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diff --git a/old/12215-h/12215-h.htm b/old/12215-h/12215-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8169aae --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12215-h/12215-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11991 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Odd Craft, by W. W. Jacobs</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Odd Craft, by W. W. Jacobs</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Odd Craft</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: W. W. Jacobs</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Will Owen</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: April 1, 2004 [eBook #12215]<br /> +[Most recently updated: November 29, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ODD CRAFT ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>ODD CRAFT</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">By W. W. JACOBS</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by Will Owen</h3> + +<h4>1911</h4> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">THE MONEY-BOX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">THE CASTAWAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">BLUNDELL’S IMPROVEMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">BILL’S LAPSE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">LAWYER QUINCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">BREAKING A SPELL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">ESTABLISHING RELATIONS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">THE CHANGING NUMBERS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">THE PERSECUTION OF BOB PRETTY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">DIXON’S RETURN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">A SPIRIT OF AVARICE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">THE THIRD STRING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">ODD CHARGES</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">ADMIRAL PETERS</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus01">“SAILORMEN ARE NOT GOOD ’ANDS AT SAVING MONEY AS A RULE.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus02">“‘I AIN’T HIT A MAN FOR FIVE YEARS,’ ’E SES, STILL DANCING UP AND DOWN.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus03">“‘WOT’S THIS FOR?’ SES GINGER.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus04">“THEY PUT OLD ISAAC’S CLOTHES UP FOR FIFTEEN SHILLINGS.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus05">“OLD ISAAC KEPT ’EM THERE FOR THREE DAYS.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus06">“MRS. JOHN BOXER STOOD AT THE DOOR OF THE SHOP WITH HER HANDS CLASPED ON HER APRON.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus07">“‘WELL, LOOK ’ERE,’ SAID MR. BOXER, ‘I’VE TOLD YOU MY STORY AND I’VE GOT WITNESSES TO PROVE IT.’”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus08">“THERE IS SOMETHING FORMING OVER YOU.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus09">“AH! WHAT IS THIS? A PIECE OF WRECKAGE WITH A MONKEY CLINGING TO IT?”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus10">“‘HAVE YOU LEFT ANYTHING INSIDE THAT YOU WANT?’ SHE INQUIRED.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus11">“‘YOU VILLAIN!’ CRIED MRS. GIMPSON, VIOLENTLY. ‘I ALWAYS DISTRUSTED YOU.’”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus12">“‘FATHER WAS SO PLEASED TO SEE YOU BOTH COME IN,’ SHE SAID, SOFTLY.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus13">“SHE ASKED ME WHETHER YOU USED A WARMING-PAN.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus14">“‘BAH! YOU ARE BACKING OUT OF IT,’ SAID THE IRRITATED MR. TURNBULL.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus15">“WITH A WILD SHRIEK, HE SHOT SUDDENLY OVER THE EDGE AND DISAPPEARED.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus16">“YOU TAKE MY ADVICE AND GET ’OME AND GET TO BED.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus17">“WHEN ANY OF THE THREE QUARRELLED HE USED TO ACT THE PART OF PEACEMAKER.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus18">“BILL JUMPED INTO A CAB AND PULLED PETER RUSSET IN ARTER ’IM.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus19">“PATTED BILL ON THE BACK, VERY GENTLE.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus20">“PICKED OUT THE SOFTEST STAIR ’E COULD FIND.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus21">“OLD SAM SAID ’OW SURPRISED HE WAS AT THEM FOR LETTING BILL DO IT.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus22">“LAWYER QUINCE.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus23">“‘COME DOWN TO HAVE A LOOK AT THE PRISONER?’ INQUIRED THE FARMER.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus24">“‘NONE O’ YER IMPUDENCE,’ SAID THE FARMER.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus25">“I THOUGHT ALL ALONG LAWYER QUINCE WOULD HAVE THE LAUGH OF YOU.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus26">“‘HOW DID YOU GET IN THAT SHED?’ DEMANDED HER PARENT.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus27">“HE GOT ’IMSELF VERY MUCH LIKED, ESPECIALLY BY THE OLD LADIES.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus28">“MRS. PRINCE WAS SITTING AT ’ER FRONT DOOR NURSING ’ER THREE CATS.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus29">“HE TOOK IT ROUND, AND EVERYBODY ’AD A LOOK AT IT.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus30">“SHE SAT LISTENING QUITE QUIET AT FUST.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus31">“THE DOCTOR FELT ’IS PULSE AND LOOKED AT ’IS TONGUE.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus32">“MR. RICHARD CATESBY, SECOND OFFICER OF THE SS. WIZARD, EMERGED FROM THE DOCK-GATES IN HIGH GOOD-HUMOUR.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus33">“MR. CATESBY MADE A FEW INQUIRIES.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus34">“‘I’M JUST GOING AS FAR AS THE CORNER,’ SAID MRS. TRUEFITT.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus35">“I’LL GO AND PUT ON A CLEAN COLLAR.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus36">“I’LL LOOK AFTER THAT, MA’AM.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus37">“MR. SAMUEL GUNNILL CAME STEALTHILY DOWN THE WINDING STAIRCASE.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus38">“THE CONSTABLE WATCHED HIM WITH THE AIR OF A PROPRIETOR.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus39">“HE SAW THE DOOR JUST OPENING TO ADMIT THE FORTUNATE HERBERT.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus40">“MR. SIMS WATCHED HER TENDERLY AS SHE DREW THE BEER.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus41">“FROM THE KITCHEN CAME SOUNDS OF HAMMERING.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus42">“‘DON’T CALL ON ME AS A WITNESS, THAT’S ALL,’ CONTINUED MR. DRILL.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus43">“‘POACHING,’ SAID THE OLD MAN, ‘AIN’T WOT IT USED TO BE IN THESE ’ERE PARTS.’”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus44">“‘I SHALL ’AVE ’EM AFORE LONG,’ SES MR. CUTTS.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus45">“THREE MEN BURST OUT O’ THE PLANTATION.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus46">“BOB PRETTY POINTED WITH ’IS FINGER EXACTLY WHERE ’E THOUGHT IT WAS.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus47">“‘YOU OUGHT TO BE MORE CAREFUL,’ SES BOB.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus48">“TALKING ABOUT EDDICATION, SAID THE NIGHT-WATCHMAN.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus49">“‘GO AND SLEEP SOMEWHERE ELSE, THEN,’ SES DIXON.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus50">“YOU’D BETTER GO UPSTAIRS AND PUT ON SOME DECENT CLOTHES.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus51">“CHARLIE HAD ’AD AS MUCH AS ’E WANTED AND WAS LYING ON THE SEA-CHEST.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus52">“THE WAY SHE ANSWERED HER ’USBAND WAS A PLEASURE TO EVERY MARRIED MAN IN THE BAR.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus53">“MR. JOHN BLOWS STOOD LISTENING TO THE FOREMAN WITH AN AIR OF LOFTY DISDAIN.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus54">“‘JOE!’ SHOUTED MR. BLOWS. ‘J-O-O-OE!’”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus55">“‘THEY DRAGGED THE RIVER,’ RESUMED HIS WIFE, ‘AND FOUND THE CAP.’”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus56">“IN A PITIABLE STATE OF ‘NERVES’ HE SAT AT THE EXTREME END OF A BENCH.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus57">“MR. BLOWS, CONSCIOUS OF THE STRENGTH OF HIS POSITION, WALKED UP TO THEM.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus58">“DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT LOVE, BECAUSE I’VE SUFFERED ENOUGH THROUGH IT.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus59">“MISS TUCKER.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus60">“‘LET GO O’ THAT YOUNG LADY’S ARM,’ HE SES.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus61">“BILL LUMM, ’AVING PEELED, STOOD LOOKING ON WHILE GINGER TOOK ’IS THINGS OFF.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus62">“THE WAY HE CARRIED ON WHEN THE LANDLADY FRIED THE STEAK SHOWED ’OW UPSET HE WAS.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus63">“SEATED AT HIS EASE IN THE WARM TAP-ROOM OF THE CAULIFLOWER.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus64">“PUTTING HIS ’AND TO BILL’S MUG, HE TOOK OUT A LIVE FROG.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus65">“HE WAS RUNNING ALONG TO BOB PRETTY’S AS FAST AS ’IS LEGS WOULD TAKE ’IM.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus66">“AFORE ANYBODY COULD MOVE, HE BROUGHT IT DOWN BANG ON THE FACE O’ THE WATCH.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus67">“THE SCREAM ’E GAVE AS GEORGE KETTLE POINTED THE PISTOL AT ’IM WAS AWFUL.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus68">“SAT AT THE DOOR OF HIS LODGINGS GAZING IN PLACID CONTENT AT THE SEA.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus69">“MR. STILES WAS AFFECTING A STATELINESS OF MANNER WHICH WAS NOT WITHOUT DISTINCTION.”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus70">“MR. STILES CALLED THE WIDOW A ‘SAUCY LITTLE BAGGAGE.’”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus71">“‘GOOD RIDDANCE,’ SAID MR. BURTON, SAVAGELY.”</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a> +THE MONEY-BOX +</h2> + +<p> +Sailormen are not good ’ands at saving money as a rule, said the +night-watchman, as he wistfully toyed with a bad shilling on his watch-chain, +though to ’ear ’em talk of saving when they’re at sea and there isn’t a pub +within a thousand miles of ’em, you might think different. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus01"></a> +<img src="images/001.jpg" width="588" height="424" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +It ain’t for the want of trying either with some of ’em, and I’ve known men do +all sorts o’ things as soon as they was paid off, with a view to saving. I knew +one man as used to keep all but a shilling or two in a belt next to ’is skin so +that he couldn’t get at it easy, but it was all no good. He was always running +short in the most inconvenient places. I’ve seen ’im wriggle for five minutes +right off, with a tramcar conductor standing over ’im and the other people in +the tram reading their papers with one eye and watching him with the other. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Dick and Peter Russet—two men I’ve spoke of to you afore—tried to save +their money once. They’d got so sick and tired of spending it all in p’r’aps a +week or ten days arter coming ashore, and ’aving to go to sea agin sooner than +they ’ad intended, that they determined some way or other to ’ave things +different. +</p> + +<p> +They was homeward bound on a steamer from Melbourne when they made their minds +up; and Isaac Lunn, the oldest fireman aboard—a very steady old teetotaler—gave +them a lot of good advice about it. They all wanted to rejoin the ship when she +sailed agin, and ’e offered to take a room ashore with them and mind their +money, giving ’em what ’e called a moderate amount each day. +</p> + +<p> +They would ha’ laughed at any other man, but they knew that old Isaac was as +honest as could be and that their money would be safe with ’im, and at last, +after a lot of palaver, they wrote out a paper saying as they were willing for +’im to ’ave their money and give it to ’em bit by bit, till they went to sea +agin. +</p> + +<p> +Anybody but Ginger Dick and Peter Russet or a fool would ha’ known better than +to do such a thing, but old Isaac ’ad got such a oily tongue and seemed so +fair-minded about wot ’e called moderate drinking that they never thought wot +they was letting themselves in for, and when they took their pay—close on +sixteen pounds each—they put the odd change in their pockets and ’anded the +rest over to him. +</p> + +<p> +The first day they was as pleased as Punch. Old Isaac got a nice, respectable +bedroom for them all, and arter they’d ’ad a few drinks they humoured ’im by +’aving a nice ’ot cup o’ tea, and then goin’ off with ’im to see a +magic-lantern performance. +</p> + +<p> +It was called “The Drunkard’s Downfall,” and it begun with a young man going +into a nice-looking pub and being served by a nice-looking barmaid with a glass +of ale. Then it got on to ’arf pints and pints in the next picture, and arter +Ginger ’ad seen the lost young man put away six pints in about ’arf a minute, +’e got such a raging thirst on ’im that ’e couldn’t sit still, and ’e whispered +to Peter Russet to go out with ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll lose the best of it if you go now,” ses old Isaac, in a whisper; “in +the next picture there’s little frogs and devils sitting on the edge of the pot +as ’e goes to drink.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ginger Dick got up and nodded to Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Arter that ’e kills ’is mother with a razor,” ses old Isaac, pleading with ’im +and ’olding on to ’is coat. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Dick sat down agin, and when the murder was over ’e said it made ’im +feel faint, and ’im and Peter Russet went out for a breath of fresh air. They +’ad three at the first place, and then they moved on to another and forgot all +about Isaac and the dissolving views until ten o’clock, when Ginger, who ’ad +been very liberal to some friends ’e’d made in a pub, found ’e’d spent ’is last +penny. +</p> + +<p> +“This comes o’ listening to a parcel o’ teetotalers,” ’e ses, very cross, when +’e found that Peter ’ad spent all ’is money too. “Here we are just beginning +the evening and not a farthing in our pockets.” +</p> + +<p> +They went off ’ome in a very bad temper. Old Isaac was asleep in ’is bed, and +when they woke ’im up and said that they was going to take charge of their +money themselves ’e kept dropping off to sleep agin and snoring that ’ard they +could scarcely hear themselves speak. Then Peter tipped Ginger a wink and +pointed to Isaac’s trousers, which were ’anging over the foot of the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Dick smiled and took ’em up softly, and Peter Russet smiled too; but ’e +wasn’t best pleased to see old Isaac a-smiling in ’is sleep, as though ’e was +’aving amusing dreams. All Ginger found was a ha’-penny, a bunch o’ keys, and a +cough lozenge. In the coat and waistcoat ’e found a few tracks folded up, a +broken pen-knife, a ball of string, and some other rubbish. Then ’e set down on +the foot o’ their bed and made eyes over at Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Wake ’im up agin,” ses Peter, in a temper. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Dick got up and, leaning over the bed, took old Isaac by the shoulders +and shook ’im as if ’e’d been a bottle o’ medicine. +</p> + +<p> +“Time to get up, lads?” ses old Isaac, putting one leg out o’ bed. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it ain’t,” ses Ginger, very rough; “we ain’t been to bed yet. We want our +money back.” +</p> + +<p> +Isaac drew ’is leg back into bed agin. “Goo’ night,” he ses, and fell fast +asleep. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s shamming, that’s wot ’e is,” ses Peter Russet. “Let’s look for it. It +must be in the room somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +They turned the room upside down pretty near, and then Ginger Dick struck a +match and looked up the chimney, but all ’e found was that it ’adn’t been swept +for about twenty years, and wot with temper and soot ’e looked so frightful +that Peter was arf afraid of ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve ’ad enough of this,” ses Ginger, running up to the bed and ’olding his +sooty fist under old Isaac’s nose. “Now, then, where’s that money? If you don’t +give us our money, our ’ard-earned money, inside o’ two minutes, I’ll break +every bone in your body.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is wot comes o’ trying to do you a favour, Ginger,” ses the old man, +reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk to me,” ses Ginger, “cos I won’t have it. Come on; where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Old Isaac looked at ’im, and then he gave a sigh and got up and put on ’is +boots and ’is trousers. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I should ’ave a little trouble with you,” he ses, slowly, “but I was +prepared for that.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll ’ave more if you don’t hurry up,” ses Ginger, glaring at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t want to ’urt you, Isaac,” ses Peter Russet, “we on’y want our money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know that,” ses Isaac; “you keep still, Peter, and see fair-play, and I’ll +knock you silly arterwards.” +</p> + +<p> +He pushed some o’ the things into a corner and then ’e spat on ’is ’ands, and +began to prance up and down, and duck ’is ’ead about and hit the air in a way +that surprised ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t hit a man for five years,” ’e ses, still dancing up and +down—“fighting’s sinful except in a good cause—but afore I got a new ’art, +Ginger, I’d lick three men like you afore breakfast, just to git up a +appetite.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<img src="images/002.jpg" width="516" height="491" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Look, ’ere,” ses Ginger; “you’re an old man and I don’t want to ’urt you; tell +us where our money is, our ’ard-earned money, and I won’t lay a finger on you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m taking care of it for you,” ses the old man. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Dick gave a howl and rushed at him, and the next moment Isaac’s fist +shot out and give ’im a drive that sent ’im spinning across the room until ’e +fell in a heap in the fireplace. It was like a kick from a ’orse, and Peter +looked very serious as ’e picked ’im up and dusted ’im down. +</p> + +<p> +“You should keep your eye on ’is fist,” he ses, sharply. +</p> + +<p> +It was a silly thing to say, seeing that that was just wot ’ad ’appened, and +Ginger told ’im wot ’e’d do for ’im when ’e’d finished with Isaac. He went at +the old man agin, but ’e never ’ad a chance, and in about three minutes ’e was +very glad to let Peter ’elp ’im into bed. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your turn to fight him now, Peter,” he ses. “Just move this piller so as +I can see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, lad,” ses the old man. +</p> + +<p> +Peter shook ’is ’ead. “I have no wish to ’urt you, Isaac,” he ses, kindly; +“excitement like fighting is dangerous for an old man. Give us our money and +we’ll say no more about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my lads,” ses Isaac. “I’ve undertook to take charge o’ this money and I’m +going to do it; and I ’ope that when we all sign on aboard the <i>Planet</i> +there’ll be a matter o’ twelve pounds each left. Now, I don’t want to be ’arsh +with you, but I’m going back to bed, and if I ’ave to get up and dress agin +you’ll wish yourselves dead.” +</p> + +<p> +He went back to bed agin, and Peter, taking no notice of Ginger Dick, who kept +calling ’im a coward, got into bed alongside of Ginger and fell fast asleep. +</p> + +<p> +They all ’ad breakfast in a coffee-shop next morning, and arter it was over +Ginger, who ’adn’t spoke a word till then, said that ’e and Peter Russet wanted +a little money to go on with. He said they preferred to get their meals alone, +as Isaac’s face took their appetite away. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” ses the old man. “I don’t want to force my company on nobody,” and +after thinking ’ard for a minute or two he put ’is ’and in ’is trouser-pocket +and gave them eighteen-pence each. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<img src="images/003.jpg" width="576" height="600" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“That’s your day’s allowance,” ses Isaac, “and it’s plenty. There’s ninepence +for your dinner, fourpence for your tea, and twopence for a crust o’ bread and +cheese for supper. And if you must go and drown yourselves in beer, that leaves +threepence each to go and do it with.” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger tried to speak to ’im, but ’is feelings was too much for ’im, and ’e +couldn’t. Then Peter Russet swallered something ’e was going to say and asked +old Isaac very perlite to make it a quid for <i>’im</i> because he was going +down to Colchester to see ’is mother, and ’e didn’t want to go empty-’anded. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a good son, Peter,” ses old Isaac, “and I wish there was more like you. +I’ll come down with you, if you like; I’ve got nothing to do.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said it was very kind of ’im, but ’e’d sooner go alone, owing to his +mother being very shy afore strangers. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll come down to the station and take a ticket for you,” ses Isaac. +</p> + +<p> +Then Peter lost ’is temper altogether, and banged ’is fist on the table and +smashed ’arf the crockery. He asked Isaac whether ’e thought ’im and Ginger +Dick was a couple o’ children, and ’e said if ’e didn’t give ’em all their +money right away ’e’d give ’im in charge to the first policeman they met. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid you didn’t intend for to go and see your mother, Peter,” ses the +old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere,” ses Peter, “are you going to give us that money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if you went down on your bended knees,” ses the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” says Peter, getting up and walking outside; “then come along o’ me +to find a policeman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m agreeable,” ses Isaac, “but I’ve got the paper you signed.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said ’e didn’t care twopence if ’e’d got fifty papers, and they walked +along looking for a policeman, which was a very unusual thing for them to do. +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ope for your sakes it won’t be the same policeman that you and Ginger Dick +set on in Gun Alley the night afore you shipped on the <i>Planet</i>,” ses +Isaac, pursing up ’is lips. +</p> + +<p> +“’Tain’t likely to be,” ses Peter, beginning to wish ’e ’adn’t been so free +with ’is tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“Still, if I tell ’im, I dessay he’ll soon find ’im,” ses Isaac; “there’s one +coming along now, Peter; shall I stop ’im?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter Russet looked at ’im and then he looked at Ginger, and they walked by +grinding their teeth. They stuck to Isaac all day, trying to get their money +out of ’im, and the names they called ’im was a surprise even to themselves. +And at night they turned the room topsy-turvy agin looking for their money and +’ad more unpleasantness when they wanted Isaac to get up and let ’em search the +bed. +</p> + +<p> +They ’ad breakfast together agin next morning and Ginger tried another tack. He +spoke quite nice to Isaac, and ’ad three large cups o’ tea to show ’im ’ow ’e +was beginning to like it, and when the old man gave ’em their eighteen-pences +’e smiled and said ’e’d like a few shillings extra that day. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll be all right, Isaac,” he ses. “I wouldn’t ’ave a drink if you asked me +to. Don’t seem to care for it now. I was saying so to you on’y last night, +wasn’t I, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“You was,” ses Peter; “so was I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ve done you good, Ginger,” ses Isaac, clapping ’im on the back. +</p> + +<p> +“You ’ave,” ses Ginger, speaking between his teeth, “and I thank you for it. I +don’t want drink; but I thought o’ going to a music-’all this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Going to <i>wot?</i>” ses old Isaac, drawing ’imself up and looking very +shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“A music-’all,” ses Ginger, trying to keep ’is temper. +</p> + +<p> +“A music-’all,” ses Isaac; “why, it’s worse than a pub, Ginger. I should be a +very poor friend o’ yours if I let you go there—I couldn’t think of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s it got to do with you, you gray-whiskered serpent?” screams Ginger, arf +mad with rage. “Why don’t you leave us alone? Why don’t you mind your own +business? It’s our money.” +</p> + +<p> +Isaac tried to talk to ’im, but ’e wouldn’t listen, and he made such a fuss +that at last the coffee-shop keeper told ’im to go outside. Peter follered ’im +out, and being very upset they went and spent their day’s allowance in the +first hour, and then they walked about the streets quarrelling as to the death +they’d like old Isaac to ’ave when ’is time came. +</p> + +<p> +They went back to their lodgings at dinner-time; but there was no sign of the +old man, and, being ’ungry and thirsty, they took all their spare clothes to a +pawnbroker and got enough money to go on with. Just to show their independence +they went to two music-’alls, and with a sort of idea that they was doing Isaac +a bad turn they spent every farthing afore they got ’ome, and sat up in bed +telling ’im about the spree they’d ’ad. +</p> + +<p> +At five o’clock in the morning Peter woke up and saw, to ’is surprise, that +Ginger Dick was dressed and carefully folding up old Isaac’s clothes. At first +’e thought that Ginger ’ad gone mad, taking care of the old man’s things like +that, but afore ’e could speak Ginger noticed that ’e was awake, and stepped +over to ’im and whispered to ’im to dress without making a noise. Peter did as +’e was told, and, more puzzled than ever, saw Ginger make up all the old man’s +clothes in a bundle and creep out of the room on tiptoe. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to ’ide ’is clothes?” ’e ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” ses Ginger, leading the way downstairs; “in a pawnshop. We’ll make the +old man pay for to-day’s amusements.