</p> +<p> + "Now I'm off for the police," cried his wife. +</p> +<p> + "Don't be a fool," shouted Mr. Simpson, tugging wildly at the door- + handle. "Open the door." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson remained silent, and her husband resumed his efforts until + the door-knob, unused to such treatment, came off in his hand. A sudden + scrambling noise on the cellar stairs satisfied the listener that he had + not pulled it off intentionally. +</p> +<p> + She stood for a few moments, considering. It was a stout door and opened + inwards. She took her bonnet from its nail in the kitchen and, walking + softly to the street-door, set off to lay the case before a brother who + lived a few doors away. +</p> +<p> + "Poor old Bill," said Mr. Cooper, when she had finished. "Still, it + might be worse; he's got the barrel o' beer with him." +</p> +<p> + "It's not Bill," said Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + Mr. Cooper scratched his whiskers and looked at his wife. +</p> +<p> + "She ought to know," said the latter. "We'll come and have a look at + him," said Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson pondered, and eyed him dubiously. +</p> +<p> + "Come in and have a bit of supper," she said at last. "There's a nice + piece of beef and pickles." +</p> +<p> + "And Bill—I mean the stranger—sitting on the beer-barrel," said Mr. + Cooper, gloomily. +</p> +<p> + "You can bring your beer with you," said his sister, sharply. "Come + along." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Cooper grinned, and, placing a couple of bottles in his coat pockets, + followed the two ladies to the house. Seated at the kitchen table, he + grinned again, as a persistent drumming took place on the cellar door. + His wife smiled, and a faint, sour attempt in the same direction appeared + on the face of Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Open the door!" bellowed an indignant voice. "Open the door!" +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson, commanding silence with an uplifted finger, proceeded to + carve the beef. A rattle of knives and forks succeeded. +</p> +<p> + "O-pen-the-door!" said the voice again. +</p> +<p> + "Not so much noise," commanded Mr. Cooper. "I can't hear myself eat." +</p> +<p> + "Bob!" said the voice, in relieved accents, "Bob! Come and let me out." +</p> +<p> + Mr. Cooper, putting a huge hand over his mouth, struggled nobly with his + feelings. +</p> +<p> + "Who are you calling 'Bob'?" he demanded, in an unsteady voice. "You + keep yourself to yourself. I've heard all about you. You've got to stay + there till my brother-in-law comes home." +</p> +<p> + "It's me, Bob," said Mr. Simpson—"Bill." +</p> +<p> + "Yes, I dare say," said Mr. Cooper; "but if you're Bill, why haven't you + got Bill's voice?" +</p> +<p> + "Let me out and look at me," said Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + There was a faint scream from both ladies, followed by protests. +</p> +<p> + "Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Cooper, reassuringly. "I wasn't born + yesterday. I don't want to get a crack over the head." +</p> +<p> + "It's all a mistake, Bob," said the prisoner, appealingly. "I just had a + shave and a haircut and—and a little hair-dye. If you open the door + you'll know me at once." +</p> +<p> + "How would it be," said Mr. Cooper, turning to his sister, and speaking + with unusual distinctness—"how would it be if you opened the door, and + just as he put his head out I hit it a crack with the poker?" +</p> +<p> + "You try it on," said the voice behind the door, hotly. "You know who I + am well enough, Bob Cooper. I don't want any more of your nonsense. + Milly has put you up to this!" +</p> +<p> + "If your wife don't know you, how do you think I can?" said Mr. Cooper. + "Now, look here; you keep quiet till my brother-in-law comes home. If he + don't come home perhaps we shall be more likely to think you're him. If + he's not home by to-morrow morning we—Hsh! Hsh! Don't you know there's + ladies present?" +</p> +<p> + "That settles it," said Mrs. Cooper, speaking for the first time. "My + brother-in-law would never talk like that." +</p> +<p> + "I should never forgive him if he did," said her husband, piously. +</p> +<p> + He poured himself out another glass of beer and resumed his supper with + relish. Conversation turned on the