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Peter see the joke and ’e begun to laugh so ’ard that Ginger ’ad to +threaten to knock ’is head off to quiet ’im. Ginger laughed ’imself when they +got outside, and at last, arter walking about till the shops opened, they got +into a pawnbroker’s and put old Isaac’s clothes up for fifteen shillings. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus04"></a> +<img src="images/004.jpg" width="495" height="654" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +First thing they did was to ’ave a good breakfast, and after that they came out +smiling all over and began to spend a ’appy day. Ginger was in tip-top spirits +and so was Peter, and the idea that old Isaac was in bed while they was +drinking ’is clothes pleased them more than anything. Twice that evening +policemen spoke to Ginger for dancing on the pavement, and by the time the +money was spent it took Peter all ’is time to get ’im ’ome. +</p> + +<p> +Old Isaac was in bed when they got there, and the temper ’e was in was +shocking; but Ginger sat on ’is bed and smiled at ’im as if ’e was saying +compliments to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s my clothes?” ses the old man, shaking ’is fist at the two of ’em. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger smiled at ’im; then ’e shut ’is eyes and dropped off to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s my clothes?” ses Isaac, turning to Peter. “Closhe?” ses Peter, staring +at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are they?” ses Isaac. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long time afore Peter could understand wot ’e meant, but as soon as ’e +did ’e started to look for ’em. Drink takes people in different ways, and the +way it always took Peter was to make ’im one o’ the most obliging men that ever +lived. He spent arf the night crawling about on all fours looking for the +clothes, and four or five times old Isaac woke up from dreams of earthquakes to +find Peter ’ad got jammed under ’is bed, and was wondering what ’ad ’appened to +’im. +</p> + +<p> +None of ’em was in the best o’ tempers when they woke up next morning, and +Ginger ’ad ’ardly got ’is eyes open before Isaac was asking ’im about ’is +clothes agin. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t bother me about your clothes,” ses Ginger; “talk about something else +for a change.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where are they?” ses Isaac, sitting on the edge of ’is bed. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger yawned and felt in ’is waistcoat pocket—for neither of ’em ’ad +undressed—and then ’e took the pawn-ticket out and threw it on the floor. Isaac +picked it up, and then ’e began to dance about the room as if ’e’d gone mad. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me you’ve pawned my clothes?” he shouts. +</p> + +<p> +“Me and Peter did,” ses Ginger, sitting up in bed and getting ready for a row. +</p> + +<p> +Isaac dropped on the bed agin all of a ’eap. “And wot am I to do?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“If you be’ave yourself,” ses Ginger, “and give us our money, me and Peter’ll +go and get ’em out agin. When we’ve ’ad breakfast, that is. There’s no hurry.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I ’aven’t got the money,” ses Isaac; “it was all sewn up in the lining of +the coat. I’ve on’y got about five shillings. You’ve made a nice mess of it, +Ginger, you ’ave.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a silly fool, Ginger, that’s wot you are,” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Sewn up in the lining of the coat?</i>” ses Ginger, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“The bank-notes was,” ses Isaac, “and three pounds in gold ’idden in the cap. +Did you pawn that too?” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger got up in ’is excitement and walked up and down the room. “We must go +and get ’em out at once,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“And where’s the money to do it with?” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger ’adn’t thought of that, and it struck ’im all of a heap. None of ’em +seemed to be able to think of a way of getting the other ten shillings wot was +wanted, and Ginger was so upset that ’e took no notice of the things Peter kept +saying to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go and ask to see ’em, and say we left a railway-ticket in the pocket,” +ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Isaac shook ’is ’ead. “There’s on’y one way to do it,” he ses. “We shall ’ave +to pawn your clothes, Ginger, to get mine out with.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the on’y way, Ginger,” ses Peter, brightening up. “Now, wot’s the good +o’ carrying on like that? It’s no worse for you to be without your clothes for +a little while than it was for pore old Isaac.” +</p> + +<p> +It took ’em quite arf an hour afore they could get Ginger to see it. First of +all ’e wanted Peter’s clothes to be took instead of ’is, and when Peter pointed +out that they was too shabby to fetch ten shillings ’e ’ad a lot o’ nasty +things to say about wearing such old rags, and at last, in a terrible temper, +’e took ’is clothes off and pitched ’em in a ’eap on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“If you ain’t back in arf an hour, Peter,” ’e ses, scowling at ’im, “you’ll +’ear from me, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you worry about that,” ses Isaac, with a smile. “<i>I’m</i> going to +take ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“You?” ses Ginger; “but you can’t. You ain’t got no clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to wear Peter’s,” ses Isaac, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +Peter asked ’im to listen to reason, but it was all no good. He’d got the +pawn-ticket, and at last Peter, forgetting all he’d said to Ginger Dick about +using bad langwidge, took ’is clothes off, one by one, and dashed ’em on the +floor, and told Isaac some of the things ’e thought of ’im. +</p> + +<p> +The old man didn’t take any notice of ’im. He dressed ’imself up very slow and +careful in Peter’s clothes, and then ’e drove ’em nearly crazy by wasting time +making ’is bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Be as quick as you can, Isaac,” ses Ginger, at last; “think of us two +a-sitting ’ere waiting for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I sha’n’t forget it,” ses Isaac, and ’e came back to the door after ’e’d gone +arf-way down the stairs to ask ’em not to go out on the drink while ’e was +away. +</p> + +<p> +It was nine o’clock when he went, and at ha’-past nine Ginger began to get +impatient and wondered wot ’ad ’appened to ’im, and when ten o’clock came and +no Isaac they was both leaning out of the winder with blankets over their +shoulders looking up the road. By eleven o’clock Peter was in very low spirits +and Ginger was so mad ’e was afraid to speak to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +They spent the rest o’ that day ’anging out of the winder, but it was not till +ha’-past four in the afternoon that Isaac, still wearing Peter’s clothes and +carrying a couple of large green plants under ’is arm, turned into the road, +and from the way ’e was smiling they thought it must be all right. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot ’ave you been such a long time for?” ses Ginger, in a low, fierce voice, +as Isaac stopped underneath the winder and nodded up to ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“I met a old friend,” ses Isaac. +</p> + +<p> +“Met a old friend?” ses Ginger, in a passion. “Wot d’ye mean, wasting time like +that while we was sitting up ’ere waiting and starving?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ’adn’t seen ’im for years,” ses Isaac, “and time slipped away afore I +noticed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dessay,” ses Ginger, in a bitter voice. “Well, is the money all right?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” ses Isaac; “I ain’t got the clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wot?</i>” ses Ginger, nearly falling out of the winder. “Well, wot ’ave you +done with mine, then? Where are they? Come upstairs.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t come upstairs, Ginger,” ses Isaac, “because I’m not quite sure whether +I’ve done right. But I’m not used to going into pawnshops, and I walked about +trying to make up my mind to go in and couldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, wot did you do then?” ses Ginger, ’ardly able to contain hisself. +</p> + +<p> +“While I was trying to make up my mind,” ses old Isaac, “I see a man with a +barrer of lovely plants. ’E wasn’t asking money for ’em, only old clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Old clothes?</i>” ses Ginger, in a voice as if ’e was being suffocated. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought they’d be a bit o’ green for you to look at,” ses the old man, +’olding the plants up; “there’s no knowing ’ow long you’ll be up there. The big +one is yours, Ginger, and the other is for Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ave you gone mad, Isaac?” ses Peter, in a trembling voice, arter Ginger ’ad +tried to speak and couldn’t. +</p> + +<p> +Isaac shook ’is ’ead and smiled up at ’em, and then, arter telling Peter to put +Ginger’s blanket a little more round ’is shoulders, for fear ’e should catch +cold, ’e said ’e’d ask the landlady to send ’em up some bread and butter and a +cup o’ tea. +</p> + +<p> +They ’eard ’im talking to the landlady at the door, and then ’e went off in a +hurry without looking behind ’im, and the landlady walked up and down on the +other side of the road with ’er apron stuffed in ’er mouth, pretending to be +looking at ’er chimney-pots. +</p> + +<p> +Isaac didn’t turn up at all that night, and by next morning those two +unfortunate men see ’ow they’d been done. It was quite plain to them that Isaac +’ad been deceiving them, and Peter was pretty certain that ’e took the money +out of the bed while ’e was fussing about making it. Old Isaac kept ’em there +for three days, sending ’em in their clothes bit by bit and two shillings a day +to live on; but they didn’t set eyes on ’im agin until they all signed on +aboard the <i>Planet</i>, and they didn’t set eyes on their money until they +was two miles below Gravesend. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus05"></a> +<img src="images/005.jpg" width="530" height="652" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a> +THE CASTAWAY +</h2> + +<p> +Mrs. John Boxer stood at the door of the shop with her hands clasped on her +apron. The short day had drawn to a close, and the lamps in the narrow little +thorough-fares of Shinglesea were already lit. For a time she stood listening +to the regular beat of the sea on the beach some half-mile distant, and then +with a slight shiver stepped back into the shop and closed the door. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus06"></a> +<img src="images/006.jpg" width="564" height="476" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +The little shop with its wide-mouthed bottles of sweets was one of her earliest +memories. Until her marriage she had known no other home, and when her husband +was lost with the <i>North Star</i> some three years before, she gave up her +home in Poplar and returned to assist her mother in the little shop. +</p> + +<p> +In a restless mood she took up a piece of needle-work, and a minute or two +later put it down again. A glance through the glass of the door leading into +the small parlour revealed Mrs. Gimpson, with a red shawl round her shoulders, +asleep in her easy-chair. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Boxer turned at the clang of the shop bell, and then, with a wild cry, +stood gazing at the figure of a man standing in the door-way. He was short and +bearded, with oddly shaped shoulders, and a left leg which was not a match; but +the next moment Mrs. Boxer was in his arms sobbing and laughing together. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson, whose nerves were still quivering owing to the suddenness with +which she had been awakened, came into the shop; Mr. Boxer freed an arm, and +placing it round her waist kissed her with some affection on the chin. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s come back!” cried Mrs. Boxer, hysterically. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank goodness,” said Mrs. Gimpson, after a moment’s deliberation. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s alive!” cried Mrs. Boxer. “He’s alive!” +</p> + +<p> +She half-dragged and half-led him into the small parlour, and thrusting him +into the easy-chair lately vacated by Mrs. Gimpson seated herself upon his +knee, regardless in her excitement that the rightful owner was with elaborate +care selecting the most uncomfortable chair in the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Fancy his coming back!” said Mrs. Boxer, wiping her eyes. “How did you escape, +John? Where have you been? Tell us all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer sighed. “It ’ud be a long story if I had the gift of telling of it,” +he said, slowly, “but I’ll cut it short for the present. When the <i>North +Star</i> went down in the South Pacific most o’ the hands got away in the +boats, but I was too late. I got this crack on the head with something falling +on it from aloft. Look here.” +</p> + +<p> +He bent his head, and Mrs. Boxer, separating the stubble with her fingers, +uttered an exclamation of pity and alarm at the extent of the scar; Mrs. +Gimpson, craning forward, uttered a sound which might mean anything—even pity. +</p> + +<p> +“When I come to my senses,” continued Mr. Boxer, “the ship was sinking, and I +just got to my feet when she went down and took me with her. How I escaped I +don’t know. I seemed to be choking and fighting for my breath for years, and +then I found myself floating on the sea and clinging to a grating. I clung to +it all night, and next day I was picked up by a native who was paddling about +in a canoe, and taken ashore to an island, where I lived for over two years. It +was right out o’ the way o’ craft, but at last I was picked up by a trading +schooner named the <i>Pearl</i>, belonging to Sydney, and taken there. At +Sydney I shipped aboard the <i>Marston Towers</i>, a steamer, and landed at the +Albert Docks this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor John,” said his wife, holding on to his arm. “How you must have +suffered!” +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” said Mr. Boxer. “Mother got a cold?” he inquired, eying that lady. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I ain’t,” said Mrs. Gimpson, answering for herself. “Why didn’t you write +when you got to Sydney?” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t know where to write to,” replied Mr. Boxer, staring. “I didn’t know +where Mary had gone to.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might ha’ wrote here,” said Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t think of it at the time,” said Mr. Boxer. “One thing is, I was very +busy at Sydney, looking for a ship. However, I’m ’ere now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I always felt you’d turn up some day,” said Mrs. Gimpson. “I felt certain of +it in my own mind. Mary made sure you was dead, but I said ‘no, I knew +better.’” +</p> + +<p> +There was something in Mrs. Gimpson’s manner of saying this that impressed her +listeners unfavourably. The impression was deepened when, after a short, dry +laugh <i>à propos</i> of nothing, she sniffed again—three times. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you turned out to be right,” said Mr. Boxer, shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“I gin’rally am,” was the reply; “there’s very few people can take me in.” +</p> + +<p> +She sniffed again. +</p> + +<p> +“Were the natives kind to you?” inquired Mrs. Boxer, hastily, as she turned to +her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Very kind,” said the latter. “Ah! you ought to have seen that island. +Beautiful yellow sands and palm-trees; cocoa-nuts to be ’ad for the picking, +and nothing to do all day but lay about in the sun and swim in the sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any public-’ouses there?” inquired Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“Cert’nly not,” said her son-in-law. “This was an island—one o’ the little +islands in the South Pacific Ocean.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say the name o’ the schooner was?” inquired Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Pearl</i>,” replied Mr. Boxer, with the air of a resentful witness under +cross-examination. +</p> + +<p> +“And what was the name o’ the captin?” said Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“Thomas—Henery—Walter—Smith,” said Mr. Boxer, with somewhat unpleasant +emphasis. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ the mate’s name?” +</p> + +<p> +“John Brown,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Common names,” commented Mrs. Gimpson, “very common. But I knew you’d come +back all right—<i>I</i> never ’ad no alarm. ‘He’s safe and happy, my dear,’ I +says. ‘He’ll come back all in his own good time.’” +</p> + +<p> +“What d’you mean by that?” demanded the sensitive Mr. Boxer. “I come back as +soon as I could.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know you were anxious, mother,” interposed her daughter. “Why, you +insisted upon our going to see old Mr. Silver about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! but I wasn’t uneasy or anxious afterwards,” said Mrs. Gimpson, compressing +her lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s old Mr. Silver, and what should he know about it?” inquired Mr. Boxer. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a fortune-teller,” replied his wife. “Reads the stars,” said his +mother-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer laughed—a good ringing laugh. “What did he tell you?” he inquired. +“Nothing,” said his wife, hastily. “Ah!” said Mr. Boxer, waggishly, “that was +wise of ’im. Most of us could tell fortunes that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s wrong,” said Mrs. Gimpson to her daughter, sharply. “Right’s right any +day, and truth’s truth. He said that he knew all about John and what he’d been +doing, but he wouldn’t tell us for fear of ’urting our feelings and making +mischief.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, look ’ere,” said Mr. Boxer, starting up; “I’ve ’ad about enough o’ this. +Why don’t you speak out what you mean? I’ll mischief ’im, the old humbug. Old +rascal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, John,” said his wife, laying her hand upon his arm. “Here you are +safe and sound, and as for old Mr. Silver, there’s a lot o’ people don’t +believe in him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! they don’t want to,” said Mrs. Gimpson, obstinately. “But don’t forget +that he foretold my cough last winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, look ’ere,” said Mr. Boxer, twisting his short, blunt nose into as near +an imitation of a sneer as he could manage, “I’ve told you my story and I’ve +got witnesses to prove it. You can write to the master of the <i>Marston +Towers</i> if you like, and other people besides. Very well, then; let’s go and +see your precious old fortune-teller. You needn’t say who I am; say I’m a +friend, and tell ’im never to mind about making mischief, but to say right out +where I am and what I’ve been doing all this time. I have my ’opes it’ll cure +you of your superstitiousness.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus07"></a> +<img src="images/007.jpg" width="513" height="519" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“We’ll go round after we’ve shut up, mother,” said Mrs. Boxer. “We’ll have a +bit o’ supper first and then start early.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson hesitated. It is never pleasant to submit one’s superstitions to +the tests of the unbelieving, but after the attitude she had taken up she was +extremely loath to allow her son-in-law a triumph. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, we’ll say no more about it,” she said, primly, “but I ’ave my own +ideas.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dessay,” said Mr. Boxer; “but you’re afraid for us to go to your old +fortune-teller. It would be too much of a show-up for ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good your trying to aggravate me, John Boxer, because you can’t do +it,” said Mrs. Gimpson, in a voice trembling with passion. +</p> + +<p> +“O’ course, if people like being deceived they must be,” said Mr. Boxer; “we’ve +all got to live, and if we’d all got our common sense fortune-tellers couldn’t. +Does he tell fortunes by tea-leaves or by the colour of your eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Laugh away, John Boxer,” said Mrs. Gimpson, icily; “but I shouldn’t have been +alive now if it hadn’t ha’ been for Mr. Silver’s warnings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother stayed in bed for the first ten days in July,” explained Mrs. Boxer, +“to avoid being bit by a mad dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Tchee—tchee—tchee</i>,” said the hapless Mr. Boxer, putting his hand over +his mouth and making noble efforts to restrain himself; “<i>tchee—tch——</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose you’d ha’ laughed more if I ’ad been bit?” said the glaring Mrs. +Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, who did the dog bite after all?” inquired Mr. Boxer, recovering. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand,” replied Mrs. Gimpson, pityingly; “me being safe up in +bed and the door locked, there was no mad dog. There was no use for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mr. Boxer, “me and Mary’s going round to see that old deceiver +after supper, whether you come or not. Mary shall tell ’im I’m a friend, and +ask him to tell her everything about ’er husband. Nobody knows me here, and +Mary and me’ll be affectionate like, and give ’im to understand we want to +marry. Then he won’t mind making mischief.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better leave well alone,” said Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer shook his head. “I was always one for a bit o’ fun,” he said, slowly. +“I want to see his face when he finds out who I am.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson made no reply; she was looking round for the market-basket, and +having found it she left the reunited couple to keep house while she went out +to obtain a supper which should, in her daughter’s eyes, be worthy of the +occasion. +</p> + +<p> +She went to the High Street first and made her purchases, and was on the way +back again when, in response to a sudden impulse, as she passed the end of +Crowner’s Alley, she turned into that small by-way and knocked at the +astrologer’s door. +</p> + +<p> +A slow, dragging footstep was heard approaching in reply to the summons, and +the astrologer, recognising his visitor as one of his most faithful and +credulous clients, invited her to step inside. Mrs. Gimpson complied, and, +taking a chair, gazed at the venerable white beard and small, red-rimmed eyes +of her host in some perplexity as to how to begin. +</p> + +<p> +“My daughter’s coming round to see you presently,” she said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +The astrologer nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“She—she wants to ask you about ’er husband,” faltered Mrs. Gimpson; “she’s +going to bring a friend with her—a man who doesn’t believe in your knowledge. +He—he knows all about my daughter’s husband, and he wants to see what you say +you know about him.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man put on a pair of huge horn spectacles and eyed her carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, at last; “you’d better tell me +everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s some danger hanging over you,” continued Mr. Silver, in a low, +thrilling voice; “some danger in connection with your son-in-law. There,” he +waved a lean, shrivelled hand backward and forward as though dispelling a fog, +and peered into distance—“there is something forming over you. You—or +somebody—are hiding something from me.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus08"></a> +<img src="images/008.jpg" width="544" height="695" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson, aghast at such omniscience, sank backward in her chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak,” said the old man, gently; “there is no reason why you should be +sacrificed for others.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson was of the same opinion, and in some haste she reeled off the +events of the evening. She had a good memory, and no detail was lost. +</p> + +<p> +“Strange, strange,” said the venerable Mr. Silver, when he had finished. “He is +an ingenious man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it true?” inquired his listener. “He says he can prove it. And he is +going to find out what you meant by saying you were afraid of making mischief.” +</p> + +<p> +“He can prove some of it,” said the old man, his eyes snapping spitefully. “I +can guarantee that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it wouldn’t have made mischief if you had told us that,” ventured Mrs. +Gimpson. “A man can’t help being cast away.” +</p> + +<p> +“True,” said the astrologer, slowly; “true. But let them come and question me; +and whatever you do, for your own sake don’t let a soul know that you have been +here. If you do, the danger to yourself will be so terrible that even <i>I</i> +may be unable to help you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson shivered, and more than ever impressed by his marvellous powers +made her way slowly home, where she found the unconscious Mr. Boxer relating +his adventures again with much gusto to a married couple from next door. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a wonder he’s alive,” said Mr. Jem Thompson, looking up as the old woman +entered the room; “it sounds like a story-book. Show us that cut on your head +again, mate.” +</p> + +<p> +The obliging Mr. Boxer complied. +</p> + +<p> +“We’re going on with ’em after they’ve ’ad supper,” continued Mr. Thompson, as +he and his wife rose to depart. “It’ll be a fair treat to me to see old Silver +bowled out.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson sniffed and eyed his retreating figure disparagingly; Mrs. Boxer, +prompted by her husband, began to set the table for supper. +</p> + +<p> +It was a lengthy meal, owing principally to Mr. Boxer, but it was over at last, +and after that gentleman had assisted in shutting up the shop they joined the +Thompsons, who were waiting outside, and set off for Crowner’s Alley. The way +was enlivened by Mr. Boxer, who had thrills of horror every ten yards at the +idea of the supernatural things he was about to witness, and by Mr. Thompson, +who, not to be outdone, persisted in standing stock-still at frequent intervals +until he had received the assurances of his giggling better-half that he would +not be made to vanish in a cloud of smoke. +</p> + +<p> +By the time they reached Mr. Silver’s abode the party had regained its decorum, +and, except for a tremendous shudder on the part of Mr. Boxer as his gaze fell +on a couple of skulls which decorated the magician’s table, their behaviour +left nothing to be desired. Mrs. Gimpson, in a few awkward words, announced the +occasion of their visit. Mr. Boxer she introduced as a friend of the family +from London. +</p> + +<p> +“I will do what I can,” said the old man, slowly, as his visitors seated +themselves, “but I can only tell you what I see. If I do not see all, or see +clearly, it cannot be helped.