weather, and from that to the price + of potatoes. Frantic efforts on the part of the prisoner to join in the + conversation and give it a more personal turn were disregarded. Finally + he began to kick with monotonous persistency on the door. +</p> +<p> + "Stop it!" shouted Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "I won't," said Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + The noise became unendurable. Mr. Cooper, who had just lit his pipe, + laid it on the table and looked round at his companions. +</p> +<p> + "He'll have the door down soon," he said, rising. "Halloa, there!" +</p> +<p> + "Halloa!" said the other. +</p> +<p> + "You say you're Bill Simpson," said Mr. Cooper, holding up a forefinger + at Mrs. Simpson, who was about to interrupt. "If you are, tell us + something you know that only you could know; something we know, so as + to identify you. Things about your past." +</p> +<p> + A strange noise sounded behind the door. +</p> +<p> + "Sounds as though he is smacking his lips," said Mrs. Cooper to her + sister-in-law, who was eyeing Mr. Cooper restlessly. +</p> +<p> + "Very good," said Mr. Simpson; "I agree. Who is there?" +</p> +<p> + "Me and my wife and Mrs. Simpson," said Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "He is smacking his lips," whispered Mrs. Cooper. "Having a go at the + beer, perhaps." +</p> +<p> + "Let's go back fifteen years," said Mr. Simpson in meditative tones. "Do + you remember that girl with copper-coloured hair that used to live in + John Street?" +</p> +<p> + "No!" said Mr. Cooper, loudly and suddenly. +</p> +<p> + "Do you remember coming to me one day—two days after Valentine Day, it + was—white as chalk and shaking like a leaf, and—" +</p> +<p> + "NO!" roared Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "Very well, I must try something else, then," said Mr. Simpson, + philosophically. "Carry your mind back ten years, Bob Cooper—" +</p> +<p> + "Look here!" said Mr. Cooper, turning round with a ghastly smile. "We'd + better get off home, Mary. I don't like interfering in other people's + concerns. Never did." +</p> +<p> + "You stay where you are," said his wife. +</p> +<p> + "Ten years," repeated the voice behind the door. "There was a new + barmaid at the Crown, and one night you——" +</p> +<p> + "If I listen to any more of this nonsense I shall burst," remarked Mr. + Cooper, plaintively. +</p> +<p> + "Go on," prompted Mrs. Cooper, grimly. "One night——" +</p> +<p> + "Never mind," said Mr. Simpson. "It doesn't matter. But does he + identify me? Because if not I've got a lot more things I can try." +</p> +<p> + The harassed Mr. Cooper looked around appealingly. +</p> +<p> + "How do you expect me to recognize you—" he began, and stopped suddenly. +</p> +<p> + "Go back to your courting days, then," said Mr. Simpson, "when Mrs. + Cooper wasn't Mrs. Cooper, but only wanted to be." +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Cooper shivered; so did Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "And you came round to me for advice," pursued Mr. Simpson, in + reminiscent accents, "because there was another girl you wasn't sure of, + and you didn't want to lose them both. Do you remember sitting with the + two photographs—one on each knee—and trying to make up your mind?" +</p> +<p> + "Wonderful imagination," said Mr. Cooper, smiling in a ghastly fashion at + his wife. "Hark at him!" +</p> +<p> + "I am harking," said Mrs. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "Am I Bill Simpson or am I not?" demanded Mr. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Bill was always fond of his joke," said Mr. Cooper, with a glance at the + company that would have moved an oyster. "He was always fond of making + up things. You're like him in that. What do you think, Milly?" +</p> +<p> + "It's not my husband," said Mrs. Simpson. +</p> +<p> + "Tell us something about her," said Mr. Cooper, hastily. +</p> +<p> + "I daren't," said Mr. Simpson. "Doesn't that prove I'm her husband? But + I'll tell you things about your wife, if you like." +</p> +<p> + "You dare!" said Mrs. Cooper, turning crimson, as she realized what + confidences might have passed between husband and wife. "If you say a + word of your lies about me, I don't know what I won't do to you." +</p> +<p> + "Very well, I must go on about Bob, then—till he recognizes me," said + Mr. Simpson, patiently. "Carry your mind—" +</p> +<p> + "Open the door and let him out," shouted Mr. Cooper, turning to his + sister. "How can I recognize a man through a deal door?" +</p> +<p> + Mrs. Simpson, after a little hesitation, handed him the key, and the next + moment her husband stepped out and stood blinking in the gas-light. +</p> +<p> + "Do you recognize me?" he asked, turning to Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "I do," said that gentleman, with a ferocious growl. +</p> +<p> + "I'd know you anywhere," said Mrs. Cooper, with emphasis. +</p> +<p> + "And you?" said Mr. Simpson, turning to his wife. +</p> +<p> + "You're not my husband," she said, obstinately. +</p> +<p> + "Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "Certain." +</p> +<p> + "Very good, then," said her brother. "If he's not your husband I'm going + to knock his head off for telling them lies about me." +</p> +<p> + He sprang forward and, catching Mr. Simpson by the collar, shook him + violently until his head banged against the dresser. The next moment the + hands of Mrs. Simpson were in the hair of Mr. Cooper. +</p> +<p> + "How dare you knock my husband about!" she screamed, as Mr. Cooper let go + and caught her fingers. "You've hurt him." +</p> +<p> + "Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind. +</p> +<p> + His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap, + tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by + watching until his wife touched him on the arm. +</p> +<p> + "You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are + you going to stay here all night?" +</p> +<p> + "I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully. +</p> + + + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stepping Backwards, by W.W. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Stepping Backwards + Night Watches, Part 5. + +Author: W.W. Jacobs + +Release Date: April 26, 2004 [EBook #12155] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STEPPING BACKWARDS *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + + +NIGHT WATCHES + +by W.W. Jacobs + + + + +STEPPING BACKWARDS + +"Wonderful improvement," said Mr. Jack Mills. "Show 'em to me again." + +Mr. Simpson took his pipe from his mouth and, parting his lips, revealed +his new teeth. + +"And you talk better," said Mr. Mills, taking his glass from the counter +and emptying it; "you ain't got that silly lisp you used to have. What +does your missis think of 'em?" + +"She hasn't seen 'em yet," said the other. "I had 'em put in at dinner- +time. I ate my dinner with 'em." + +Mr. Mills expressed his admiration. "If it wasn't for your white hair +and whiskers you'd look thirty again," he said, slowly. "How old are +you?" + +"Fifty-three," said his friend. "If it wasn't for being laughed at I've +often thought of having my whiskers shaved off and my hair dyed black. +People think I'm sixty." + +"Or seventy," continued Mr. Mills. "What does it matter, people +laughing? You've got a splendid head of 'air, and it would dye +beautiful." + +Mr. Simpson shook his head and, ordering a couple of glasses of bitter, +attacked his in silence. + +"It might be done gradual," he said, after a long interval. "It don't +do anybody good at the warehouse to look old." + +"Make a clean job of it," counselled Mr. Mills, who was very fond of a +little cheap excitement. "Get it over and done with. You've got good +features, and you'd look splendid clean-shaved." Mr. Simpson smiled +faintly. "Only on Wednesday the barmaid here was asking after you," +pursued Mr. Mills. Mr. Simpson smiled again. "She says to me, 'Where's +Gran'pa?' she says, and when I says, haughty like, 'Who do you mean?' +she says, 'Father Christmas!' If you was to tell her that you are only +fifty-three, she'd laugh in your face." + +"Let her laugh," said the other, sourly. + +"Come out and get it off," said Mr. Mills, earnestly. "There's a +barber's in Bird Street; you could go in the little back room, where he +charges a penny more, and get it done without anybody being a bit the +wiser." + +He put his hand on Mr. Simpson's shoulder, and that gentleman, with a +glare in the direction of the fair but unconscious offender, rose in a +hypnotized fashion and followed him out. Twice on the way to Bird +Street Mr. Simpson paused and said he had altered his mind, and twice +did the propulsion of Mr. Mills's right hand, and his flattering +argument, make him alter it again. + +It was a matter of relief to Mr. Simpson that the barber took his +instructions without any show of surprise. It appeared, indeed, that an +elderly man of seventy-eight had enlisted his services for a similar +purpose not two months before, and had got married six weeks afterwards. +Age of the bride given as twenty-four, but said to have looked older. + +A snip of the scissors, and six inches of white beard fell to the floor. +For the first time in thirty years Mr. Simpson felt a razor on his face. +Then his hair was cut and shampooed; and an hour later he sat gazing at +a dark-haired, clean-shaven man in the glass who gazed back at him with +wondering eyes--a lean-jawed, good-looking man, who, in a favourable +light, might pass for forty. He turned and met the admiring eyes of Mr. +Mills. + +"What did I tell you?" inquired the latter. "You look young enough to +be your own son." + +"Or grandson," said the barber, with professional pride. + +Mr. Simpson got up slowly from the chair and, accompanied by the +admiring Mr. Mills, passed out into the street. The evening was young, +and, at his friend's suggestion, they returned to the Plume of Feathers. + +"You give the order," said Mr. Mills, "and see whether she recognizes +you." + +Mr. Simpson obeyed. + +"Don't you know him?" inquired Mr. Mills, as the barmaid turned away. + +"I don't think I have that pleasure," said the girl, simpering. + +"Gran'pa's eldest boy," said Mr. Mills. + +"Oh!" said the girl. "Well, I hope he's a better man than his father, +then?" + +"What do you mean by that?" demanded Mr. Simpson, painfully conscious +of his friend's regards. + +"Nothing," said the girl, "nothing. Only we can all be better, can't +we? He's a nice old gentleman; so simple." + +"Don't know you from Adam," said Mr. Mills, as she turned away. "Now, +if you ask me, I don't believe as your own missis will recognize you." + +"Rubbish," said Mr. Simpson. "My wife would know me anywhere. We've +been married over thirty years. Thirty years of sunshine and shadow +together. You're a single man, and don't understand these things." + +"P'r'aps you're right," said his friend. "But it'll be a bit of a shock +to her, anyway. What do you say to me stepping round and breaking the +news to her? It's a bit sudden, you know. She's expecting a white- +haired old gentleman, not a black-haired boy." + +Mr. Simpson looked a bit uneasy. "P'r'aps I ought to have told her +first," he murmured, craning his neck to look in the glass at the back +of the bar. + +"I'll go and put it right for you," said his friend. "You stay here and +smoke your pipe." + +He stepped out briskly, but his pace slackened as he drew near the +house. + +"I--I--came--to see you about your husband," he faltered, as Mrs. +Simpson opened the door and stood regarding him. + +"What's the matter?" she exclaimed, with a faint cry. "What's happened +to him?" + +"Nothing," said Mr. Mills, hastily. "Nothing serious, that is. I just +came round to warn you so that you will be able to know it's him." + +Mrs. Simpson let off a shriek that set his ears tingling. Then, +steadying herself by the wall, she tottered into the front room, +followed by the discomfited Mr. Mills, and sank into a chair. + +"He's dead!" she sobbed. "He's dead!" + +"He is not," said Mr. Mills. + +"Is he much hurt? Is he dying?" gasped Mrs. Simpson. + +"Only his hair," said Mr. Mills, clutching at the opening. "He is not +hurt at all." + +Mrs. Simpson dabbed at her eyes-and sat regarding him in bewilderment. +Her twin chins were still quivering with emotion, but her eyes were +beginning to harden. "What are you talking about?" she inquired, in a +raspy voice. + +"He's been to a hairdresser's," said Mr. Mills. "He's 'ad all his white +whiskers cut off, and his hair cut short and dyed black. And, what with +that and his new teeth, I thought--he thought--p'r'aps you mightn't know +him when he came home." + +"Dyed?" cried Mrs. Simpson, starting to her feet. + +Mr. Mills nodded. "He looks twenty years younger," he said, with a +smile. "He'd pass for his own son anywhere." + +Mrs. Simpson's eyes snapped. "Perhaps he'd pass for my son," she +remarked. + +"Yes, easy," said the tactful Mr. Mills. "You can't think what a +difference it's made to him. That's why I came to see you--so you +shouldn't be