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer winked at Mr. Thompson, and received an understanding pinch in +return; Mrs. Thompson in a hot whisper told them to behave themselves. +</p> + +<p> +The mystic preparations were soon complete. A little cloud of smoke, through +which the fierce red eyes of the astrologer peered keenly at Mr. Boxer, rose +from the table. Then he poured various liquids into a small china bowl and, +holding up his hand to command silence, gazed steadfastly into it. “I see +pictures,” he announced, in a deep voice. “The docks of a great city; London. I +see an ill-shaped man with a bent left leg standing on the deck of a ship.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Thompson, his eyes wide open with surprise, jerked Mr. Boxer in the ribs, +but Mr. Boxer, whose figure was a sore point with him, made no response. +</p> + +<p> +“The ship leaves the docks,” continued Mr. Silver, still peering into the bowl. +“As she passes through the entrance her stern comes into view with the name +painted on it. The—the—the——” +</p> + +<p> +“Look agin, old chap,” growled Mr. Boxer, in an undertone. +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>North Star</i>,” said the astrologer. “The ill-shaped man is still +standing on the fore-part of the ship; I do not know his name or who he is. He +takes the portrait of a beautiful young woman from his pocket and gazes at it +earnestly.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Boxer, who had no illusions on the subject of her personal appearance, sat +up as though she had been stung; Mr. Thompson, who was about to nudge Mr. Boxer +in the ribs again, thought better of it and assumed an air of uncompromising +virtue. +</p> + +<p> +“The picture disappears,” said Mr. Silver. “Ah! I see; I see. A ship in a gale +at sea. It is the <i>North Star;</i> it is sinking. The ill-shaped man sheds +tears and loses his head. I cannot discover the name of this man.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer, who had been several times on the point of interrupting, cleared his +throat and endeavoured to look unconcerned. +</p> + +<p> +“The ship sinks,” continued the astrologer, in thrilling tones. “Ah! what is +this? a piece of wreckage with a monkey clinging to it? No, no-o. The +ill-shaped man again. Dear me!” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus09"></a> +<img src="images/009.jpg" width="556" height="618" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +His listeners sat spellbound. Only the laboured and intense breathing of Mr. +Boxer broke the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“He is alone on the boundless sea,” pursued the seer; “night falls. Day breaks, +and a canoe propelled by a slender and pretty but dusky maiden approaches the +castaway. She assists him into the canoe and his head sinks on her lap, as with +vigorous strokes of her paddle she propels the canoe toward a small island +fringed with palm trees.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here, look ’ere—” began the overwrought Mr. Boxer. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>H’sh, h’sh!</i>” ejaculated the keenly interested Mr. Thompson. “W’y don’t +you keep quiet?” +</p> + +<p> +“The picture fades,” continued the old man. “I see another: a native wedding. +It is the dusky maiden and the man she rescued. Ah! the wedding is interrupted; +a young man, a native, breaks into the group. He has a long knife in his hand. +He springs upon the ill-shaped man and wounds him in the head.” +</p> + +<p> +Involuntarily Mr. Boxer’s hand went up to his honourable scar, and the heads of +the others swung round to gaze at it. Mrs. Boxer’s face was terrible in its +expression, but Mrs. Gimpson’s bore the look of sad and patient triumph of one +who knew men and could not be surprised at anything they do. +</p> + +<p> +“The scene vanishes,” resumed the monotonous voice, “and another one forms. The +same man stands on the deck of a small ship. The name on the stern is the +<i>Peer</i>—no, <i>Paris</i>—no, no, no, <i>Pearl</i>. It fades from the shore +where the dusky maiden stands with hands stretched out imploringly. The +ill-shaped man smiles and takes the portrait of the young and beautiful girl +from his pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere,” said the infuriated Mr. Boxer, “I think we’ve ’ad about enough of +this rubbish. I have—more than enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t wonder at it,” said his wife, trembling furiously. “You can go if you +like. I’m going to stay and hear all that there is to hear.” +</p> + +<p> +“You sit quiet,” urged the intensely interested Mr. Thompson. “He ain’t said +it’s you. There’s more than one misshaped man in the world, I s’pose?” +</p> + +<p> +“I see an ocean liner,” said the seer, who had appeared to be in a trance state +during this colloquy. “She is sailing for England from Australia. I see the +name distinctly: the <i>Marston Towers</i>. The same man is on board of her. +The ship arrives at London. The scene closes; another one forms. The ill-shaped +man is sitting with a woman with a beautiful face—not the same as the +photograph.” +</p> + +<p> +“What they can see in him I can’t think,” muttered Mr. Thompson, in an envious +whisper. “He’s a perfick terror, and to look at him——” +</p> + +<p> +“They sit hand in hand,” continued the astrologer, raising his voice. “She +smiles up at him and gently strokes his head; he——” +</p> + +<p> +A loud smack rang through the room and startled the entire company; Mrs. Boxer, +unable to contain herself any longer, had, so far from profiting by the +example, gone to the other extreme and slapped her husband’s head with hearty +good-will. Mr. Boxer sprang raging to his feet, and in the confusion which +ensued the fortune-teller, to the great regret of Mr. Thompson, upset the +contents of the magic bowl. +</p> + +<p> +“I can see no more,” he said, sinking hastily into his chair behind the table +as Mr. Boxer advanced upon him. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson pushed her son-in-law aside, and laying a modest fee upon the +table took her daughter’s arm and led her out. The Thompsons followed, and Mr. +Boxer, after an irresolute glance in the direction of the ingenuous Mr. Silver, +made his way after them and fell into the rear. The people in front walked on +for some time in silence, and then the voice of the greatly impressed Mrs. +Thompson was heard, to the effect that if there were only more fortune-tellers +in the world there would be a lot more better men. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer trotted up to his wife’s side. “Look here, Mary,” he began. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you speak to me,” said his wife, drawing closer to her mother, “because +I won’t answer you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer laughed, bitterly. “This is a nice home-coming,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +He fell to the rear again and walked along raging, his temper by no means being +improved by observing that Mrs. Thompson, doubtless with a firm belief in the +saying that “Evil communications corrupt good manners,” kept a tight hold of +her husband’s arm. His position as an outcast was clearly defined, and he +ground his teeth with rage as he observed the virtuous uprightness of Mrs. +Gimpson’s back. By the time they reached home he was in a spirit of mad +recklessness far in advance of the character given him by the astrologer. +</p> + +<p> +His wife gazed at him with a look of such strong interrogation as he was about +to follow her into the house that he paused with his foot on the step and eyed +her dumbly. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you left anything inside that you want?” she inquired. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus10"></a> +<img src="images/010.jpg" width="488" height="641" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer shook his head. “I only wanted to come in and make a clean breast of +it,” he said, in a curious voice; “then I’ll go.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson stood aside to let him pass, and Mr. Thompson, not to be denied, +followed close behind with his faintly protesting wife. They sat down in a row +against the wall, and Mr. Boxer, sitting opposite in a hang-dog fashion, eyed +them with scornful wrath. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Mrs. Boxer, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“All that he said was quite true,” said her husband, defiantly. “The only thing +is, he didn’t tell the arf of it. Altogether, I married three dusky maidens.” +</p> + +<p> +Everybody but Mr. Thompson shuddered with horror. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I married a white girl in Australia,” pursued Mr. Boxer, musingly. “I +wonder old Silver didn’t see that in the bowl; not arf a fortune-teller, I call +’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“What they <i>see</i> in ’im!” whispered the astounded Mr. Thompson to his +wife. +</p> + +<p> +“And did you marry the beautiful girl in the photograph?” demanded Mrs. Boxer, +in trembling accents. +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” said her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Hussy,” cried Mrs. Boxer. +</p> + +<p> +“I married her,” said Mr. Boxer, considering—“I married her at Camberwell, in +eighteen ninety-three.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteen <i>ninety-three!</i>” said his wife, in a startled voice. “But you +couldn’t. Why, you didn’t marry me till eighteen ninety-<i>four</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that got to do with it?” inquired the monster, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Boxer, pale as ashes, rose from her seat and stood gazing at him with +horror-struck eyes, trying in vain to speak. +</p> + +<p> +“You villain!” cried Mrs. Gimpson, violently. “I always distrusted you.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus11"></a> +<img src="images/011.jpg" width="515" height="520" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I know you did,” said Mr. Boxer, calmly. “You’ve been committing bigamy,” +cried Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“Over and over agin,” assented Mr. Boxer, cheerfully. “It’s got to be a ’obby +with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was the first wife alive when you married my daughter?” demanded Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“Alive?” said Mr. Boxer. “O’ course she was. She’s alive now—bless her.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned back in his chair and regarded with intense satisfaction the +horrified faces of the group in front. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you’ll go to jail for this,” cried Mrs. Gimpson, breathlessly. “What is +your first wife’s address?” +</p> + +<p> +“I decline to answer that question,” said her son-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your first wife’s address?” repeated Mrs. Gimpson. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask the fortune-teller,” said Mr. Boxer, with an aggravating smile. “And then +get ’im up in the box as a witness, little bowl and all. He can tell you more +than I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“I demand to know her name and address,” cried Mrs. Gimpson, putting a bony arm +around the waist of the trembling Mrs. Boxer. +</p> + +<p> +“I decline to give it,” said Mr. Boxer, with great relish. “It ain’t likely I’m +going to give myself away like that; besides, it’s agin the law for a man to +criminate himself. You go on and start your bigamy case, and call old red-eyes +as a witness.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Gimpson gazed at him in speechless wrath and then stooping down conversed +in excited whispers with Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Boxer crossed over to her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, John,” she wailed, “say it isn’t true, say it isn’t true.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer hesitated. “What’s the good o’ me saying anything?” he said, +doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t true,” persisted his wife. “Say it isn’t true.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I told you when I first came in this evening was quite true,” said her +husband, slowly. “And what I’ve just told you is as true as what that lying old +fortune-teller told you. You can please yourself what you believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you, John,” said his wife, humbly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Boxer’s countenance cleared and he drew her on to his knee. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” he said, cheerfully. “So long as you believe in me I don’t care +what other people think. And before I’m much older I’ll find out how that old +rascal got to know the names of the ships I was aboard. Seems to me somebody’s +been talking.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a> +BLUNDELL’S IMPROVEMENT +</h2> + +<p> +Venia Turnbull in a quiet, unobtrusive fashion was enjoying herself. The cool +living-room at Turnbull’s farm was a delightful contrast to the hot sunshine +without, and the drowsy humming of bees floating in at the open window was +charged with hints of slumber to the middle-aged. From her seat by the window +she watched with amused interest the efforts of her father—kept from his Sunday +afternoon nap by the assiduous attentions of her two admirers—to maintain his +politeness. +</p> + +<p> +“Father was so pleased to see you both come in,” she said, softly; “it’s very +dull for him here of an afternoon with only me.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus12"></a> +<img src="images/012.jpg" width="567" height="430" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I can’t imagine anybody being dull with only you,” said Sergeant Dick Daly, +turning a bold brown eye upon her. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. John Blundell scowled; this was the third time the sergeant had said the +thing that he would have liked to say if he had thought of it. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind being dull,” remarked Mr. Turnbull, casually. +</p> + +<p> +Neither gentleman made any comment. +</p> + +<p> +“I like it,” pursued Mr. Turnbull, longingly; “always did, from a child.” +</p> + +<p> +The two young men looked at each other; then they looked at Venia; the sergeant +assumed an expression of careless ease, while John Blundell sat his chair like +a human limpet. Mr. Turnbull almost groaned as he remembered his tenacity. +</p> + +<p> +“The garden’s looking very nice,” he said, with a pathetic glance round. +</p> + +<p> +“Beautiful,” assented the sergeant. “I saw it yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some o’ the roses on that big bush have opened a bit more since then,” said +the farmer. +</p> + +<p> +Sergeant Daly expressed his gratification, and said that he was not surprised. +It was only ten days since he had arrived in the village on a visit to a +relative, but in that short space of time he had, to the great discomfort of +Mr. Blundell, made himself wonderfully at home at Mr. Turnbull’s. To Venia he +related strange adventures by sea and land, and on subjects of which he was +sure the farmer knew nothing he was a perfect mine of information. He began to +talk in low tones to Venia, and the heart of Mr. Blundell sank within him as he +noted her interest. Their voices fell to a gentle murmur, and the sergeant’s +sleek, well-brushed head bent closer to that of his listener. Relieved from his +attentions, Mr. Turnbull fell asleep without more ado. +</p> + +<p> +Blundell sat neglected, the unwilling witness of a flirtation he was powerless +to prevent. Considering her limited opportunities, Miss Turnbull displayed a +proficiency which astonished him. Even the sergeant was amazed, and suspected +her of long practice. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder whether it is very hot outside?” she said, at last, rising and +looking out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +“Only pleasantly warm,” said the sergeant. “It would be nice down by the +water.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid of disturbing father by our talk,” said the considerate daughter. +“You might tell him we’ve gone for a little stroll when he wakes,” she added, +turning to Blundell. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell, who had risen with the idea of acting the humble but, in his +opinion, highly necessary part of chaperon, sat down again and watched blankly +from the window until they were out of sight. He was half inclined to think +that the exigencies of the case warranted him in arousing the farmer at once. +</p> + +<p> +It was an hour later when the farmer awoke, to find himself alone with Mr. +Blundell, a state of affairs for which he strove with some pertinacity to make +that aggrieved gentleman responsible. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you go with them?” he demanded. “Because I wasn’t asked,” replied +the other. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull sat up in his chair and eyed him disdainfully. “For a great, big +chap like you are, John Blundell,” he exclaimed, “it’s surprising what a little +pluck you’ve got.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to go where I’m not wanted,” retorted Mr. Blundell. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where you make a mistake,” said the other, regarding him severely; +“girls like a masterful man, and, instead of getting your own way, you sit down +quietly and do as you’re told, like a tame—tame—” +</p> + +<p> +“Tame what?” inquired Mr. Blundell, resentfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said the other, frankly; “the tamest thing you can think of. +There’s Daly laughing in his sleeve at you, and talking to Venia about Waterloo +and the Crimea as though he’d been there. I thought it was pretty near settled +between you.” +</p> + +<p> +“So did I,” said Mr. Blundell. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a big man, John,” said the other, “but you’re slow. You’re all muscle +and no head.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think of things afterward,” said Blundell, humbly; “generally after I get to +bed.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull sniffed, and took a turn up and down the room; then he closed the +door and came toward his friend again. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say you’re surprised at me being so anxious to get rid of Venia,” he +said, slowly, “but the fact is I’m thinking of marrying again myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You!</i>” said the startled Mr. Blundell. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, me,” said the other, somewhat sharply. “But she won’t marry so long as +Venia is at home. It’s a secret, because if Venia got to hear of it she’d keep +single to prevent it. She’s just that sort of girl.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell coughed, but did not deny it. “Who is it?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Sippet,” was the reply. “She couldn’t hold her own for half an hour +against Venia.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell, a great stickler for accuracy, reduced the time to five minutes. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” said the aggrieved Mr. Turnbull, “now, so far as I can see, she’s +struck with Daly. If she has him it’ll be years and years before they can +marry. She seems crazy about heroes. She was talking to me the other night +about them. Not to put too fine a point on it, she was talking about you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell blushed with pleased surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Said you were <i>not</i> a hero,” explained Mr. Turnbull. “Of course, I stuck +up for you. I said you’d got too much sense to go putting your life into +danger. I said you were a very careful man, and I told her how particular you +was about damp sheets. Your housekeeper told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all nonsense,” said Blundell, with a fiery face. “I’ll send that old fool +packing if she can’t keep her tongue quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very sensible of you, John,” said Mr. Turnbull, “and a sensible girl +would appreciate it. Instead of that, she only sniffed when I told her how +careful you always were to wear flannel next to your skin. She said she liked +dare-devils.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose she thinks Daly is a dare-devil,” said the offended Mr. Blundell. +“And I wish people wouldn’t talk about me and my skin. Why can’t they mind +their own business?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull eyed him indignantly, and then, sitting in a very upright +position, slowly filled his pipe, and declining a proffered match rose and took +one from the mantel-piece. +</p> + +<p> +“I was doing the best I could for you,” he said, staring hard at the ingrate. +“I was trying to make Venia see what a careful husband you would make. Miss +Sippet herself is most particular about such things—and Venia seemed to think +something of it, because she asked me whether you used a warming-pan.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus13"></a> +<img src="images/013.jpg" width="579" height="609" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell got up from his chair and, without going through the formality of +bidding his host good-by, quitted the room and closed the door violently behind +him. He was red with rage, and he brooded darkly as he made his way home on the +folly of carrying on the traditions of a devoted mother without thinking for +himself. +</p> + +<p> +For the next two or three days, to Venia’s secret concern, he failed to put in +an appearance at the farm—a fact which made flirtation with the sergeant a +somewhat uninteresting business. Her sole recompense was the dismay of her +father, and for his benefit she dwelt upon the advantages of the Army in a +manner that would have made the fortune of a recruiting-sergeant. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s just crazy after the soldiers,” he said to Mr. Blundell, whom he was +trying to spur on to a desperate effort. “I’ve been watching her close, and I +can see what it is now; she’s romantic. You’re too slow and ordinary for her. +She wants somebody more dazzling. She told Daly only yesterday afternoon that +she loved heroes. Told it to him to his face. I sat there and heard her. It’s a +pity you ain’t a hero, John.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Blundell; “then, if I was, I expect she’d like something else.” +</p> + +<p> +The other shook his head. “If you could only do something daring,” he murmured; +“half-kill somebody, or save somebody’s life, and let her see you do it. +Couldn’t you dive off the quay and save somebody’s life from drowning?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I could,” said Blundell, “if somebody would only tumble in.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might pretend that you thought you saw somebody drowning,” suggested Mr. +Turnbull. +</p> + +<p> +“And be laughed at,” said Mr. Blundell, who knew his Venia by heart. +</p> + +<p> +“You always seem to be able to think of objections,” complained Mr. Turnbull; +“I’ve noticed that in you before.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d go in fast enough if there was anybody there,” said Blundell. “I’m not +much of a swimmer, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“All the better,” interrupted the other; “that would make it all the more +daring.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I don’t much care if I’m drowned,” pursued the younger man, gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull thrust his hands in his pockets and took a turn or two up and down +the room. His brows were knitted and his lips pursed. In the presence of this +mental stress Mr. Blundell preserved a respectful silence. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll all four go for a walk on the quay on Sunday afternoon,” said Mr. +Turnbull, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“On the chance?” inquired his staring friend. +</p> + +<p> +“On the chance,” assented the other; “it’s just possible Daly might fall in.” +</p> + +<p> +“He might if we walked up and down five million times,” said Blundell, +unpleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“He might if we walked up and down three or four times,” said Mr. Turnbull, +“especially if you happened to stumble.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never stumble,” said the matter-of-fact Mr. Blundell. “I don’t know anybody +more sure-footed than I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or thick-headed,” added the exasperated Mr. Turnbull. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell regarded him patiently; he had a strong suspicion that his friend +had been drinking. +</p> + +<p> +“Stumbling,” said Mr. Turnbull, conquering his annoyance with an effort +“stumbling is a thing that might happen to anybody. You trip your foot against +a stone and lurch up against Daly; he tumbles overboard, and you off with your +jacket and dive in off the quay after him. He can’t swim a stroke.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell caught his breath and gazed at him in speechless amaze. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s sure to be several people on the quay if it’s a fine afternoon,” +continued his instructor. “You’ll have half Dunchurch round you, praising you +and patting you on the back—all in front of Venia, mind you. It’ll be put in +all the papers and you’ll get a medal.” +</p> + +<p> +“And suppose we are both drowned?” said Mr. Blundell, soberly. +</p> + +<p> +“Drowned? Fiddlesticks!” said Mr. Turnbull. “However, please yourself. If +you’re afraid——” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do it,” said Blundell, decidedly. +</p> + +<p> +“And mind,” said the other, “don’t do it as if it’s as easy as kissing your +fingers; be half-drowned yourself, or at least pretend to be. And when you’re +on the quay take your time about coming round. Be longer than Daly is; you +don’t want him to get all the pity.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“After a time you can open your eyes,” went on his instructor; “then, if I were +you, I should say, ‘Good-bye, Venia,’ and close ’em again. Work it up +affecting, and send messages to your aunts.” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds all right,” said Blundell. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> all right,” said Mr. Turnbull. “That’s just the bare idea I’ve +given you. It’s for you to improve upon it. You’ve got two days to think about +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell thanked him, and for the next two days thought of little else. +Being a careful man he made his will, and it was in a comparatively cheerful +frame of mind that he made his way on Sunday afternoon to Mr. Turnbull’s. +</p> + +<p> +The sergeant was already there conversing in low tones with Venia by the +window, while Mr. Turnbull, sitting opposite in an oaken armchair, regarded him +with an expression which would have shocked Iago. +</p> + +<p> +“We were just thinking of having a blow down by the water,” he said, as +Blundell entered. +</p> + +<p> +“What! a hot day like this?” said Venia. +</p> + +<p> +“I was just thinking how beautifully cool it is in here,” said the sergeant, +who was hoping for a repetition of the previous Sunday’s performance. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s cooler outside,” said Mr. Turnbull, with a wilful ignoring of facts; +“much cooler when you get used to it.” +</p> + +<p> +He led the way with Blundell, and Venia and the sergeant, keeping as much as +possible in the shade of the dust-powdered hedges, followed. The sun was +blazing in the sky, and scarce half-a-dozen people were to be seen on the +little curved quay which constituted the usual Sunday afternoon promenade. The +water, a dozen feet below, lapped cool and green against the stone sides. +</p> + +<p> +At the extreme end of the quay, underneath the lantern, they all stopped, +ostensibly to admire a full-rigged ship sailing slowly by in the distance, but +really to effect the change of partners necessary to the afternoon’s business. +The change gave Mr. Turnbull some trouble ere it was effected, but he was +successful at last, and, walking behind the two young men, waited somewhat +nervously for developments. +</p> + +<p> +Twice they paraded the length of the quay and nothing happened. The ship was +still visible, and, the sergeant halting to gaze at it, the company lost their +formation, and he led the complaisant Venia off from beneath her father’s very +nose. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a pretty manager, you are, John Blundell,” said the incensed Mr. +Turnbull. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what I’m about,” said Blundell, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, why don’t you do it?” demanded the other. “I suppose you are going to +wait until there are more people about, and then perhaps some of them will see +you push him over.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t that,” said Blundell, slowly, “but you told me to improve on your +plan, you know, and I’ve been thinking out improvements.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t seem much good saving Daly,” said Blundell; “that’s what I’ve been +thinking. He would be in as much danger as I should, and he’d get as much +sympathy; perhaps more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me that you are backing out of it?” demanded Mr. Turnbull. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Blundell, slowly, “but it would be much better if I saved somebody +else. I don’t want Daly to be pitied.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bah! you are backing out of it,” said the irritated Mr. Turnbull. “You’re +afraid of a little cold water.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus14"></a> +<img src="images/014.jpg" width="555" height="578" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“No, I’m not,” said Blundell; “but it would be better in every way to save +somebody else. She’ll see Daly standing there doing nothing, while I am +struggling for my life. I’ve thought it all out very carefully. I know I’m not +quick, but I’m sure, and when I make up my mind to do a thing, I do it. You +ought to know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very well,” said the other; “but who else is there to push in?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” said Blundell, vaguely. “Don’t you worry about that; I +shall find somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull turned and cast a speculative eye along the quay. As a rule, he +had great confidence in Blundell’s determination, but on this occasion he had +his doubts. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s a riddle to me,” he said, slowly. “I give it up. It seems— +<i>Halloa!</i> Good heavens, be careful. You nearly had <i>me</i> in then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did I?” said Blundell, thickly. “I’m very sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull, angry at such carelessness, accepted the apology in a grudging +spirit and trudged along in silence. Then he started nervously as a monstrous +and unworthy suspicion occurred to him. It was an incredible thing to suppose, +but at the same time he felt that there was nothing like being on the safe +side, and in tones not quite free from significance he intimated his desire of +changing places with his awkward friend. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” said Blundell, soothingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it is,” said Mr. Turnbull, regarding him fixedly; “but I prefer this +side. You very near had me over just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I staggered,” said Mr. Blundell. +</p> + +<p> +“Another inch and I should have been overboard,” said Mr. Turnbull, with a +shudder. “That would have been a nice how d’ye do.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell coughed and looked seaward. “Accidents will happen,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +They reached the end of the quay again and stood talking, and when they turned +once more the sergeant was surprised and gratified at the ease with which he +bore off Venia. Mr. Turnbull and Blundell followed some little way behind, and +the former gentleman’s suspicions were somewhat lulled by finding that his +friend made no attempt to take the inside place. He looked about him with +interest for a likely victim, but in vain. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at?” he demanded, impatiently, as Blundell suddenly came +to a stop and gazed curiously into the harbour. +</p> + +<p> +“Jelly-fish,” said the other, briefly. “I never saw such a monster. It must be +a yard across.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull stopped, but could see nothing, and even when Blundell pointed it +out with his finger he had no better success. He stepped forward a pace, and +his suspicions returned with renewed vigour as a hand was laid caressingly on +his shoulder. The next moment, with a wild shriek, he shot suddenly over the +edge and disappeared. Venia and the sergeant, turning hastily, were just in +time to see the fountain which ensued on his immersion. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus15"></a> +<img src="images/015.jpg" width="512" height="799" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Oh, save him!” cried Venia. +</p> + +<p> +The sergeant ran to the edge and gazed in helpless dismay as Mr. Turnbull came +to the surface and disappeared again. At the same moment Blundell, who had +thrown off his coat, dived into the harbour and, rising rapidly to the surface, +caught the fast-choking Mr. Turnbull by the collar. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep still,” he cried, sharply, as the farmer tried to clutch him; “keep still +or I’ll let you go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Help!” choked the farmer, gazing up at the little knot of people which had +collected on the quay. +</p> + +<p> +A stout fisherman who had not run for thirty years came along the edge of the +quay at a shambling trot, with a coil of rope over his arm. John Blundell saw +him and, mindful of the farmer’s warning about kissing of fingers, etc., raised +his disengaged arm and took that frenzied gentleman below the surface again. By +the time they came up he was very glad for his own sake to catch the line +skilfully thrown by the old fisherman and be drawn gently to the side. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tow you to the steps,” said the fisherman; “don’t let go o’ the line.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull saw to that; he wound the rope round his wrist and began to regain +his presence of mind as they were drawn steadily toward the steps. Willing +hands drew them out of the water and helped them up on to the quay, where Mr. +Turnbull, sitting in his own puddle, coughed up salt water and glared +ferociously at the inanimate form of Mr. Blundell. Sergeant Daly and another +man were rendering what they piously believed to be first aid to the apparently +drowned, while the stout fisherman, with both hands to his mouth, was yelling +in heart-rending accents for a barrel. +</p> + +<p> +“He—he—push—pushed me in,” gasped the choking Mr. Turnbull. +</p> + +<p> +Nobody paid any attention to him; even Venia, seeing that he was safe, was on +her knees by the side of the unconscious Blundell. +</p> + +<p> +“He—he’s shamming,” bawled the neglected Mr. Turnbull. +</p> + +<p> +“Shame!” said somebody, without even looking round. +</p> + +<p> +“He pushed me in,” repeated Mr. Turnbull. “He pushed me in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, father,” said Venia, with a scandalised glance at him, “how can you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shame!” said the bystanders, briefly, as they, watched anxiously for signs of +returning life on the part of Mr. Blundell. He lay still with his eyes closed, +but his hearing was still acute, and the sounds of a rapidly approaching barrel +trundled by a breathless Samaritan did him more good than anything. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, Venia,” he said, in a faint voice; “good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Turnbull sobbed and took his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s shamming,” roared Mr. Turnbull, incensed beyond measure at the faithful +manner in which Blundell was carrying out his instructions. “He pushed me in.” +</p> + +<p> +There was an angry murmur from the bystanders. “Be reasonable, Mr. Turnbull,” +said the sergeant, somewhat sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“He nearly lost ’is life over you,” said the stout fisherman. “As plucky a +thing as ever I see. If I ’adn’t ha’ been ’andy with that there line you’d both +ha’ been drownded.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give—my love—to everybody,” said Blundell, faintly. “Good-bye, Venia. +Good-bye, Mr. Turnbull.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that barrel?” demanded the stout fisherman, crisply. “Going to be all +night with it? Now, two of you——” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blundell, with a great effort, and assisted by Venia and the sergeant, sat +up. He felt that he had made a good impression, and had no desire to spoil it +by riding the barrel. With one exception, everybody was regarding him with +moist-eyed admiration. The exception’s eyes were, perhaps, the moistest of them +all, but admiration had no place in them. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re all being made fools of,” he said, getting up and stamping. “I tell you +he pushed me overboard for the purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, father! how can you?” demanded Venia, angrily. “He saved your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“He pushed me in,” repeated the farmer. “Told me to look at a jelly-fish and +pushed me in.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” inquired Sergeant Daly. +</p> + +<p> +“Because—” said Mr. Turnbull. He looked at the unconscious sergeant, and the +words on his lips died away in an inarticulate growl. +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” pursued the sergeant, in triumph. “Be reasonable, Mr. Turnbull. +Where’s the reason in pushing you overboard and then nearly losing his life +saving you? That would be a fool’s trick. It was as fine a thing as ever I +saw.” +</p> + +<p> +“What you ’ad, Mr. Turnbull,” said the stout fisherman, tapping him on the arm, +“was a little touch o’ the sun.” +</p> + +<p> +“What felt to you like a push,” said another man, “and over you went.” +</p> + +<p> +“As easy as easy,” said a third. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re red in the face now,” said the stout fisherman, regarding him +critically, “and your eyes are starting. You take my advice and get ’ome and +get to bed, and the first thing you’ll do when you get your senses back will be +to go round and thank Mr. Blundell for all ’e’s done for you.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus16"></a> +<img src="images/016.jpg" width="561" height="503" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Turnbull looked at them, and the circle of intelligent faces grew misty +before his angry eyes. One man, ignoring his sodden condition, recommended a +wet handkerchief tied round his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want any thanks, Mr. Turnbull,” said Blundell, feebly, as he was +assisted to his feet. “I’d do as much for you again.” +</p> + +<p> +The stout fisherman patted him admiringly on the back, and Mr. Turnbull felt +like a prophet beholding a realised vision as the spectators clustered round +Mr. Blundell and followed their friends’ example. Tenderly but firmly they led +the hero in triumph up the quay toward home, shouting out eulogistic +descriptions of his valour to curious neighbours as they passed. Mr. Turnbull, +churlishly keeping his distance in the rear of the procession, received in grim +silence the congratulations of his friends. +</p> + +<p> +The extraordinary hallucination caused by the sun-stroke lasted with him for +over a week, but at the end of that time his mind cleared and he saw things in +the same light as reasonable folk. Venia was the first to congratulate him upon +his recovery; but his extraordinary behaviour in proposing to Miss Sippet the +very day on which she herself became Mrs. Blundell convinced her that his +recovery was only partial. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a> +BILL’S LAPSE +</h2> + +<p> +Strength and good-nature—said the night-watchman, musingly, as he felt his +biceps—strength and good-nature always go together. Sometimes you find a strong +man who is not good-natured, but then, as everybody he comes in contack with +is, it comes to the same thing. +</p> + +<p> +The strongest and kindest-’earted man I ever come across was a man o’ the name +of Bill Burton, a ship-mate of Ginger Dick’s. For that matter ’e was a shipmate +o’ Peter Russet’s and old Sam Small’s too. Not over and above tall; just about +my height, his arms was like another man’s legs for size, and ’is chest and his +back and shoulders might ha’ been made for a giant. And with all that he’d got +a soft blue eye like a gal’s (blue’s my favourite colour for gals’ eyes), and a +nice, soft, curly brown beard. He was an A.B., too, and that showed ’ow +good-natured he was, to pick up with firemen. +</p> + +<p> +He got so fond of ’em that when they was all paid off from the <i>Ocean +King</i> he asked to be allowed to join them in taking a room ashore. It +pleased everybody, four coming cheaper than three, and Bill being that +good-tempered that ’e’d put up with anything, and when any of the three +quarrelled he used to act the part of peacemaker. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus17"></a> +<img src="images/017.jpg" width="572" height="518" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +The only thing about ’im that they didn’t like was that ’e was a teetotaler. +He’d go into public-’ouses with ’em, but he wouldn’t drink; leastways, that is +to say, he wouldn’t drink beer, and Ginger used to say that it made ’im feel +uncomfortable to see Bill put away a bottle o’ lemonade every time they ’ad a +drink. One night arter ’e had ’ad seventeen bottles he could ’ardly got home, +and Peter Russet, who knew a lot about pills and such-like, pointed out to ’im +’ow bad it was for his constitushon. He proved that the lemonade would eat away +the coats o’ Bill’s stomach, and that if ’e kept on ’e might drop down dead at +any moment. +</p> + +<p> +That frightened Bill a bit, and the next night, instead of ’aving lemonade, ’e +had five bottles o’ stone ginger-beer, six of different kinds of teetotal beer, +three of soda-water, and two cups of coffee. I’m not counting the drink he ’ad +at the chemist’s shop arterward, because he took that as medicine, but he was +so queer in ’is inside next morning that ’e began to be afraid he’d ’ave to +give up drink altogether. +</p> + +<p> +He went without the next night, but ’e was such a generous man that ’e would +pay every fourth time, and there was no pleasure to the other chaps to see ’im +pay and ’ave nothing out of it. It spoilt their evening, and owing to ’aving +only about ’arf wot they was accustomed to they all got up very disagreeable +next morning. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not take just a <i>little</i> beer, Bill?” asks Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +Bill ’ung his ’ead and looked a bit silly. “I’d rather not, mate,” he ses, at +last. “I’ve been teetotal for eleven months now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think of your ’ealth, Bill,” ses Peter Russet; “your ’ealth is more important +than the pledge. Wot made you take it?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill coughed. “I ’ad reasons,” he ses, slowly. “A mate o’ mine wished me to.” +</p> + +<p> +“He ought to ha’ known better,” ses Sam. “He ’ad ’is reasons,” ses Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, all I can say is, Bill,” ses Ginger, “all I can say is, it’s very +disobligin’ of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Disobligin’?” ses Bill, with a start; “don’t say that, mate.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must say it,” ses Ginger, speaking very firm. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t take a lot, Bill,” ses Sam; “nobody wants you to do that. Just +drink in moderation, same as wot we do.” +</p> + +<p> +“It gets into my ’ead,” ses Bill, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, and wot of it?” ses Ginger; “it gets into everybody’s ’ead occasionally. +Why, one night old Sam ’ere went up behind a policeman and tickled ’im under +the arms; didn’t you, Sam?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did nothing o’ the kind,” ses Sam, firing up. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you was fined ten bob for it next morning, that’s all I know,” ses +Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“I was fined ten bob for punching ’im,” ses old Sam, very wild. “I never +tickled a policeman in my life. I never thought o’ such a thing. I’d no more +tickle a policeman than I’d fly. Anybody that ses I did is a liar. Why should +I? Where does the sense come in? Wot should I want to do it for?” +</p> + +<p> +“All <i>right</i>, Sam,” ses Ginger, sticking ’is fingers in ’is ears, “you +didn’t, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t,” ses Sam, “and don’t you forget it. This ain’t the fust time +you’ve told that lie about me. I can take a joke with any man; but anybody that +goes and ses I tickled—” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” ses Ginger and Peter Russet together. “You’ll ’ave tickled +policeman on the brain if you ain’t careful, Sam,” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sam sat down growling, and Ginger Dick turned to Bill agin. “It gets into +everybody’s ’ead at times,” he ses, “and where’s the ’arm? It’s wot it was +meant for.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill shook his ’ead, but when Ginger called ’im disobligin’ agin he gave way +and he broke the pledge that very evening with a pint o’ six ’arf. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger was surprised to see the way ’e took his liquor. Arter three or four +pints he’d expected to see ’im turn a bit silly, or sing, or do something o’ +the kind, but Bill kept on as if ’e was drinking water. +</p> + +<p> +“Think of the ’armless pleasure you’ve been losing all these months, Bill,” ses +Ginger, smiling at him. +</p> + +<p> +Bill said it wouldn’t bear thinking of, and, the next place they came to he +said some rather ’ard things of the man who’d persuaded ’im to take the pledge. +He ’ad two or three more there, and then they began to see that it was +beginning to have an effect on ’im. The first one that noticed it was Ginger +Dick. Bill ’ad just lit ’is pipe, and as he threw the match down he ses: “I +don’t like these ’ere safety matches,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you, Bill?” ses Ginger. “I do, rather.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you do, do you?” ses Bill, turning on ’im like lightning; “well, take that +for contradictin’,” he ses, an’ he gave Ginger a smack that nearly knocked his +’ead off. +</p> + +<p> +It was so sudden that old Sam and Peter put their beer down and stared at each +other as if they couldn’t believe their eyes. Then they stooped down and helped +pore Ginger on to ’is legs agin and began to brush ’im down. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about ’im, mates,” ses Bill, looking at Ginger very wicked. +“P’r’aps he won’t be so ready to give me ’is lip next time. Let’s come to +another pub and enjoy ourselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam and Peter followed ’im out like lambs, ’ardly daring to look over their +shoulder at Ginger, who was staggering arter them some distance behind a +’olding a handerchief to ’is face. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your turn to pay, Sam,” ses Bill, when they’d got inside the next place. +“Wot’s it to be? Give it a name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three ’arf pints o’ four ale, miss,” ses Sam, not because ’e was mean, but +because it wasn’t ’is turn. “Three wot?” ses Bill, turning on ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Three pots o’ six ale, miss,” ses Sam, in a hurry. +</p> + +<p> +“That wasn’t wot you said afore,” ses Bill. “Take that,” he ses, giving pore +old Sam a wipe in the mouth and knocking ’im over a stool; “take that for your +sauce.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter Russet stood staring at Sam and wondering wot Bill ud be like when he’d +’ad a little more. Sam picked hisself up arter a time and went outside to talk +to Ginger about it, and then Bill put ’is arm round Peter’s neck and began to +cry a bit and say ’e was the only pal he’d got left in the world. It was very +awkward for Peter, and more awkward still when the barman came up and told ’im +to take Bill outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” he ses, “out with ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s all right,” ses Peter, trembling; “we’s the truest-’arted gentleman in +London. Ain’t you, Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill said he was, and ’e asked the barman to go and hide ’is face because it +reminded ’im of a little dog ’e had ’ad once wot ’ad died. +</p> + +<p> +“You get outside afore you’re hurt,” ses the barman. +</p> + +<p> +Bill punched at ’im over the bar, and not being able to reach ’im threw Peter’s +pot o’ beer at ’im. There was a fearful to-do then, and the landlord jumped +over the bar and stood in the doorway, whistling for the police. Bill struck +out right and left, and the men in the bar went down like skittles, Peter among +them. Then they got outside, and Bill, arter giving the landlord a thump in the +back wot nearly made him swallow the whistle, jumped into a cab and pulled +Peter Russet in arter ’im. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus18"></a> +<img src="images/018.jpg" width="537" height="427" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I’ll talk to you by-and-by,” he ses, as the cab drove off at a gallop; “there +ain’t room in this cab. You wait, my lad, that’s all. You just wait till we get +out, and I’ll knock you silly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot for, Bill?” ses Peter, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you talk to me,” roars Bill. “If I choose to knock you about that’s my +business, ain’t it? Besides, you know very well.” +</p> + +<p> +He wouldn’t let Peter say another word, but coming to a quiet place near the +docks he stopped the cab and pulling ’im out gave ’im such a dressing down that +Peter thought ’is last hour ’ad arrived. He let ’im go at last, and after first +making him pay the cab-man took ’im along till they came to a public-’ouse and +made ’im pay for drinks. +</p> + +<p> +They stayed there till nearly eleven o’clock, and then Bill set off home +’olding the unfortunit Peter by the scruff o’ the neck, and wondering out loud +whether ’e ought to pay ’im a bit more or not. Afore ’e could make up ’is mind, +however, he turned sleepy, and, throwing ’imself down on the bed which was +meant for the two of ’em, fell into a peaceful sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Sam and Ginger Dick came in a little while arterward, both badly marked where +Bill ’ad hit them, and sat talking to Peter in whispers as to wot was to be +done. Ginger, who ’ad plenty of pluck, was for them all to set on to ’im, but +Sam wouldn’t ’ear of it, and as for Peter he was so sore he could ’ardly move. +</p> + +<p> +They all turned in to the other bed at last, ’arf afraid to move for fear of +disturbing Bill, and when they woke up in the morning and see ’im sitting up in +’is bed they lay as still as mice. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Ginger, old chap,” ses Bill, with a ’earty smile, “wot are you all three +in one bed for?” +</p> + +<p> +“We was a bit cold,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Cold?” ses Bill. “Wot, this weather? We ’ad a bit of a spree last night, old +man, didn’t we? My throat’s as dry as a cinder.” +</p> + +<p> +“It ain’t my idea of a spree,” ses Ginger, sitting up and looking at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Good ’eavens, Ginger!” ses Bill, starting back, “wotever ’ave you been a-doing +to your face? Have you been tumbling off of a ’bus?” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger couldn’t answer; and Sam Small and Peter sat up in bed alongside of ’im, +and Bill, getting as far back on ’is bed as he could, sat staring at their pore +faces as if ’e was having a ’orrible dream. +</p> + +<p> +“And there’s Sam,” he ses. “Where ever did you get that mouth, Sam?” +</p> + +<p> +“Same place as Ginger got ’is eye and pore Peter got ’is face,” ses Sam, +grinding his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean to tell me,” ses Bill, in a sad voice—“you don’t mean to tell +me that I did it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know well enough,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +Bill looked at ’em, and ’is face got as long as a yard measure. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d ’oped I’d growed out of it, mates,” he ses, at last, “but drink always +takes me like that. I can’t keep a pal.” +</p> + +<p> +“You surprise me,” ses Ginger, sarcastic-like. “Don’t talk like that, Ginger,” +ses Bill, ’arf crying. +</p> + +<p> +“It ain’t my fault; it’s my weakness. Wot did I do it for?