startled." + +"Thank you," said Mrs. Simpson. "I'm much obliged. But you might have +spared yourself the trouble. I should know my husband anywhere." + +"Ah, that's what you think," retorted Mr. Mills, with a smile; "but the +barmaid at the Plume didn't. That's what made me come to you." + +Mrs. Simpson gazed at him. + +"I says to myself," continued Mr. Mills, "'If she don't know him, I'm +certain his missis won't, and I'd better----'" + +"You'd better go," interrupted his hostess. + +Mr. Mills started, and then, with much dignity, stalked after her to the +door. + +"As to your story, I don't believe a word of it," said Mrs. Simpson. +"Whatever else my husband is, he isn't a fool, and he'd no more think of +cutting off his whiskers and dyeing his hair than you would of telling +the truth." + +"Seeing is believing," said the offended Mr. Mills, darkly. + +"I'll wait till I do see, and then I sha'n't believe," was the reply. +"It is a put-up job between you and some other precious idiot, I expect. +But you can't deceive me. If your black-haired friend comes here, he'll +get it, I can tell you." + +She slammed the door on his protests and, returning to the parlour, +gazed fiercely into the glass on the mantelpiece. It reflected sixteen +stone of honest English womanhood, a thin wisp of yellowish-grey hair, +and a pair of faded eyes peering through clumsy spectacles. + +"Son, indeed!" she said, her lips quivering. "You wait till you come +home, my lord!" + +Mr. Simpson, with some forebodings, returned home an hour later. To a +man who loved peace and quietness the report of the indignant Mr. Mills +was not of a reassuring nature. He hesitated on the doorstep for a few +seconds while he fumbled for his key, and then, humming unconcernedly, +hung his hat in the passage and walked into the parlour. + +The astonished scream of his wife warned him that Mr. Mills had by no +means exaggerated. She rose from her seat and, crouching by the +fireplace, regarded him with a mixture of anger and dismay. + +"It--it's all right, Milly," said Mr. Simpson, with a smile that +revealed a dazzling set of teeth. + +"Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Simpson. "How dare you call me by my +Christian name. It's a good job for you my husband is not here." + +"He wouldn't hurt me," said Mr. Simpson, with an attempt at +facetiousness. "He's the best friend I ever had. Why, we slept in the +same cradle." + +"I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mrs. Simpson. "You get out of +my house before I send for the police. How dare you come into a +respectable woman's house in this fashion? Be off with you." + +"Now, look here, Milly----" began Mr. Simpson. + +His wife drew herself up to her full height of four feet eleven. + +"I've had a hair-cut and a shave," pursued her husband; "also I've had +my hair restored to its natural colour. But I'm the same man, and you +know it." + +"I know nothing of the kind," said his wife, doggedly. "I don't know +you from Adam. I've never seen you before, and I don't want to see you +again. You go away." + +"I'm your husband, and my place is at home," replied Mr. Simpson. "A +man can have a shave if he likes, can't he? Where's my supper?" + +"Go on," said his wife. "Keep it up. But be careful my husband don't +come in and catch you, that's all." + +Mr. Simpson gazed at her fixedly, and then, with an impatient +exclamation, walked into the small kitchen and began to set the supper. +A joint of cold beef, a jar of pickles, bread, butter, and cheese made +an appetizing display. Then he took a jug from the dresser and +descended to the cellar. + +A musical trickling fell on the ear of Mrs. Simpson as she stood at the +parlour door, and drew her stealthily to the cellar. The key was in the +lock, and, with a sudden movement, she closed the door and locked it. A +sharp cry from Mr. Simpson testified to his discomfiture. + +"Now I'm off for the police," cried his wife. + +"Don't be a fool," shouted Mr. Simpson, tugging wildly at the door- +handle. "Open the door." + +Mrs. Simpson remained silent, and her husband resumed his efforts until +the door-knob, unused to such treatment, came off in his hand. A sudden +scrambling noise on the cellar stairs satisfied the listener that he had +not pulled it off intentionally. + +She stood for a few moments, considering. It was a stout door and +opened inwards. She