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” ses Ginger, “but you won’t get the chance of doing it agin, +I’ll tell you that much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I daresay I shall be better to-night, Ginger,” ses Bill, very humble; “it +don’t always take me that way. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we don’t want you with us any more,” ses old Sam, ’olding his ’ead very +high. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll ’ave to go and get your beer by yourself, Bill,” ses Peter Russet, +feeling ’is bruises with the tips of ’is fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“But then I should be worse,” ses Bill. “I want cheerful company when I’m like +that. I should very likely come ’ome and ’arf kill you all in your beds. You +don’t ’arf know what I’m like. Last night was nothing, else I should ’ave +remembered it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cheerful company?” ses old Sam. “’Ow do you think company’s going to be +cheerful when you’re carrying on like that, Bill? Why don’t you go away and +leave us alone?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’ve got a ’art,” ses Bill. “I can’t chuck up pals in that +free-and-easy way. Once I take a liking to anybody I’d do anything for ’em, and +I’ve never met three chaps I like better than wot I do you. Three nicer, +straight-forrad, free-’anded mates I’ve never met afore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not take the pledge agin, Bill?” ses Peter Russet. +</p> + +<p> +“No, mate,” ses Bill, with a kind smile; “it’s just a weakness, and I must try +and grow out of it. I’ll tie a bit o’ string round my little finger to-night as +a reminder.” +</p> + +<p> +He got out of bed and began to wash ’is face, and Ginger Dick, who was doing a +bit o’ thinking, gave a whisper to Sam and Peter Russet. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Bill, old man,” he ses, getting out of bed and beginning to put his +clothes on; “but first of all we’ll try and find out ’ow the landlord is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Landlord?” ses Bill, puffing and blowing in the basin. “Wot landlord?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the one you bashed,” ses Ginger, with a wink at the other two. “He ’adn’t +got ’is senses back when me and Sam came away.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill gave a groan and sat on the bed while ’e dried himself, and Ginger told +’im ’ow he ’ad bent a quart pot on the landlord’s ’ead, and ’ow the landlord +’ad been carried upstairs and the doctor sent for. He began to tremble all +over, and when Ginger said he’d go out and see ’ow the land lay ’e could ’ardly +thank ’im enough. +</p> + +<p> +He stayed in the bedroom all day, with the blinds down, and wouldn’t eat +anything, and when Ginger looked in about eight o’clock to find out whether he +’ad gone, he found ’im sitting on the bed clean shaved, and ’is face cut about +all over where the razor ’ad slipped. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger was gone about two hours, and when ’e came back he looked so solemn that +old Sam asked ’im whether he ’ad seen a ghost. Ginger didn’t answer ’im; he set +down on the side o’ the bed and sat thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose—I s’pose it’s nice and fresh in the streets this morning?” ses Bill, +at last, in a trembling voice. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger started and looked at ’im. “I didn’t notice, mate,” he ses. Then ’e got +up and patted Bill on the back, very gentle, and sat down again. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus19"></a> +<img src="images/019.jpg" width="539" height="525" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Anything wrong, Ginger?” asks Peter Russet, staring at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s that landlord,” ses Ginger; “there’s straw down in the road outside, and +they say that he’s dying. Pore old Bill don’t know ’is own strength. The best +thing you can do, old pal, is to go as far away as you can, at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wait a minnit if it was me,” ses old Sam. +</p> + +<p> +Bill groaned and hid ’is face in his ’ands, and then Peter Russet went and +spoilt things by saying that the safest place for a murderer to ’ide in was +London. Bill gave a dreadful groan when ’e said murderer, but ’e up and agreed +with Peter, and all Sam and Ginger Dick could do wouldn’t make ’im alter his +mind. He said that he would shave off ’is beard and moustache, and when night +came ’e would creep out and take a lodging somewhere right the other end of +London. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll soon be dark,” ses Ginger, “and your own brother wouldn’t know you now, +Bill. Where d’you think of going?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill shook his ’ead. “Nobody must know that, mate,” he ses. “I must go into +hiding for as long as I can—as long as my money lasts; I’ve only got six pounds +left.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll last a long time if you’re careful,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“I want a lot more,” ses Bill. “I want you to take this silver ring as a +keepsake, Ginger. If I ’ad another six pounds or so I should feel much safer. +’Ow much ’ave you got, Ginger?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much,” ses Ginger, shaking his ’ead. +</p> + +<p> +“Lend it to me, mate,” ses Bill, stretching out his ’and. “You can easy get +another ship. Ah, I wish I was you; I’d be as ’appy as ’appy if I hadn’t got a +penny.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, Bill,” ses Ginger, trying to smile, “but I’ve already promised +to lend it to a man wot we met this evening. A promise is a promise, else I’d +lend it to you with pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you let me be ’ung for the sake of a few pounds, Ginger?” ses Bill, +looking at ’im reproachfully. “I’m a desprit man, Ginger, and I must ’ave that +money.” +</p> + +<p> +Afore pore Ginger could move he suddenly clapped ’is hand over ’is mouth and +flung ’im on the bed. Ginger was like a child in ’is hands, although he +struggled like a madman, and in five minutes ’e was laying there with a towel +tied round his mouth and ’is arms and legs tied up with the cord off of Sam’s +chest. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, Ginger,” ses Bill, as ’e took a little over eight pounds out +of Ginger’s pocket. “I’ll pay you back one o’ these days, if I can. If you’d +got a rope round your neck same as I ’ave you’d do the same as I’ve done.” +</p> + +<p> +He lifted up the bedclothes and put Ginger inside and tucked ’im up. Ginger’s +face was red with passion and ’is eyes starting out of his ’ead. +</p> + +<p> +“Eight and six is fifteen,” ses Bill, and just then he ’eard somebody coming up +the stairs. Ginger ’eard it, too, and as Peter Russet came into the room ’e +tried all ’e could to attract ’is attention by rolling ’is ’ead from side to +side. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, ’as Ginger gone to bed?” ses Peter. “Wot’s up, Ginger?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s all right,” ses Bill; “just a bit of a ’eadache.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stood staring at the bed, and then ’e pulled the clothes off and saw pore +Ginger all tied up, and making awful eyes at ’im to undo him. +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ad to do it, Peter,” ses Bill. “I wanted some more money to escape with, +and ’e wouldn’t lend it to me. I ’aven’t got as much as I want now. You just +came in in the nick of time. Another minute and you’d ha’ missed me. ’Ow much +’ave you got?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, I wish I could lend you some, Bill,” ses Peter Russet, turning pale, “but +I’ve ’ad my pocket picked; that’s wot I came back for, to get some from +Ginger.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill didn’t say a word. +</p> + +<p> +“You see ’ow it is, Bill,” ses Peter, edging back toward the door; “three men +laid ’old of me and took every farthing I’d got.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I can’t rob you, then,” ses Bill, catching ’old of ’im. “Whoever’s money +this is,” he ses, pulling a handful out o’ Peter’s pocket, “it can’t be yours. +Now, if you make another sound I’ll knock your ’ead off afore I tie you up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tie me up, Bill,” ses Peter, struggling. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t trust you,” ses Bill, dragging ’im over to the washstand and taking up +the other towel; “turn round.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was a much easier job than Ginger Dick, and arter Bill ’ad done ’im ’e +put ’im in alongside o’ Ginger and covered ’em up, arter first tying both the +gags round with some string to prevent ’em slipping. +</p> + +<p> +“Mind, I’ve only borrowed it,” he ses, standing by the side o’ the bed; “but I +must say, mates, I’m disappointed in both of you. If either of you ’ad ’ad the +misfortune wot I’ve ’ad, I’d have sold the clothes off my back to ’elp you. And +I wouldn’t ’ave waited to be asked neither.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood there for a minute very sorrowful, and then ’e patted both their ’eads +and went downstairs. Ginger and Peter lay listening for a bit, and then they +turned their pore bound-up faces to each other and tried to talk with their +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Then Ginger began to wriggle and try and twist the cords off, but ’e might as +well ’ave tried to wriggle out of ’is skin. The worst of it was they couldn’t +make known their intentions to each other, and when Peter Russet leaned over +’im and tried to work ’is gag off by rubbing it up agin ’is nose, Ginger pretty +near went crazy with temper. He banged Peter with his ’ead, and Peter banged +back, and they kept it up till they’d both got splitting ’eadaches, and at last +they gave up in despair and lay in the darkness waiting for Sam. +</p> + +<p> +And all this time Sam was sitting in the Red Lion, waiting for them. He sat +there quite patient till twelve o’clock and then walked slowly ’ome, wondering +wot ’ad happened and whether Bill had gone. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger was the fust to ’ear ’is foot on the stairs, and as he came into the +room, in the darkness, him an’ Peter Russet started shaking their bed in a way +that scared old Sam nearly to death. He thought it was Bill carrying on agin, +and ’e was out o’ that door and ’arf-way downstairs afore he stopped to take +breath. He stood there trembling for about ten minutes, and then, as nothing +’appened, he walked slowly upstairs agin on tiptoe, and as soon as they heard +the door creak Peter and Ginger made that bed do everything but speak. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Bill?” ses old Sam, in a shaky voice, and standing ready to dash +downstairs agin. +</p> + +<p> +There was no answer except for the bed, and Sam didn’t know whether Bill was +dying or whether ’e ’ad got delirium trimmings. All ’e did know was that ’e +wasn’t going to sleep in that room. He shut the door gently and went downstairs +agin, feeling in ’is pocket for a match, and, not finding one, ’e picked out +the softest stair ’e could find and, leaning his ’ead agin the banisters, went +to sleep. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus20"></a> +<img src="images/020.jpg" width="522" height="727" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +It was about six o’clock when ’e woke up, and broad daylight. He was stiff and +sore all over, and feeling braver in the light ’e stepped softly upstairs and +opened the door. Peter and Ginger was waiting for ’im, and as he peeped in ’e +saw two things sitting up in bed with their ’air standing up all over like mops +and their faces tied up with bandages. He was that startled ’e nearly screamed, +and then ’e stepped into the room and stared at ’em as if he couldn’t believe +’is eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Ginger?” he ses. “Wot d’ye mean by making sights of yourselves +like that? ’Ave you took leave of your senses?” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger and Peter shook their ’eads and rolled their eyes, and then Sam see wot +was the matter with ’em. Fust thing ’e did was to pull out ’is knife and cut +Ginger’s gag off, and the fust thing Ginger did was to call ’im every name ’e +could lay his tongue to. +</p> + +<p> +“You wait a moment,” he screams, ’arf crying with rage. “You wait till I get my +’ands loose and I’ll pull you to pieces. The idea o’ leaving us like this all +night, you old crocodile. I ’eard you come in. I’ll pay you.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam didn’t answer ’im. He cut off Peter Russet’s gag, and Peter Russet called +’im ’arf a score o’ names without taking breath. +</p> + +<p> +“And when Ginger’s finished I’ll ’ave a go at you,” he ses. “Cut off these +lines.” +</p> + +<p> +“At once, d’ye hear?” ses Ginger. “Oh, you wait till I get my ’ands on you.” +</p> + +<p> +Sam didn’t answer ’em; he shut up ’is knife with a click and then ’e sat at the +foot o’ the bed on Ginger’s feet and looked at ’em. It wasn’t the fust time +they’d been rude to ’im, but as a rule he’d ’ad to put up with it. He sat and +listened while Ginger swore ’imself faint. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do,” he ses, at last; “another word and I shall put the bedclothes +over your ’ead. Afore I do anything more I want to know wot it’s all about.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter told ’im, arter fust calling ’im some more names, because Ginger was past +it, and when ’e’d finished old Sam said ’ow surprised he was at them for +letting Bill do it, and told ’em how they ought to ’ave prevented it. He sat +there talking as though ’e enjoyed the sound of ’is own voice, and he told +Peter and Ginger all their faults and said wot sorrow it caused their friends. +Twice he ’ad to throw the bedclothes over their ’eads because o’ the noise they +was making. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus21"></a> +<img src="images/021.jpg" width="543" height="550" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“<i>Are you going—to undo—us?</i>” ses Ginger, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Ginger,” ses old Sam; “in justice to myself I couldn’t do it. Arter wot +you’ve said—and arter wot I’ve said—my life wouldn’t be safe. Besides which, +you’d want to go shares in my money.” +</p> + +<p> +He took up ’is chest and marched downstairs with it, and about ’arf an hour +arterward the landlady’s ’usband came up and set ’em free. As soon as they’d +got the use of their legs back they started out to look for Sam, but they +didn’t find ’im for nearly a year, and as for Bill, they never set eyes on ’im +again. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a> +LAWYER QUINCE +</h2> + +<p> +Lawyer Quince, so called by his neighbours in Little Haven from his readiness +at all times to place at their disposal the legal lore he had acquired from a +few old books while following his useful occupation of making boots, sat in a +kind of wooden hutch at the side of his cottage plying his trade. The London +coach had gone by in a cloud of dust some three hours before, and since then +the wide village street had slumbered almost undisturbed in the sunshine. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus22"></a> +<img src="images/022.jpg" width="577" height="435" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Hearing footsteps and the sound of voices raised in dispute caused him to look +up from his work. Mr. Rose, of Holly Farm, Hogg, the miller, and one or two +neighbours of lesser degree appeared to be in earnest debate over some point of +unusual difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +Lawyer Quince took a pinch of snuff and bent to his work again. Mr. Rose was +one of the very few who openly questioned his legal knowledge, and his gibes +concerning it were only too frequent. Moreover, he had a taste for practical +joking, which to a grave man was sometimes offensive. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, here he be,” said Mr. Hogg to the farmer, as the group halted in front +of the hutch. “Now ask Lawyer Quince and see whether I ain’t told you true. I’m +willing to abide by what he says.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince put down his hammer and, brushing a little snuff from his coat, +leaned back in his chair and eyed them with grave confidence. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like this,” said the farmer. “Young Pascoe has been hanging round after +my girl Celia, though I told her she wasn’t to have nothing to do with him. +Half an hour ago I was going to put my pony in its stable when I see a young +man sitting there waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Mr. Quince, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s there yet,” said the farmer. “I locked him in, and Hogg here says that +I’ve got the right to keep him locked up there as long as I like. I say it’s +agin the law, but Hogg he says no. I say his folks would come and try to break +open my stable, but Hogg says if they do I can have the law of ’em for damaging +my property.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you can,” interposed Mr. Hogg, firmly. “You see whether Lawyer Quince don’t +say I’m right.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince frowned, and in order to think more deeply closed his eyes. Taking +advantage of this three of his auditors, with remarkable unanimity, each closed +one. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s your stable,” said Mr. Quince, opening his eyes and speaking with great +deliberation, “and you have a right to lock it up when you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“There you are,” said Mr. Hogg; “what did I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“If anybody’s there that’s got no business there, that’s his look-out,” +continued Mr. Quince. “You didn’t induce him to go in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” replied the farmer. +</p> + +<p> +“I told him he can keep him there as long as he likes,” said the jubilant Mr. +Hogg, “and pass him in bread and water through the winder; it’s got bars to +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Quince, nodding, “he can do that. As for his folks knocking the +place about, if you like to tie up one or two of them nasty, savage dogs of +yours to the stable, well, it’s your stable, and you can fasten your dogs to it +if you like. And you’ve generally got a man about the yard.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hogg smacked his thigh in ecstasy. +</p> + +<p> +“But—” began the farmer. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the law,” said the autocratic Mr. Quince, sharply. “O’ course, if you +think you know more about it than I do, I’ve nothing more to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to do nothing I could get into trouble for,” murmured Mr. Rose. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t get into trouble by doing as I tell you,” said the shoemaker, +impatiently. “However, to be quite on the safe side, if I was in your place I +should lose the key.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lose the key?” said the farmer, blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“Lose the key,” repeated the shoemaker, his eyes watering with intense +appreciation of his own resourcefulness. “You can find it any time you want to, +you know. Keep him there till he promises to give up your daughter, and tell +him that as soon as he does you’ll have a hunt for the key.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rose regarded him with what the shoemaker easily understood to be +speechless admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I’m glad I came to you,” said the farmer, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re welcome,” said the shoemaker, loftily. “I’m always ready to give advice +to them as require it.” +</p> + +<p> +“And good advice it is,” said the smiling Mr. Hogg. “Why don’t you behave +yourself, Joe Garnham?” he demanded, turning fiercely on a listener. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Garnham, whose eyes were watering with emotion, attempted to explain, but, +becoming hysterical, thrust a huge red handkerchief to his mouth and was led +away by a friend. Mr. Quince regarded his departure with mild disdain. +</p> + +<p> +“Little things please little minds,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“So they do,” said Mr. Hogg. “I never thought—What’s the matter with you, +George Askew?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Askew, turning his back on him, threw up his hands with a helpless gesture +and followed in the wake of Mr. Garnham. Mr. Hogg appeared to be about to +apologise, and then suddenly altering his mind made a hasty and unceremonious +exit, accompanied by the farmer. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince raised his eyebrows and then, after a long and meditative pinch of +snuff, resumed his work. The sun went down and the light faded slowly; distant +voices sounded close on the still evening air, snatches of hoarse laughter +jarred upon his ears. It was clear that the story of the imprisoned swain was +giving pleasure to Little Haven. +</p> + +<p> +He rose at last from his chair and, stretching his long, gaunt frame, removed +his leather apron, and after a wash at the pump went into the house. Supper was +laid, and he gazed with approval on the home-made sausage rolls, the piece of +cold pork, and the cheese which awaited his onslaught. +</p> + +<p> +“We won’t wait for Ned,” said Mrs. Quince, as she brought in a jug of ale and +placed it by her husband’s elbow. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince nodded and filled his glass. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been giving more advice, I hear,” said Mrs. Quince. +</p> + +<p> +Her husband, who was very busy, nodded again. +</p> + +<p> +“It wouldn’t make no difference to young Pascoe’s chance, anyway,” said Mrs. +Quince, thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince continued his labours. “Why?” he inquired, at last. +</p> + +<p> +His wife smiled and tossed her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Young Pascoe’s no chance against our Ned,” she said, swelling with maternal +pride. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” said the shoemaker, laying down his knife and fork. “Our Ned?” +</p> + +<p> +“They are as fond of each other as they can be,” said Mrs. Quince, “though I +don’t suppose Farmer Rose’ll care for it; not but what our Ned’s as good as he +is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Ned up there now?” demanded the shoemaker, turning pale, as the mirthful +face of Mr. Garnham suddenly occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure to be,” tittered his wife. “And to think o’ poor young Pascoe shut up in +that stable while he’s courting Celia!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince took up his knife and fork again, but his appetite had gone. Whoever +might be paying attention to Miss Rose at that moment he felt quite certain +that it was not Mr. Ned Quince, and he trembled with anger as he saw the absurd +situation into which the humorous Mr. Rose had led him. For years Little Haven +had accepted his decisions as final and boasted of his sharpness to +neighbouring hamlets, and many a cottager had brought his boots to be mended a +whole week before their time for the sake of an interview. +</p> + +<p> +He moved his chair from the table and smoked a pipe. Then he rose, and putting +a couple of formidable law-books under his arm, walked slowly down the road in +the direction of Holly Farm. +</p> + +<p> +The road was very quiet and the White Swan, usually full at this hour, was +almost deserted, but if any doubts as to the identity of the prisoner lingered +in his mind they were speedily dissipated by the behaviour of the few customers +who crowded to the door to see him pass. +</p> + +<p> +A hum of voices fell on his ear as he approached the farm; half the male and a +goodly proportion of the female population of Little Haven were leaning against +the fence or standing in little knots in the road, while a few of higher social +status stood in the farm-yard itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Come down to have a look at the prisoner?” inquired the farmer, who was +standing surrounded by a little group of admirers. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus23"></a> +<img src="images/023.jpg" width="621" height="603" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I came down to see you about that advice I gave you this afternoon,” said Mr. +Quince. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“I was busy when you came,” continued Mr. Quince, in a voice of easy unconcern, +“and I gave you advice from memory. Looking up the subject after you’d gone I +found that I was wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say so?” said the farmer, uneasily. “If I’ve done wrong I’m only +doing what you told me I could do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mistakes will happen with the best of us,” said the shoemaker, loudly, for the +benefit of one or two murmurers. “I’ve known a man to marry a woman for her +money before now and find out afterward that she hadn’t got any.” +</p> + +<p> +One unit of the group detached itself and wandered listlessly toward the gate. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope I ain’t done nothing wrong,” said Mr. Rose, anxiously. “You gave +me the advice; there’s men here as can prove it. I don’t want to do nothing +agin the law. What had I better do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if I was you,” said Mr. Quince, concealing his satisfaction with +difficulty, “I should let him out at once and beg his pardon, and say you hope +he’ll do nothing about it. I’ll put in a word for you if you like with old +Pascoe.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rose coughed and eyed him queerly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a Briton,” he said, warmly. “I’ll go and let him out at once.” +</p> + +<p> +He strode off to the stable, despite the protests of Mr. Hogg, and, standing by +the door, appeared to be deep in thought; then he came back slowly, feeling in +his pockets as he walked. +</p> + +<p> +“William,” he said, turning toward Mr. Hogg, “I s’pose you didn’t happen to +notice where I put that key?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I didn’t,” said Mr. Hogg, his face clearing suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I had it in my hand not half an hour ago,” said the agitated Mr. Rose, +thrusting one hand into his trouser-pocket and groping. “It can’t be far.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince attempted to speak, and, failing, blew his nose violently. +</p> + +<p> +“My memory ain’t what it used to be,” said the farmer. “Howsomever, I dare say +it’ll turn up in a day or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“You—you’d better force the door,” suggested Mr. Quince, struggling to preserve +an air of judicial calm. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Mr. Rose; “I ain’t going to damage my property like that. I can +lock my stable-door and unlock it when I like; if people get in there as have +no business there, it’s their look-out.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s law,” said Mr. Hogg; “I’ll eat my hat if it ain’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me you’ve really lost the key?” demanded Mr. Quince, +eyeing the farmer sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“Seems like it,” said Mr. Rose. “However, he won’t come to no hurt. I’ll put in +some bread and water for him, same as you advised me to.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince mastered his wrath by an effort, and with no sign of discomposure +moved away without making any reference to the identity of the unfortunate in +the stable. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” said the farmer, “and thank you for coming and giving me the +fresh advice. It ain’t everybody that ’ud ha’ taken the trouble. If I hadn’t +lost that key——” +</p> + +<p> +The shoemaker scowled, and with the two fat books under his arm passed the +listening neighbours with the air of a thoughtful man out for an evening +stroll. Once inside his house, however, his manner changed, the attitude of +Mrs. Quince demanding, at any rate, a show of concern. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good talking,” he said at last. “Ned shouldn’t have gone there, and as +for going to law about it, I sha’n’t do any such thing; I should never hear the +end of it. I shall just go on as usual, as if nothing had happened, and when +Rose is tired of keeping him there he must let him out. I’ll bide my time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Quince subsided into vague mutterings as to what she would do if she were +a man, coupled with sundry aspersions upon the character, looks, and family +connections of Farmer Rose, which somewhat consoled her for being what she was. +</p> + +<p> +“He has always made jokes about your advice,” she said at length, “and now +everybody’ll think he’s right. I sha’n’t be able to look anybody in the face. I +should have seen through it at once if it had been me. I’m going down to give +him a bit o’ my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“You stay where you are,” said Mr. Quince, sharply, “and, mind, you are not to +talk about it to anybody. Farmer Rose ’ud like nothing better than to see us +upset about it. I ain’t done with him yet. You wait.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Quince, having no option, waited, but nothing happened. The following day +found Ned Quince still a prisoner, and, considering the circumstances, +remarkably cheerful. He declined point-blank to renounce his preposterous +attentions, and said that, living on the premises, he felt half like a +son-in-law already. He also complimented the farmer upon the quality of his +bread. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning found him still unsubdued, and, under interrogation from the +farmer, he admitted that he liked it, and said that the feeling of being at +home was growing upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’re satisfied, I am,” said Mr. Rose, grimly. “I’ll keep you here till +you promise; mind that.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a nobleman’s life,” said Ned, peeping through the window, “and I’m +beginning to like you as much as my real father.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want none o’ yer impudence,” said the farmer, reddening. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus24"></a> +<img src="images/024.jpg" width="533" height="599" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“You’ll like me better when you’ve had me here a little longer,” said Ned; “I +shall grow on you. Why not be reasonable and make up your mind to it? Celia and +I have.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to send Celia away on Saturday,” said Mr. Rose; “make yourself happy +and comfortable in here till then. If you’d like another crust o’ bread or an +extra half pint o’ water you’ve only got to mention it. When she’s gone I’ll +have a hunt for that key, so as you can go back to your father and help him to +understand his law-books better.” +</p> + +<p> +He strode off with the air of a conqueror, and having occasion to go to the +village looked in at the shoemaker’s window as he passed and smiled broadly. +For years Little Haven had regarded Mr. Quince with awe, as being far too +dangerous a man for the lay mind to tamper with, and at one stroke the farmer +had revealed the hollowness of his pretensions. Only that morning the wife of a +labourer had called and asked him to hurry the mending of a pair of boots. She +was a voluble woman, and having overcome her preliminary nervousness more than +hinted that if he gave less time to the law and more to his trade it would be +better for himself and everybody else. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Rose accepted her lot in a spirit of dutiful resignation, and on Saturday +morning after her father’s admonition not to forget that the coach left the +White Swan at two sharp, set off to pay a few farewell visits. By half-past +twelve she had finished, and Lawyer Quince becoming conscious of a shadow on +his work looked up to see her standing before the window. He replied to a +bewitching smile with a short nod and became intent upon his work again. +</p> + +<p> +For a short time Celia lingered, then to his astonishment she opened the gate +and walked past the side of the house into the garden. With growing +astonishment he observed her enter his tool-shed and close the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +For ten minutes he worked on and then, curiosity getting the better of him, he +walked slowly to the tool-shed and, opening the door a little way, peeped in. +It was a small shed, crowded with agricultural implements. The floor was +occupied by an upturned wheelbarrow, and sitting on the barrow, with her soft +cheek leaning against the wall, sat Miss Rose fast asleep. Mr. Quince coughed +several times, each cough being louder than the last, and then, treading +softly, was about to return to the workshop when the girl stirred and muttered +in her sleep. At first she was unintelligible, then he distinctly caught the +words “idiot” and “blockhead.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s dreaming of somebody,” said Mr. Quince to himself with conviction. +“Wonder who it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t see—a thing—under—his—nose,” murmured the fair sleeper. +</p> + +<p> +“Celia!” said Mr. Quince, sharply. “<i>Celia!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +He took a hoe from the wall and prodded her gently with the handle. A +singularly vicious expression marred the soft features, but that was all. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Ce-lia!</i>” said the shoemaker, who feared sun-stroke. +</p> + +<p> +“Fancy if he—had—a moment’s common sense,” murmured Celia, drowsily, “and +locked—the door.” +</p> + +<p> +Lawyer Quince dropped the hoe with a clatter and stood regarding her +open-mouthed. He was a careful man with his property, and the stout door +boasted a good lock. He sped to the house on tip-toe, and taking the key from +its nail on the kitchen dresser returned to the shed, and after another puzzled +glance at the sleeping girl locked her in. +</p> + +<p> +For half an hour he sat in silent enjoyment of the situation—enjoyment which +would have been increased if he could have seen Mr. Rose standing at the gate +of Holly Farm, casting anxious glances up and down the road. Celia’s luggage +had gone down to the White Swan, and an excellent cold luncheon was awaiting +her attention in the living-room. +</p> + +<p> +Half-past one came and no Celia, and five minutes later two farm labourers and +a boy lumbered off in different directions in search of the missing girl, with +instructions that she was to go straight to the White Swan to meet the coach. +The farmer himself walked down to the inn, turning over in his mind a heated +lecture composed for the occasion, but the coach came and, after a cheerful +bustle and the consumption of sundry mugs of beer, sped on its way again. +</p> + +<p> +He returned home in silent consternation, seeking in vain for a satisfactory +explanation of the mystery. For a robust young woman to disappear in broad +daylight and leave no trace behind her was extraordinary. Then a sudden +sinking sensation in the region of the waistcoat and an idea occurred +simultaneously. +</p> + +<p> +He walked down to the village again, the idea growing steadily all the way. +Lawyer Quince was hard at work, as usual, as he passed. He went by the window +three times and gazed wistfully at the cottage. Coming to the conclusion at +last that two heads were better than one in such a business, he walked on to +the mill and sought Mr. Hogg. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what it is,” said the miller, as he breathed his suspicions. “I thought +all along Lawyer Quince would have the laugh of you. He’s wonderful deep. Now, +let’s go to work cautious like. Try and look as if nothing had happened.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus25"></a> +<img src="images/025.jpg" width="601" height="623" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Rose tried. +</p> + +<p> +“Try agin,” said the miller, with some severity. “Get the red out o’ your face +and let your eyes go back and don’t look as though you’re going to bite +somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rose swallowed an angry retort, and with an attempt at careless ease +sauntered up the road with the miller to the shoemaker’s. Lawyer Quince was +still busy, and looked up inquiringly as they passed before him. +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose,” said the diplomatic Mr. Hogg, who was well acquainted with his +neighbour’s tidy and methodical habits—“I s’pose you couldn’t lend me your +barrow for half an hour? The wheel’s off mine.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince hesitated, and then favoured him with a glance intended to remind +him of his scurvy behaviour three days before. +</p> + +<p> +“You can have it,” he said at last, rising. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Hogg pinched his friend in his excitement, and both watched Mr. Quince with +bated breath as he took long, slow strides toward the tool-shed. He tried the +door and then went into the house, and even before his reappearance both +gentlemen knew only too well what was about to happen. Red was all too poor a +word to apply to Mr. Rose’s countenance as the shoemaker came toward them, +feeling in his waistcoat pocket with hooked fingers and thumb, while Mr. +Hogg’s expressive features were twisted into an appearance of rosy +appreciation. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you want the barrow very particular?” inquired the shoemaker, in a +regretful voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Very particular,” said Mr. Hogg. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Quince went through the performance of feeling in all his pockets, and then +stood meditatively rubbing his chin. +</p> + +<p> +“The door’s locked,” he said, slowly, “and what I’ve done with that there +key——” +</p> + +<p> +“You open that door,” vociferated Mr. Rose, “else I’ll break it in. You’ve got +my daughter in that shed and I’m going to have her out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your daughter?” said Mr. Quince, with an air of faint surprise. “What should +she be doing in my shed?” +</p> + +<p> +“You let her out,” stormed Mr. Rose, trying to push past him. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t trespass on my premises,” said Lawyer Quince, interposing his long, +gaunt frame. “If you want that door opened you’ll have to wait till my boy Ned +comes home. I expect he knows where to find the key.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rose’s hands fell limply by his side and his tongue, turning prudish, +refused its office. He turned and stared at Mr. Hogg in silent consternation. +</p> + +<p> +“Never known him to be beaten yet,” said that admiring weather-cock. +</p> + +<p> +“Ned’s been away three days,” said the shoemaker, “but I expect him home soon.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rose made a strange noise in his throat and then, accepting his defeat, set +off at a rapid pace in the direction of home. In a marvellously short space of +time, considering his age and figure, he was seen returning with Ned Quince, +flushed and dishevelled, walking by his side. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is,” said the farmer. “Now where’s that key?” +</p> + +<p> +Lawyer Quince took his son by the arm and led him into the house, from whence +they almost immediately emerged with Ned waving the key. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it wasn’t far,” said the sapient Mr. Hogg. +</p> + +<p> +Ned put the key in the lock and flinging the door open revealed Celia Rose, +blinking and confused in the sudden sunshine. She drew back as she saw her +father and began to cry with considerable fervour. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get in that shed, miss?” demanded her parent, stamping. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus26"></a> +<img src="images/026.jpg" width="547" height="569" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I—I went there,” she sobbed. “I didn’t want to go away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’d better stay there,” shouted the overwrought Mr. Rose. “I’ve done +with you. A girl that ’ud turn against her own father I—I—” +</p> + +<p> +He drove his right fist into his left palm and stamped out into the road. +Lawyer Quince and Mr. Hogg, after a moment’s hesitation, followed. +</p> + +<p> +“The laugh’s agin you, farmer,” said the latter gentleman, taking his arm. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rose shook him off. +</p> + +<p> +“Better make the best of it,” continued the peace-maker. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a girl to be proud of,” said Lawyer Quince, keeping pace with the farmer +on the other side. “She’s got a head that’s worth yours and mine put together, +with Hogg’s thrown in as a little makeweight.” +</p> + +<p> +“And here’s the White Swan,” said Mr. Hogg, who had a hazy idea of a +compliment, “and all of us as dry as a bone. Why not all go in and have a glass +to shut folks’ mouths?” +</p> + +<p> +“And cry quits,” said the shoemaker. +</p> + +<p> +“And let bygones be bygones,” said Mr. Hogg, taking the farmer’s arm again. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rose stopped and shook his head obstinately, and then, under the skilful +pilotage of Mr. Hogg, was steered in the direction of the hospitable doors of +the White Swan. He made a last bid for liberty on the step and then disappeared +inside. Lawyer Quince brought up the rear. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a> +BREAKING A SPELL +</h2> + +<p> +“Witchcraft?” said the old man, thoughtfully, as he scratched his scanty +whiskers. No, I ain’t heard o’ none in these parts for a long time. There used +to be a little of it about when I was a boy, and there was some talk of it +arter I’d growed up, but Claybury folk never took much count of it. The last +bit of it I remember was about forty years ago, and that wasn’t so much +witchcraft as foolishness. +</p> + +<p> +There was a man in this place then—Joe Barlcomb by name—who was a firm believer +in it, and ’e used to do all sorts of things to save hisself from it. He was a +new-comer in Claybury, and there was such a lot of it about in the parts he +came from that the people thought o’ nothing else hardly. +</p> + +<p> +He was a man as got ’imself very much liked at fust, especially by the old +ladies, owing to his being so perlite to them, that they used to ’old ’im up +for an example to the other men, and say wot nice, pretty ways he ’ad. Joe +Barlcomb was everything at fust, but when they got to ’ear that his perliteness +was because ’e thought ’arf of ’em was witches, and didn’t know which ’arf, +they altered their minds. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus27"></a> +<img src="images/027.jpg" width="556" height="376" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +In a month or two he was the laughing-stock of the place; but wot was worse to +’im than that was that he’d made enemies of all the old ladies. Some of ’em was +free-spoken women, and ’e couldn’t sleep for thinking of the ’arm they might do +’im. +</p> + +<p> +He was terrible uneasy about it at fust, but, as nothing ’appened and he seemed +to go on very prosperous-like, ’e began to forget ’is fears, when all of a +sudden ’e went ’ome one day and found ’is wife in bed with a broken leg. +</p> + +<p> +She was standing on a broken chair to reach something down from the dresser +when it ’appened, and it was pointed out to Joe Barlcomb that it was a thing +anybody might ha’ done without being bewitched; but he said ’e knew better, and +that they’d kept that broken chair for standing on for years and years to save +the others, and nothing ’ad ever ’appened afore. +</p> + +<p> +In less than a week arter that three of his young ’uns was down with the +measles, and, ’is wife being laid up, he sent for ’er mother to come and nurse +’em. It’s as true as I sit ’ere, but that pore old lady ’adn’t been in the +house two hours afore she went to bed with the yellow jaundice. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Barlcomb went out of ’is mind a’most. He’d never liked ’is wife’s mother, +and he wouldn’t ’ave had ’er in the house on’y ’e wanted her to nurse ’is wife +and children, and when she came and laid up and wanted waiting on ’e couldn’t +dislike her enough. +</p> + +<p> +He was quite certain all along that somebody was putting a spell on ’im, and +when ’e went out a morning or two arterward and found ’is best pig lying dead +in a corner of the sty he gave up and, going into the ’ouse, told ’em all that +they’d ’ave to die ’cause he couldn’t do anything more for ’em. His wife’s +mother and ’is wife and the children all started crying together, and Joe +Barlcomb, when ’e thought of ’is pig, he sat down and cried too. +</p> + +<p> +He sat up late that night thinking it over, and, arter looking at it all ways, +he made up ’is mind to go and see Mrs. Prince, an old lady that lived all alone +by ’erself in a cottage near Smith’s farm. He’d set ’er down for wot he called +a white witch, which is the best kind and on’y do useful things, such as +charming warts away or telling gals about their future ’usbands; and the next +arternoon, arter telling ’is wife’s mother that fresh air and travelling was +the best cure for the yellow jaundice, he set off to see ’er. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus28"></a> +<img src="images/028.jpg" width="514" height="523" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mrs. Prince was sitting at ’er front door nursing ’er three cats when ’e got +there. She was an ugly, little old woman with piercing black eyes and a hook +nose, and she ’ad a quiet, artful sort of a way with ’er that made ’er very +much disliked. One thing was she was always making fun of people, and for +another she seemed to be able to tell their thoughts, and that don’t get +anybody liked much, especially when they don’t keep it to theirselves. She’d +been a lady’s maid all ’er young days, and it was very ’ard to be taken for a +witch just because she was old. +</p> + +<p> +“Fine day, ma’am,” ses Joe Barlcomb. +</p> + +<p> +“Very fine,” ses Mrs. Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“Being as I was passing, I just thought I’d look in,” ses Joe Barlcomb, eyeing +the cats. +</p> + +<p> +“Take a chair,” ses Mrs. Prince, getting up and dusting one down with ’er +apron. +</p> + +<p> +Joe sat down. “I’m in a bit o’ trouble, ma’am,” he ses, “and I thought p’r’aps +as you could help me out of it. My pore pig’s been bewitched, and it’s dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bewitched?” ses Mrs. Prince, who’d ’eard of ’is ideas. “Rubbish. Don’t talk to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It ain’t rubbish, ma’am,” ses Joe Barlcomb; “three o’ my children is down with +the measles, my wife’s broke ’er leg, ’er mother is laid up in my little place +with the yellow jaundice, and the pig’s dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot, another one?” ses Mrs. Prince. +</p> + +<p> +“No; the same one,” ses Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ’ow am I to help you?” ses Mrs. Prince. “Do you want me to come and +nurse ’em?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” ses Joe, starting and turning pale; “unless you’d like to come and +nurse my wife’s mother,” he ses, arter thinking a bit. “I was hoping that you’d +know who’d been overlooking me and that you’d make ’em take the spell off.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Prince got up from ’er chair and looked round for the broom she’d been +sweeping with, but, not finding it, she set down agin and stared in a curious +sort o’ way at Joe Barlcomb. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see,” she ses, nodding. “Fancy you guessing I was a witch.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t deceive me,” ses Joe; “I’ve ’ad too much experience; I knew it the +fust time I saw you by the mole on your nose.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Prince got up and went into her back-place, trying her ’ardest to remember +wot she’d done with that broom. She couldn’t find it anywhere, and at last she +came back and sat staring at Joe for so long that ’e was ’arf frightened out of +his life. And by-and-by she gave a ’orrible smile and sat rubbing the side of +’er nose with ’er finger. +</p> + +<p> +“If I help you,” she ses at last, “will you promise to keep it a dead secret +and do exactly as I tell you? If you don’t, dead pigs’ll be nothing to the +misfortunes that you will ’ave.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” ses Joe Barlcomb, very pale. +</p> + +<p> +“The spell,” ses Mrs. Prince, holding up her ’ands and shutting ’er eyes, “was +put upon you by a man. It is one out of six men as is jealous of you because +you’re so clever, but which one it is I can’t tell without your assistance. +Have you got any money?” +</p> + +<p> +“A little,” ses Joe, anxious-like—“a very little. Wot with the yellow jaundice +and other things, I——” +</p> + +<p> +“Fust thing to do,” ses Mrs. Prince, still with her eyes shut, “you go up to +the Cauliflower to-night; the six men’ll all be there, and you must buy six +ha’pennies off of them; one each.” +</p> + +<p> +“Buy six ha’pennies?” ses Joe, staring at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t repeat wot I say,” ses Mrs. Prince; “it’s unlucky. You buy six +ha’pennies for a shilling each, without saying wot it’s for. You’ll be able to +buy ’em all right if you’re civil.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me it don’t need much civility for that,” ses Joe, pulling a long +face. +</p> + +<p> +“When you’ve got the ha’pennies,” ses Mrs. Prince, “bring ’em to me and I’ll +tell you wot to do with ’em. Don’t lose no time, because I can see that +something worse is going to ’appen if it ain’t prevented.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it anything to do with my wife’s mother getting worse?” ses Joe Barlcomb, +who was a careful man and didn’t want to waste six shillings. +</p> + +<p> +“No, something to you,” ses Mrs. Prince. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Barlcomb went cold all over, and then he put down a couple of eggs he’d +brought round for ’er and went off ’ome agin, and Mrs. Prince stood in the +doorway with a cat on each shoulder and watched ’im till ’e was out of sight. +</p> + +<p> +That night Joe Barlcomb came up to this ’ere Cauliflower public-house, same as +he’d been told, and by-and-by, arter he ’ad ’ad a pint, he looked round, and +taking a shilling out of ’is pocket put it on the table, and he ses, “Who’ll +give me a ha’penny for that?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +None of ’em seemed to be in a hurry. Bill Jones took it up and bit it, and rang +it on the table and squinted at it, and then he bit it agin, and turned round +and asked Joe Barlcomb wot was wrong with it. +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong?” ses Joe; “nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill Jones put it down agin. “You’re wide awake, Joe,” he ses, “but so am I.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t nobody give me a ha’penny for it?” ses Joe, looking round. +</p> + +<p> +Then Peter Lamb came up, and he looked at it and rang it, and at last he gave +Joe a ha’penny for it and took it round, and everybody ’ad a look at it. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus29"></a> +<img src="images/029.jpg" width="561" height="515" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“It stands to reason it’s a bad ’un,” ses Bill Jones, “but it’s so well done I +wish as I’d bought it.” +</p> + +<p> +“H-s-h!” ses Peter Lamb; “don’t let the landlord ’ear you.” +</p> + +<p> +The landlord ’ad just that moment come in, and Peter walked up and ordered a +pint, and took his tenpence change as bold as brass. Arter that Joe Barbcomb +bought five more ha’pennies afore you could wink a’most, and every man wot sold +one went up to the bar and ’ad a pint and got tenpence change, and drank Joe +Barlcomb’s health. +</p> + +<p> +“There seems to be a lot o’ money knocking about to-night,” ses the landlord, +as Sam Martin, the last of ’em, was drinking ’is pint. +</p> + +<p> +Sam Martin choked and put ’is pot down on the counter with a bang, and him and +the other five was out o’ that door and sailing up the road with their +tenpences afore the landlord could get his breath. He stood to the bar +scratching his ’ead and staring, but he couldn’t understand it a bit till a man +wot was too late to sell his ha’penny up and told ’im all about it. The fuss ’e +made was terrible. The shillings was in a little heap on a shelf at the back o’ +the bar, and he did all sorts o’ things to ’em to prove that they was bad, and +threatened Joe Barlcomb with the police. At last, however, ’e saw wot a fool he +was making of himself, and arter nearly breaking his teeth ’e dropped them into +a drawer and stirred ’em up with the others. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Barlcomb went round the next night to see Mrs. Prince, and she asked ’im a +lot o’ questions about the men as ’ad sold ’im the ha’pennies. +</p> + +<p> +“The fust part ’as been done very well,” she ses, nodding her ’ead at ’im; “if +you do the second part as well, you’ll soon know who your enemy is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing’ll bring the pig back,” ses Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s worse misfortunes than that, as I’ve told you,” ses Mrs. Prince, +sharply. “Now, listen to wot I’m going to say to you. When the clock strikes +twelve to-night——” +</p> + +<p> +“Our clock don’t strike,” ses Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must borrow one that does,” ses Mrs. Prince, “and when it strikes +twelve you must go round to each o’ them six men and sell them a ha’penny for a +shilling.” +</p> + +<p> +Joe Barlcomb looked at ’er. “’Ow?” he ses, short-like. +</p> + +<p> +“Same way as you sold ’em a shilling for a ha’-penny,” ses Mrs. Prince; “it +don’t matter whether they buy the ha’pennies or not. All you’ve got to do is to +go and ask ’em, and the man as makes the most fuss is the man that ’as put the +trouble on you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a roundabout way o’ going to work,” ses Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wot!