took her bonnet from its nail in the kitchen and, +walking softly to the street-door, set off to lay the case before a +brother who lived a few doors away. + +"Poor old Bill," said Mr. Cooper, when she had finished. "Still, it +might be worse; he's got the barrel o' beer with him." + +"It's not Bill," said Mrs. Simpson. + +Mr. Cooper scratched his whiskers and looked at his wife. + +"She ought to know," said the latter. "We'll come and have a look at +him," said Mr. Cooper. + +Mrs. Simpson pondered, and eyed him dubiously. + +"Come in and have a bit of supper," she said at last. "There's a nice +piece of beef and pickles." + +"And Bill--I mean the stranger--sitting on the beer-barrel," said Mr. +Cooper, gloomily. + +"You can bring your beer with you," said his sister, sharply. "Come +along." + +Mr. Cooper grinned, and, placing a couple of bottles in his coat +pockets, followed the two ladies to the house. Seated at the kitchen +table, he grinned again, as a persistent drumming took place on the +cellar door. His wife smiled, and a faint, sour attempt in the same +direction appeared on the face of Mrs. Simpson. + +"Open the door!" bellowed an indignant voice. "Open the door!" + +Mrs. Simpson, commanding silence with an uplifted finger, proceeded to +carve the beef. A rattle of knives and forks succeeded. + +"O-pen-the-door!" said the voice again. + +"Not so much noise," commanded Mr. Cooper. "I can't hear myself eat." + +"Bob!" said the voice, in relieved accents, "Bob! Come and let me +out." + +Mr. Cooper, putting a huge hand over his mouth, struggled nobly with his +feelings. + +"Who are you calling 'Bob'?" he demanded, in an unsteady voice. "You +keep yourself to yourself. I've heard all about you. You've got to +stay there till my brother-in-law comes home." + +"It's me, Bob," said Mr. Simpson--"Bill." + +"Yes, I dare say," said Mr. Cooper; "but if you're Bill, why haven't you +got Bill's voice?" + +"Let me out and look at me," said Mr. Simpson. + +There was a faint scream from both ladies, followed by protests. + +"Don't be alarmed," said Mr. Cooper, reassuringly. "I wasn't born +yesterday. I don't want to get a crack over the head." + +"It's all a mistake, Bob," said the prisoner, appealingly. "I just had +a shave and a haircut and--and a little hair-dye. If you open the door +you'll know me at once." + +"How would it be," said Mr. Cooper, turning to his sister, and speaking +with unusual distinctness--"how would it be if you opened the door, and +just as he put his head out I hit it a crack with the poker?" + +"You try it on," said the voice behind the door, hotly. "You know who I +am well enough, Bob Cooper. I don't want any more of your nonsense. +Milly has put you up to this!" + +"If your wife don't know you, how do you think I can?" said Mr. Cooper. +"Now, look here; you keep quiet till my brother-in-law comes home. If +he don't come home perhaps we shall be more likely to think you're him. +If he's not home by to-morrow morning we--Hsh! Hsh! Don't you know +there's ladies present?" + +"That settles it," said Mrs. Cooper, speaking for the first time. "My +brother-in-law would never talk like that." + +"I should never forgive him if he did," said her husband, piously. + +He poured himself out another glass of beer and resumed his supper with +relish. Conversation turned on the weather, and from that to the price +of potatoes. Frantic efforts on the part of the prisoner to join in the +conversation and give it a more personal turn were disregarded. Finally +he began to kick with monotonous persistency on the door. + +"Stop it!" shouted Mr. Cooper. + +"I won't," said Mr. Simpson. + +The noise became unendurable. Mr. Cooper, who had just lit his pipe, +laid it on the table and looked round at his companions. + +"He'll have the door down soon," he said, rising. "Halloa, there!" + +"Halloa!" said the other. + +"You say you're Bill Simpson," said Mr. Cooper, holding up a forefinger +at Mrs. Simpson, who was about to interrupt. "If you are, tell us +something you know that only you could know; something we know, so as to +identify you. Things about your past." + +A strange noise sounded behind the door. + +"Sounds as though he is smacking his lips," said Mrs. Cooper to her +sister-in-law, who was eyeing Mr. Cooper restlessly. + +"Very good," said Mr. Simpson; "I agree. Who is there?" + +"Me and my wife and Mrs. Simpson," said Mr. Cooper. + +"He is smacking his lips," whispered Mrs. Cooper. "Having a go at the +beer, perhaps." + +"Let's go back fifteen years," said Mr. Simpson in meditative tones. +"Do you remember that girl with copper-coloured hair that used to live +in John Street?" + +"No!" said Mr. Cooper, loudly and suddenly. + +"Do you remember coming to me one day--two days after Valentine Day, it +was--white as chalk and shaking like a leaf, and--" + +"NO!" roared Mr. Cooper. + +"Very well, I must try something else, then," said Mr. Simpson, +philosophically. "Carry your mind back ten years, Bob Cooper--" + +"Look here!" said Mr. Cooper, turning round with a ghastly smile. +"We'd better get off home, Mary. I don't like interfering in other +people's concerns. Never did." + +"You stay where you are," said his wife. + +"Ten years," repeated the voice behind the door. "There was a new +barmaid at the Crown, and one night you----" + +"If I listen to any more of this nonsense I shall burst," remarked Mr. +Cooper, plaintively. + +"Go on," prompted Mrs. Cooper, grimly. "One night----" + +"Never mind," said Mr. Simpson. "It doesn't matter. But does he +identify me? Because if not I've got a lot more things I can try." + +The harassed Mr. Cooper looked around appealingly. + +"How do you expect me to recognize you--" he began, and stopped +suddenly. + +"Go back to your courting days, then," said Mr. Simpson, "when Mrs. +Cooper wasn't Mrs. Cooper, but only wanted to be." + +Mrs. Cooper shivered; so did Mr. Cooper. + +"And you came round to me for advice," pursued Mr. Simpson, in +reminiscent accents, "because there was another girl you wasn't sure of, +and you didn't want to lose them both. Do you remember sitting with the +two photographs--one on each knee--and trying to make up your mind?" + +"Wonderful imagination," said Mr. Cooper, smiling in a ghastly fashion +at his wife. "Hark at him!" + +"I am harking," said Mrs. Cooper. + +"Am I Bill Simpson or am I not?" demanded Mr. Simpson. + +"Bill was always fond of his joke," said Mr. Cooper, with a glance at +the company that would have moved an oyster. "He was always fond of +making up things. You're like him in that. What do you think, Milly?" + +"It's not my husband," said Mrs. Simpson. + +"Tell us something about her," said Mr. Cooper, hastily. + +"I daren't," said Mr. Simpson. "Doesn't that prove I'm her husband? +But I'll tell you things about your wife, if you like." + +"You dare!" said Mrs. Cooper, turning crimson, as she realized what +confidences might have passed between husband and wife. "If you say a +word of your lies about me, I don't know what I won't do to you." + +"Very well, I must go on about Bob, then--till he recognizes me," said +Mr. Simpson, patiently. "Carry your mind--" + +"Open the door and let him out," shouted Mr. Cooper, turning to his +sister. "How can I recognize a man through a deal door?" + +Mrs. Simpson, after a little hesitation, handed him the key, and the +next moment her husband stepped out and stood blinking in the gas-light. + +"Do you recognize me?" he asked, turning to Mr. Cooper. + +"I do," said that gentleman, with a ferocious growl. + +"I'd know you anywhere," said Mrs. Cooper, with emphasis. + +"And you?" said Mr. Simpson, turning to his wife. + +"You're not my husband," she said, obstinately. + +"Are you sure?" inquired Mr. Cooper. + +"Certain." + +"Very good, then," said her brother. "If he's not your husband I'm +going to knock his head off for telling them lies about me." + +He sprang forward and, catching Mr. Simpson by the collar, shook him +violently until his head banged against the dresser. The next moment +the hands of Mrs. Simpson were in the hair of Mr. Cooper. + +"How dare you knock my husband about!" she screamed, as Mr. Cooper let +go and caught her fingers. "You've hurt him." + +"Concussion, I think," said Mr. Simpson, with great presence of mind. + +His wife helped him to a chair and, wetting her handkerchief at the tap, +tenderly bathed the dyed head. Mr. Cooper, breathing hard, stood by +watching until his wife touched him on the arm. + +"You come off home," she said, in a hard voice. "You ain't wanted. Are +you going to stay here all night?" + +"I should like to," said Mr. Cooper, wistfully. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Stepping Backwards, by W.W. 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