</i>” screams Mrs. Prince, jumping up and waving her arms about. +“<i>Wot!</i> Go your own way; I’ll have nothing more to do with you. And don’t +blame me for anything that happens. It’s a very bad thing to come to a witch +for advice and then not to do as she tells you. You ought to know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do it, ma’am,” ses Joe Barlcomb, trembling. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better,” ses Mrs. Prince; “and mind—not a word to anybody.” +</p> + +<p> +Joe promised her agin, and ’e went off and borrered a clock from Albert Price, +and at twelve o’clock that night he jumped up out of bed and began to dress +’imself and pretend not to ’ear his wife when she asked ’im where he was going. +</p> + +<p> +It was a dark, nasty sort o’ night, blowing and raining, and, o’ course, +everybody ’ad gone to bed long since. The fust cottage Joe came to was Bill +Jones’s, and, knowing Bill’s temper, he stood for some time afore he could make +up ’is mind to knock; but at last he up with ’is stick and banged away at the +door. +</p> + +<p> +A minute arterward he ’eard the bedroom winder pushed open, and then Bill Jones +popped his ’ead out and called to know wot was the matter and who it was. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s me—Joe Barlcomb,” ses Joe, “and I want to speak to you very partikler.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, speak away,” ses Bill. “You go into the back room,” he ses, turning to +his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“Whaffor?” ses Mrs. Jones. +</p> + +<p> +“’Cos I don’t know wot Joe is going to say,” ses Bill. “You go in now, afore I +make you.” +</p> + +<p> +His wife went off grumbling, and then Bill told Joe Barlcomb to hurry up wot +he’d got to say as ’e ’adn’t got much on and the weather wasn’t as warm as it +might be. +</p> + +<p> +“I sold you a shilling for a ha’penny last night, Bill,” ses Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to sell any more?” ses Bill Jones, putting his ’and down to where +’is trouser pocket ought to be. +</p> + +<p> +“Not exactly that,” ses Joe Barlcomb. “This time I want you to sell me a +shilling for a ha’penny.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill leaned out of the winder and stared down at Joe Barlcomb, and then he ses, +in a choking voice, “Is that wot you’ve come disturbing my sleep for at this +time o’ night?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“I must ’ave it, Bill,” ses Joe. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you’ll wait a moment,” ses Bill, trying to speak perlitely, “I’ll +come down and give it to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Joe didn’t like ’is tone of voice, but he waited, and all of a sudden Bill +Jones came out o’ that door like a gun going off and threw ’imself on Joe +Barlcomb. Both of ’em was strong men, and by the time they’d finished they was +so tired they could ’ardly stand. Then Bill Jones went back to bed, and Joe +Barlcomb, arter sitting down on the doorstep to rest ’imself, went off and +knocked up Peter Lamb. +</p> + +<p> +Peter Lamb was a little man and no good as a fighter, but the things he said to +Joe Barlcomb as he leaned out o’ the winder and shook ’is fist at him was +’arder to bear than blows. He screamed away at the top of ’is voice for ten +minutes, and then ’e pulled the winder to with a bang and went back to bed. +</p> + +<p> +Joe Barlcomb was very tired, but he walked on to Jasper Potts’s ’ouse, trying +’ard as he walked to decide which o’ the fust two ’ad made the most fuss. Arter +he ’ad left Jasper Potts ’e got more puzzled than ever, Jasper being just as +bad as the other two, and Joe leaving ’im at last in the middle of loading ’is +gun. +</p> + +<p> +By the time he’d made ’is last call—at Sam Martin’s—it was past three o’clock, +and he could no more tell Mrs. Prince which ’ad made the most fuss than ’e +could fly. There didn’t seem to be a pin to choose between ’em, and, ’arf +worried out of ’is life, he went straight on to Mrs. Prince and knocked ’er up +to tell ’er. She thought the ’ouse was afire at fust, and came screaming out o’ +the front door in ’er bedgown, and when she found out who it was she was worse +to deal with than the men ’ad been. +</p> + +<p> +She ’ad quieted down by the time Joe went round to see ’er the next evening, +and asked ’im to describe exactly wot the six men ’ad done and said. She sat +listening quite quiet at fust, but arter a time she scared Joe by making a odd, +croupy sort o’ noise in ’er throat, and at last she got up and walked into the +back-place. She was there a long time making funny noises, and at last Joe +walked toward the door on tip-toe and peeped through the crack and saw ’er in a +sort o’ fit, sitting in a chair with ’er arms folded acrost her bodice and +rocking ’erself up and down and moaning. Joe stood as if ’e’d been frozen +a’most, and then ’e crept back to ’is seat and waited, and when she came into +the room agin she said as the trouble ’ad all been caused by Bill Jones. She +sat still for nearly ’arf an hour, thinking ’ard, and then she turned to Joe +and ses: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus30"></a> +<img src="images/030.jpg" width="446" height="391" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Can you read?” she ses. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses Joe, wondering wot was coming next. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right, then,” she ses, “because if you could I couldn’t do wot I’m +going to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“That shows the ’arm of eddication,” ses Joe. “I never did believe in it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Prince nodded, and then she went and got a bottle with something in it +which looked to Joe like gin, and arter getting out ’er pen and ink and +printing some words on a piece o’ paper she stuck it on the bottle, and sat +looking at Joe and thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“Take this up to the Cauliflower,” she ses, “make friends with Bill Jones, and +give him as much beer as he’ll drink, and give ’im a little o’ this gin in each +mug. If he drinks it the spell will be broken, and you’ll be luckier than you +’ave ever been in your life afore. When ’e’s drunk some, and not before, leave +the bottle standing on the table.” +</p> + +<p> +Joe Barlcomb thanked ’er, and with the bottle in ’is pocket went off to the +Cauliflower, whistling. Bill Jones was there, and Peter Lamb, and two or three +more of ’em, and at fust they said some pretty ’ard things to him about being +woke up in the night. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t bear malice, Bill,” ses Joe Barlcomb; “’ave a pint with me.” +</p> + +<p> +He ordered two pints, and then sat down along-side o’ Bill, and in five minutes +they was like brothers. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ave a drop o’ gin in it, Bill,” he ses, taking the bottle out of ’is pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Bill thanked ’im and had a drop, and then, thoughtful-like, he wanted Joe to +’ave some in his too, but Joe said no, he’d got a touch o’ toothache, and it +was bad for it. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind ’aving a drop in my beer, Joe,” ses Peter Lamb. +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-night, mate,” ses Joe; “it’s all for Bill. I bought it on purpose for +’im.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill shook ’ands with him, and when Joe called for another pint and put some +more gin in it he said that ’e was the noblest-’arted man that ever lived. +</p> + +<p> +“You wasn’t saying so ’arf an hour ago,” ses Peter Lamb. +</p> + +<p> +“’Cos I didn’t know ’im so well then,” ses Bill Jones. +</p> + +<p> +“You soon change your mind, don’t you?” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Bill didn’t answer ’im. He was leaning back on the bench and staring at the +bottle as if ’e couldn’t believe his eyesight. His face was all white and +shining, and ’is hair as wet as if it ’ad just been dipped in a bucket o’ +water. +</p> + +<p> +“See a ghost, Bill?” ses Peter, looking at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +Bill made a ’orrible noise in his throat, and kept on staring at the bottle +till they thought ’e’d gone crazy. Then Jasper Potts bent his ’ead down and +began to read out loud wot was on the bottle. “P-o-i—P<small>OISON FOR</small> +B<small>ILL</small> J<small>ONES</small>,” he ses, in a voice as if ’e couldn’t +believe it. +</p> + +<p> +You might ’ave heard a pin drop. Everybody turned and looked at Bill Jones, as +he sat there trembling all over. Then those that could read took up the bottle +and read it out loud all over agin. +</p> + +<p> +“Pore Bill,” ses Peter Lamb. “I ’ad a feeling come over me that something was +wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a murderer,” ses Sam Martin, catching ’old of Joe Barlcomb. “You’ll be +’ung for this. Look at pore Bill, cut off in ’is prime.” +</p> + +<p> +“Run for the doctor,” ses someone. +</p> + +<p> +Two of ’em ran off as ’ard as they could go, and then the landlord came round +the bar and asked Bill to go and die outside, because ’e didn’t want to be +brought into it. Jasper Potts told ’im to clear off, and then he bent down and +asked Bill where the pain was. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think he’ll ’ave much pain,” ses Peter Lamb, who always pretended to +know a lot more than other people. “It’ll soon be over, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve all got to go some day,” ses Sam Martin. “Better to die young than live +to be a trouble to yourself,” ses Bob Harris. +</p> + +<p> +To ’ear them talk everybody seemed to think that Bill Jones was in luck; +everybody but Bill Jones ’imself, that is. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t fit to die,” he ses, shivering. “You don’t know ’ow bad I’ve been.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot ’ave you done, Bill?” ses Peter Lamb, in a soft voice. “If it’ll ease your +feelings afore you go to make a clean breast of it, we’re all friends here.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill groaned. +</p> + +<p> +“And it’s too late for you to be punished for anything,” ses Peter, arter a +moment. +</p> + +<p> +Bill Jones groaned agin, and then, shaking ’is ’ead, began to w’isper ’is +wrong-doings. When the doctor came in ’arf an hour arterward all the men was as +quiet as mice, and pore Bill was still w’ispering as ’ard as he could w’isper. +</p> + +<p> +The doctor pushed ’em out of the way in a moment, and then ’e bent over Bill +and felt ’is pulse and looked at ’is tongue. Then he listened to his ’art, and +in a puzzled way smelt at the bottle, which Jasper Potts was a-minding of, and +wetted ’is finger and tasted it. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus31"></a> +<img src="images/031.jpg" width="546" height="431" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Somebody’s been making a fool of you and me too,” he ses, in a angry voice. +“It’s only gin, and very good gin at that. Get up and go home.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It all came out next morning, and Joe Barlcomb was the laughing-stock of the +place. Most people said that Mrs. Prince ’ad done quite right, and they ’oped +that it ud be a lesson to him, but nobody ever talked much of witchcraft in +Claybury agin. One thing was that Bill Jones wouldn’t ’ave the word used in ’is +hearing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a> +ESTABLISHING RELATIONS +</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Richard Catesby, second officer of the ss. <i>Wizard</i>, emerged from the +dock-gates in high good-humour to spend an evening ashore. The bustle of the +day had departed, and the inhabitants of Wapping, in search of coolness and +fresh air, were sitting at open doors and windows indulging in general +conversation with anybody within earshot. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus32"></a> +<img src="images/032.jpg" width="533" height="531" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby, turning into Bashford’s Lane, lost in a moment all this life and +colour. The hum of distant voices certainly reached there, but that was all, +for Bashford’s Lane, a retiring thoroughfare facing a blank dock wall, capped +here and there by towering spars, set an example of gentility which +neighbouring streets had long ago decided crossly was impossible for ordinary +people to follow. Its neatly grained shutters, fastened back by the sides of +the windows, gave a pleasing idea of uniformity, while its white steps and +polished brass knockers were suggestive of almost a Dutch cleanliness. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby, strolling comfortably along, stopped suddenly for another look at +a girl who was standing in the ground-floor window of No. 5. He went on a few +paces and then walked back slowly, trying to look as though he had forgotten +something. The girl was still there, and met his ardent glances unmoved: a fine +girl, with large, dark eyes, and a complexion which was the subject of much +scandalous discussion among neighbouring matrons. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be something wrong with the glass, or else it’s the bad light,” said +Mr. Catesby to himself; “no girl is so beautiful as that.” +</p> + +<p> +He went by again to make sure. The object of his solicitude was still there and +apparently unconscious of his existence. He passed very slowly and sighed +deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve got it at last, Dick Catesby,” he said, solemnly; “fair and square in +the most dangerous part of the heart. It’s serious this time.” +</p> + +<p> +He stood still on the narrow pavement, pondering, and then, in excuse of his +flagrant misbehaviour, murmured, “It was meant to be,” and went by again. This +time he fancied that he detected a somewhat supercilious expression in the dark +eyes—a faint raising of well-arched eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +His engagement to wait at Aldgate Station for the second-engineer and spend an +evening together was dismissed as too slow to be considered. He stood for some +time in uncertainty, and then turning slowly into the Beehive, which stood at +the corner, went into the private bar and ordered a glass of beer. +</p> + +<p> +He was the only person in the bar, and the landlord, a stout man in his +shirt-sleeves, was the soul of affability. Mr. Catesby, after various general +remarks, made a few inquiries about an uncle aged five minutes, whom he thought +was living in Bashford’s Lane. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus33"></a> +<img src="images/033.jpg" width="549" height="553" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I don’t know ’im,” said the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“I had an idea that he lived at No. 5,” said Catesby. +</p> + +<p> +The landlord shook his head. “That’s Mrs. Truefitt’s house,” he said, slowly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby pondered. “Truefitt, Truefitt,” he repeated; “what sort of a woman +is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Widder-woman,” said the landlord; “she lives there with ’er daughter +Prudence.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby said “Indeed!” and being a good listener learned that Mrs. Truefitt +was the widow of a master-lighterman, and that her son, Fred Truefitt, after an +absence of seven years in New Zealand, was now on his way home. He finished his +glass slowly and, the landlord departing to attend to another customer, made +his way into the street again. +</p> + +<p> +He walked along slowly, picturing as he went the home-coming of the +long-absent son. Things were oddly ordered in this world, and Fred Truefitt +would probably think nothing of his brotherly privileges. He wondered whether +he was like Prudence. He wondered—— +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove, I’ll do it!” he said, recklessly, as he turned. “Now for a row.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked back rapidly to Bashford’s Lane, and without giving his courage time +to cool plied the knocker of No. 5 briskly. +</p> + +<p> +The door was opened by an elderly woman, thin, and somewhat querulous in +expression. Mr. Catesby had just time to notice this, and then he flung his arm +round her waist, and hailing her as “Mother!” saluted her warmly. +</p> + +<p> +The faint scream of the astounded Mrs. Truefitt brought her daughter hastily +into the passage. Mr. Catesby’s idea was ever to do a thing thoroughly, and, +relinquishing Mrs. Truefitt, he kissed Prudence with all the ardour which a +seven-years’ absence might be supposed to engender in the heart of a devoted +brother. In return he received a box on the ears which made his head ring. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been drinking,” gasped the dismayed Mrs. Truefitt. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know me, mother?” inquired Mr. Richard Catesby, in grievous +astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s mad,” said her daughter. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I so altered that <i>you</i> don’t know me, Prudence?” inquired Mr. +Catesby; with pathos. “Don’t you know your Fred?” +</p> + +<p> +“Go out,” said Mrs. Truefitt, recovering; “go out at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby looked from one to the other in consternation. +</p> + +<p> +“I know I’ve altered,” he said, at last, “but I’d no idea—” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t go out at once I’ll send for the police,” said the elder woman, +sharply. “Prudence, scream!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to scream,” said Prudence, eyeing the intruder with great +composure. “I’m not afraid of him.” +</p> + +<p> +Despite her reluctance to have a scene—a thing which was strongly opposed to +the traditions of Bashford’s Lane—Mrs. Truefitt had got as far as the doorstep +in search of assistance, when a sudden terrible thought occurred to her: Fred +was dead, and the visitor had hit upon this extraordinary fashion of breaking +the news gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Come into the parlour,” she said, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby, suppressing his surprise, followed her into the room. Prudence, +her fine figure erect and her large eyes meeting his steadily, took up a +position by the side of her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“You have brought bad news?” inquired the latter. +</p> + +<p> +“No, mother,” said Mr. Catesby, simply, “only myself, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Truefitt made a gesture of impatience, and her daughter, watching him +closely, tried to remember something she had once read about detecting insanity +by the expression of the eyes. Those of Mr. Catesby were blue, and the only +expression in them at the present moment was one of tender and respectful +admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“When did you see Fred last?” inquired Mrs. Truefitt, making another effort. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” said Mr. Catesby, with great pathos, “don’t you know me?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has brought bad news of Fred,” said Mrs. Truefitt, turning to her daughter; +“I am sure he has.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Catesby, with a bewildered glance from one +to the other. “I am Fred. Am I much changed? You look the same as you always +did, and it seems only yesterday since I kissed Prudence good-bye at the docks. +You were crying, Prudence.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt made no reply; she gazed at him unflinchingly and then bent +toward her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“He is mad,” she whispered; “we must try and get him out quietly. Don’t +contradict him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Keep close to me,” said Mrs. Truefitt, who had a great horror of the insane. +“If he turns violent open the window and scream. I thought he had brought bad +news of Fred. How did he know about him?” +</p> + +<p> +Her daughter shook her head and gazed curiously at their afflicted visitor. She +put his age down at twenty-five, and she could not help thinking it a pity that +so good-looking a young man should have lost his wits. +</p> + +<p> +“Bade Prudence good-bye at the docks,” continued Mr. Catesby, dreamily. “You +drew me behind a pile of luggage, Prudence, and put your head on my shoulder. I +have thought of it ever since.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt did not deny it, but she bit her lips, and shot a sharp glance at +him. She began to think that her pity was uncalled-for. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m just going as far as the corner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all that’s happened since I’ve been away,” said Mr. Catesby. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Truefitt turned to her daughter and whispered. It might have been merely +the effect of a guilty conscience, but the visitor thought that he caught the +word “policeman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m just going as far as the corner,” said Mrs. Truefitt, rising, and crossing +hastily to the door. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus34"></a> +<img src="images/034.jpg" width="586" height="600" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +The young man nodded affectionately and sat in doubtful consideration as the +front door closed behind her. “Where is mother going?” he asked, in a voice +which betrayed a little pardonable anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Not far, I hope,” said Prudence. +</p> + +<p> +“I really think,” said Mr. Catesby, rising—“I really think that I had better go +after her. At her age——” +</p> + +<p> +He walked into the small passage and put his hand on the latch. Prudence, now +quite certain of his sanity, felt sorely reluctant to let such impudence go +unpunished. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’d better,” said Mr. Catesby, gravely. “Dear mother—” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re afraid,” said the girl, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby coloured and his buoyancy failed him. He felt a little bit cheap. +</p> + +<p> +“You are brave enough with two women,” continued the girl, disdainfully; “but +you had better go if you’re afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby regarded the temptress uneasily. “Would you like me to stay?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I?” said Miss Truefitt, tossing her head. “No, I don’t want you. Besides, +you’re frightened.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby turned, and with a firm step made his way back to the room; +Prudence, with a half-smile, took a chair near the door and regarded her +prisoner with unholy triumph. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t like to be in your shoes,” she said, agreeably; “mother has gone +for a policeman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bless her,” said Mr. Catesby, fervently. “What had we better say to him when +he comes?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be locked up,” said Prudence; “and it will serve you right for your bad +behaviour.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby sighed. “It’s the heart,” he said, gravely. “I’m not to blame, +really. I saw you standing in the window, and I could see at once that you were +beautiful, and good, and kind.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of such impudence,” continued Miss Truefitt. +</p> + +<p> +“I surprised myself,” admitted Mr. Catesby. “In the usual way I am very quiet +and well-behaved, not to say shy.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt looked at him scornfully. “I think that you had better stop your +nonsense and go,” she remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you want me to be punished?” inquired the other, in a soft voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I think that you had better go while you can,” said the girl, and at that +moment there was a heavy knock at the front-door. Mr. Catesby, despite his +assurance, changed colour; the girl eyed him in perplexity. Then she opened the +small folding-doors at the back of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re only—stupid,” she whispered. “Quick! Go in there. I’ll say you’ve gone. +Keep quiet, and I’ll let you out by-and-by.” +</p> + +<p> +She pushed him in and closed the doors. From his hiding-place he heard an +animated conversation at the street-door and minute particulars as to the time +which had elapsed since his departure and the direction he had taken. +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard such impudence,” said Mrs. Truefitt, going into the front-room +and sinking into a chair after the constable had taken his departure. “I don’t +believe he was mad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Only a little weak in the head, I think,” said Prudence, in a clear voice. “He +was very frightened after you had gone; I don’t think he will trouble us +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’d better not,” said Mrs. Truefitt, sharply. “I never heard of such a +thing—never.” +</p> + +<p> +She continued to grumble, while Prudence, in a low voice, endeavoured to soothe +her. Her efforts were evidently successful, as the prisoner was, after a time, +surprised to hear the older woman laugh—at first gently, and then with so much +enjoyment that her daughter was at some pains to restrain her. He sat in +patience until evening deepened into night, and a line of light beneath the +folding-doors announced the lighting of the lamp in the front-room. By a +pleasant clatter of crockery he became aware that they were at supper, and he +pricked up his ears as Prudence made another reference to him. +</p> + +<p> +“If he comes to-morrow night while you are out I sha’n’t open the door,” she +said. “You’ll be back by nine, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Truefitt assented. +</p> + +<p> +“And you won’t be leaving before seven,” continued Prudence. “I shall be all +right.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby’s face glowed and his eyes grew tender; Prudence was as clever as +she was beautiful. The delicacy with which she had intimated the fact of the +unconscious Mrs. Truefitt’s absence on the following evening was beyond all +praise. The only depressing thought was that such resourcefulness savoured of +practice. +</p> + +<p> +He sat in the darkness for so long that even the proximity of Prudence was not +sufficient amends for the monotony of it, and it was not until past ten o’clock +that the folding-doors were opened and he stood blinking at the girl in the +glare of the lamp. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick!” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby stepped into the lighted room. +</p> + +<p> +“The front-door is open,” whispered Prudence. “Make haste. I’ll close it.” +</p> + +<p> +She followed him to the door; he made an ineffectual attempt to seize her hand, +and the next moment was pushed gently outside and the door closed behind him. +He stood a moment gazing at the house, and then hastened back to his ship. +</p> + +<p> +“Seven to-morrow,” he murmured; “seven to-morrow. After all, there’s nothing +pays in this world like cheek—nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +He slept soundly that night, though the things that the second-engineer said to +him about wasting a hard-working man’s evening would have lain heavy on the +conscience of a more scrupulous man. The only thing that troubled him was the +manifest intention of his friend not to let him slip through his fingers on the +following evening. At last, in sheer despair at his inability to shake him off, +he had to tell him that he had an appointment with a lady. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll come, too,” said the other, glowering at him. “It’s very like +she’ll have a friend with her; they generally do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll run round and tell her,” said Catesby. “I’d have arranged it before, only +I thought you didn’t care about that sort of thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Female society is softening,” said the second-engineer. “I’ll go and put on a +clean collar.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus35"></a> +<img src="images/035.jpg" width="534" height="459" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Catesby watched him into his cabin and then, though it still wanted an hour to +seven, hastily quitted the ship and secreted himself in the private bar of the +Beehive. +</p> + +<p> +He waited there until a quarter past seven, and then, adjusting his tie for +about the tenth time that evening in the glass behind the bar, sallied out in +the direction of No. 5. +</p> + +<p> +He knocked lightly, and waited. There was no response, and he knocked again. +When the fourth knock brought no response, his heart sank within him and he +indulged in vain speculations as to the reasons for this unexpected hitch in +the programme. He knocked again, and then the door opened suddenly and +Prudence, with a little cry of surprise and dismay, backed into the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“You!” she said, regarding him with large eyes. Mr. Catesby bowed tenderly, and +passing in closed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to thank you for your kindness last night,” he said, humbly. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Prudence; “good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby smiled. “It’ll take me a long time to thank you as I ought to thank +you,” he murmured. “And then I want to apologise; that’ll take time, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better go,” said Prudence, severely; “kindness is thrown away upon +you. I ought to have let you be punished.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are too good and kind,” said the other, drifting by easy stages into the +parlour. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following him into the room seated herself in +an easy-chair and sat coldly watchful. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know what I am?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Your face tells me,” said the infatuated Richard. “I hope you will forgive me +for my rudeness last night. It was all done on the spur of the moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you are sorry,” said the girl, softening. +</p> + +<p> +“All the same, if I hadn’t done it,” pursued Mr. Catesby, “I shouldn’t be +sitting here talking to you now.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and then lowered them modestly to the +ground. “That is true,” she said, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“And I would sooner be sitting here than anywhere,” pursued Catesby. “That +is,” he added, rising, and taking a chair by her side, “except here.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and made as though to rise. Then she sat +still and took a gentle peep at Mr. Catesby from the corner of her eye. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope that you are not sorry that I am here?” said that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt hesitated. “No,” she said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you—are you glad?” asked the modest Richard. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Truefitt averted her eyes altogether. “Yes,” she said, faintly. +</p> + +<p> +A strange feeling of solemnity came over the triumphant Richard. He took the +hand nearest to him and pressed it gently. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I can hardly believe in my good luck,” he murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Good luck?” said Prudence, innocently. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it good luck to hear you say that you are glad I’m here?” said Catesby. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the best judge of that,” said the girl, withdrawing her hand. “It +doesn’t seem to me much to be pleased about.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and was about to address another tender +remark to her when she was overcome by a slight fit of coughing. At the same +moment he started at the sound of a shuffling footstep in the passage. Somebody +tapped at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Prudence. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t find the knife-powder, miss,” said a harsh voice. The door was pushed +open and disclosed a tall, bony woman of about forty. Her red arms were bare to +the elbow, and she betrayed several evidences of a long and arduous day’s +charing. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in the cupboard,” said Prudence. “Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Porter?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Porter made no reply. Her mouth was wide open and she was gazing with +starting eyeballs at Mr. Catesby. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Joe!</i>” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “<i>Joe!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling silence. Miss Truefitt, with an air of +great surprise, glanced from one to the other. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Joe!</i>” said Mrs. Porter again. “Ain’t you goin’ to speak to me?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her in speechless astonishment. She skipped +clumsily round the table and stood before him with her hands clasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Where ’ave you been all this long time?” she demanded, in a higher key. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you’ve made a mistake,” said the bewildered Richard. +</p> + +<p> +“Mistake?” wailed Mrs. Porter. “Mistake! Oh, where’s your ’art?” +</p> + +<p> +Before he could get out of her way she flung her arms round the horrified young +man’s neck and embraced him copiously. Over her bony left shoulder the frantic +Richard met the ecstatic gaze of Miss Truefitt, and, in a flash, he realised +the trap into which he had fallen. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mrs. Porter!</i>” said Prudence. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my ’usband, miss,” said the Amazon, reluctantly releasing the flushed and +dishevelled Richard; “’e left me and my five eighteen months ago. For eighteen +months I ’aven’t ’ad a sight of ’is blessed face.” +</p> + +<p> +She lifted the hem of her apron to her face and broke into discordant weeping. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t cry,” said Prudence, softly; “I’m sure he isn’t worth it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby looked at her wanly. He was beyond further astonishment, and when +Mrs. Truefitt entered the room with a laudable attempt to twist her features +into an expression of surprise, he scarcely noticed her. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my Joe,” said Mrs. Porter, simply. +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” said Mrs. Truefitt. “Well, you’ve got him now; take care he +doesn’t run away from you again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll look after that, ma’am,” said Mrs. Porter, with a glare at the startled +Richard. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus36"></a> +<img src="images/036.jpg" width="563" height="532" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“She’s very forgiving,” said Prudence. “She kissed him just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did she, though,” said the admiring Mrs. Truefitt. “I wish I’d been here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can do it agin, ma’am,” said the obliging Mrs. Porter. +</p> + +<p> +“If you come near me again—” said the breathless Richard, stepping back a pace. +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t force his love,” said Mrs. Truefitt; “it’ll come back in time, I +dare say.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure he’s affectionate,” said Prudence. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby eyed his tormentors in silence; the faces of Prudence and her +mother betokened much innocent enjoyment, but the austerity of Mrs. Porter’s +visage was unrelaxed. +</p> + +<p> +“Better let bygones be bygones,” said Mrs. Truefitt; “he’ll be sorry by-and-by +for all the trouble he has caused.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll be ashamed of himself—if you give him time,” added Prudence. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby had heard enough; he took up his hat and crossed to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Take care he doesn’t run away from you again,” repeated Mrs. Truefitt. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see to that, ma’am,” said Mrs. Porter, taking him by the arm. “Come +along, Joe.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Catesby attempted to shake her off, but in vain, and he ground his teeth as +he realised the absurdity of his position. A man he could have dealt with, but +Mrs. Porter was invulnerable. Sooner than walk down the road with her he +preferred the sallies of the parlour. He walked back to his old position by the +fireplace, and stood gazing moodily at the floor. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Truefitt tired of the sport at last. She wanted her supper, and with a +significant glance at her daughter she beckoned the redoubtable and reluctant +Mrs. Porter from the room. Catesby heard the kitchen-door close behind them, +but he made no move. Prudence stood gazing at him in silence. +</p> + +<p> +“If you want to go,” she said, at last, “now is your chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Catesby followed her into the passage without a word, and waited quietly while +she opened the door. Still silent, he put on his hat and passed out into the +darkening street. He turned after a short distance for a last look at the house +and, with a sudden sense of elation, saw that she was standing on the step. He +hesitated, and then walked slowly back. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Prudence. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to tell your mother that I am sorry,” he said, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“It is getting late,” said the girl, softly; “but, if you really wish to tell +her—Mrs. Porter will not be here to-morrow night.” +</p> + +<p> +She stepped back into the house and the door closed behind her. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a> +THE CHANGING NUMBERS +</h2> + +<p> +The tall clock in the corner of the small living-room had just struck eight as +Mr. Samuel Gunnill came stealthily down the winding staircase and, opening the +door at the foot, stepped with an appearance of great care and humility into +the room. He noticed with some anxiety that his daughter Selina was apparently +engrossed in her task of attending to the plants in the window, and that no +preparations whatever had been made for breakfast. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus37"></a> +<img src="images/037.jpg" width="550" height="412" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill’s horticultural duties seemed interminable. She snipped off dead +leaves with painstaking precision, and administered water with the jealous care +of a druggist compounding a prescription; then, with her back still toward him, +she gave vent to a sigh far too intense in its nature to have reference to such +trivialities as plants. She repeated it twice, and at the second time Mr. +Gunnill, almost without his knowledge, uttered a deprecatory cough. +</p> + +<p> +His daughter turned with alarming swiftness and, holding herself very upright, +favoured him with a glance in which indignation and surprise were very fairly +mingled. +</p> + +<p> +“That white one—that one at the end,” said Mr. Gunnill, with an appearance of +concentrated interest, “that’s my fav’rite.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill put her hands together, and a look of infinite long-suffering came +upon her face, but she made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Always has been,” continued Mr. Gunnill, feverishly, “from a—from a cutting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bailed out,” said Miss Gunnill, in a deep and thrilling voice; “bailed out at +one o’clock in the morning, brought home singing loud enough for half-a-dozen, +and then talking about flowers!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunnill coughed again. +</p> + +<p> +“I was dreaming,” pursued Miss Gunnill, plaintively, “sleeping peacefully, when +I was awoke by a horrible noise.” +</p> + +<p> +“That couldn’t ha’ been me,” protested her father. “I was only a bit cheerful. +It was Benjamin Ely’s birthday yesterday, and after we left the Lion they +started singing, and I just hummed to keep ’em company. I wasn’t singing, mind +you, only humming—when up comes that interfering Cooper and takes me off.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill shivered, and with her pretty cheek in her hand sat by the window +the very picture of despondency. “Why didn’t he take the others?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Mr. Gunnill, with great emphasis, “that’s what a lot more of us +would like to know. P’r’aps if you’d been more polite to Mrs. Cooper, instead +o’ putting it about that she looked young enough to be his mother, it wouldn’t +have happened.” +</p> + +<p> +His daughter shook her head impatiently and, on Mr. Gunnill making an allusion +to breakfast, expressed surprise that he had got the heart to eat anything. +Mr. Gunnill pressing the point, however, she arose and began to set the table, +the undue care with which she smoothed out the creases of the table-cloth, and +the mathematical exactness with which she placed the various articles, all +being so many extra smarts in his wound. When she finally placed on the table +enough food for a dozen people he began to show signs of a little spirit. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you going to have any?” he demanded, as Miss Gunnill resumed her seat by +the window. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Me?</i>” said the girl, with a shudder. “Breakfast? The disgrace is +breakfast enough for me. I couldn’t eat a morsel; it would choke me.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunnill eyed her over the rim of his teacup. “I come down an hour ago,” he +said, casually, as he helped himself to some bacon. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill started despite herself. “Oh!” she said, listlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“And I see you making a very good breakfast all by yourself in the kitchen,” +continued her father, in a voice not free from the taint of triumph. +</p> + +<p> +The discomfited Selina rose and stood regarding him; Mr. Gunnill, after a vain +attempt to meet her gaze, busied himself with his meal. +</p> + +<p> +“The idea of watching every mouthful I eat!” said Miss Gunnill, tragically; +“the idea of complaining because I have some breakfast! I’d never have believed +it of you, never! It’s shameful! Fancy grudging your own daughter the food she +eats!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunnill eyed her in dismay. In his confusion he had overestimated the +capacity of his mouth, and he now strove in vain to reply to this shameful +perversion of his meaning. His daughter stood watching him with grief in one +eye and calculation in the other, and, just as he had put himself into a +position to exercise his rights of free speech, gave a pathetic sniff and +walked out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +She stayed indoors all day, but the necessity of establishing his innocence +took Mr. Gunnill out a great deal. His neighbours, in the hope of further +excitement, warmly pressed him to go to prison rather than pay a fine, and +instanced the example of an officer in the Salvation Army, who, in very +different circumstances, had elected to take that course. Mr. Gunnill assured +them that only his known antipathy to the army, and the fear of being regarded +as one of its followers, prevented him from doing so. He paid instead a fine of +ten shillings, and after listening to a sermon, in which his silver hairs +served as the text, was permitted to depart. His feeling against +Police-constable Cooper increased with the passing of the days. The constable +watched him with the air of a proprietor, and Mrs. Cooper’s remark that “her +husband had had his eye upon him for a long time, and that he had better be +careful for the future,” was faithfully retailed to him within half an hour of +its utterance. Convivial friends counted his cups for him; teetotal friends +more than hinted that Cooper was in the employ of his good angel. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus38"></a> +<img src="images/038.jpg" width="609" height="612" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill’s two principal admirers had an arduous task to perform. They had +to attribute Mr. Gunnill’s disaster to the vindictiveness of Cooper, and at the +same time to agree with his daughter that it served him right. Between father +and daughter they had a difficult time, Mr. Gunnill’s sensitiveness having been +much heightened by his troubles. +</p> + +<p> +“Cooper ought not to have taken you,” said Herbert Sims for the fiftieth time. +</p> + +<p> +“He must ha’ seen you like it dozens o’ times before,” said Ted Drill, who, in +his determination not to be outdone by Mr. Sims, was not displaying his usual +judgment. “Why didn’t he take you then? That’s what you ought to have asked the +magistrate.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” said Mr. Gunnill, with an air of cold dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Mr. Drill, “what I mean is—look at that night, for instance, +when——” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off suddenly, even his enthusiasm not being proof against the +extraordinary contortions of visage in which Mr. Gunnill was indulging. +</p> + +<p> +“When?” prompted Selina and Mr. Sims together. Mr. Gunnill, after first daring +him with his eye, followed suit. +</p> + +<p> +“That night at the Crown,” said Mr. Drill, awkwardly. “You know; when you +thought that Joe Baggs was the landlord. You tell ’em; you tell it best. I’ve +roared over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you’re driving at,” said the harassed Mr. Gunnill, bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>H’m!</i>” said Mr. Drill, with a weak laugh. “I’ve been mixing you up with +somebody else.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunnill, obviously relieved, said that he ought to be more careful, and +pointed out, with some feeling, that a lot of mischief was caused that way. +</p> + +<p> +“Cooper wants a lesson, that’s what he wants,” said Mr. Sims, valiantly. “He’ll +get his head broke one of these days.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunnill acquiesced. “I remember when I was on the <i>Peewit</i>,” he said, +musingly, “one time when we were lying at Cardiff, there was a policeman there +run one of our chaps in, and two nights afterward another of our chaps pushed +the policeman down in the mud and ran off with his staff and his helmet.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill’s eyes glistened. “What happened?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“He had to leave the force,” replied her father; “he couldn’t stand the +disgrace of it. The chap that pushed him over was quite a little chap, too. +About the size of Herbert here.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sims started. +</p> + +<p> +“Very much like him in face, too,” pursued Mr. Gunnill; “daring chap he was.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill sighed. “I wish he lived in Little-stow,” she said, slowly. “I’d +give anything to take that horrid Mrs. Cooper down a bit. Cooper would be the +laughing-stock of the town.” +</p> + +<p> +Messrs. Sims and Drill looked unhappy. It was hard to have to affect an +attitude of indifference in the face of Miss Gunnill’s lawless yearnings; to +stand before her as respectable and law-abiding cravens. Her eyes, large and +sorrowful; dwelt on them both. +</p> + +<p> +“If I—I only get a chance at Cooper!” murmured Mr. Sims, vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +To his surprise, Mr. Gunnill started up from his chair and, gripping his hand, +shook it fervently. He looked round, and Selina was regarding him with a glance +so tender that he lost his head completely. Before he had recovered he had +pledged himself to lay the helmet and truncheon of the redoubtable Mr. Cooper +at the feet of Miss Gunnill; exact date not specified. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, I shall have to wait my opportunity,” he said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“You wait as long as you like, my boy,” said the thoughtless Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sims thanked him. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till Cooper’s an old man,” urged Mr. Drill. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill, secretly disappointed at the lack of boldness and devotion on the +part of the latter gentleman, eyed his stalwart frame indignantly and accused +him of trying to make Mr. Sims as timid as himself. She turned to the valiant +Sims and made herself so agreeable to that daring blade that Mr. Drill, a prey +to violent jealousy, bade the company a curt good-night and withdrew. +</p> + +<p> +He stayed away for nearly a week, and then one evening as he approached the +house, carrying a carpet-bag, he saw the door just opening to admit the +fortunate Herbert. He quickened his pace and arrived just in time to follow him +in. Mr. Sims, who bore under his arm a brown-paper parcel, seemed somewhat +embarrassed at seeing him, and after a brief greeting walked into the room, and +with a triumphant glance at Mr. Gunnill and Selina placed his burden on the +table. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus39"></a> +<img src="images/039.jpg" width="553" height="446" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“You—you ain’t got it?” said Mr. Gunnill, leaning forward. +</p> + +<p> +“How foolish of you to run such a risk!” said Selina. +</p> + +<p> +“I brought it for Miss Gunnill,” said the young man, simply. He unfastened the +parcel, and to the astonishment of all present revealed a policeman’s helmet +and a short boxwood truncheon. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you’re a wonder,” said the gloating Mr. Gunnill. “Look at it, Ted!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Drill <i>was</i> looking at it; it may be doubted whether the head of Mr. +Cooper itself could have caused him more astonishment. Then his eyes sought +those of Mr. Sims, but that gentleman was gazing tenderly at the gratified but +shocked Selina. +</p> + +<p> +“How ever did you do it?” inquired Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<p> +“Came behind him and threw him down,” said Mr. Sims, nonchalantly. “He was that +scared I believe I could have taken his boots as well if I’d wanted them.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunnill patted him on the back. “I fancy I can see him running bare-headed +through the town calling for help,” he said, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sims shook his head. “Like as not it’ll be kept quiet for the credit of the +force,” he said, slowly, “unless, of course, they discover who did it.” +</p> + +<p> +A slight shade fell on the good-humoured countenance of Mr. Gunnill, but it was +chased away almost immediately by Sims reminding him of the chaff of Cooper’s +brother-constables. +</p> + +<p> +“And you might take the others away,” said Mr. Gunnill, brightening; “you might +keep on doing it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sims said doubtfully that he might, but pointed out that Cooper would +probably be on his guard for the future. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you’ve done your share,” said Miss Gunnill, with a half-glance at Mr. +Drill, who was still gazing in a bewildered fashion at the trophies. “You can +come into the kitchen and help me draw some beer if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sims followed her joyfully, and reaching down a jug for her watched her +tenderly as she drew the beer. All women love valour, but Miss Gunnill, gazing +sadly at the slight figure of Mr. Sims, could not help wishing that Mr. Drill +possessed a little of his spirit. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus40"></a> +<img src="images/040.jpg" width="561" height="492" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +She had just finished her task when a tremendous bumping noise was heard in the +living-room, and the plates on the dresser were nearly shaken off their +shelves. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +They ran to the room and stood aghast in the doorway at the spectacle of Mr. +Gunnill, with his clenched fists held tightly by his side, bounding into the +air with all the grace of a trained acrobat, while Mr. Drill encouraged him +from an easy-chair. Mr. Gunnill smiled broadly as he met their astonished gaze, +and with a final bound kicked something along the floor and subsided into his +seat panting. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sims, suddenly enlightened, uttered a cry of dismay and, darting under the +table, picked up what had once been a policeman’s helmet. Then he snatched a +partially consumed truncheon from the fire, and stood white and trembling +before the astonished Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” inquired the latter. +</p> + +<p> +“You—you’ve spoilt ’em,” gasped Mr. Sims. +</p> + +<p> +“What of it?” said Mr. Gunnill, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“I was—going to take ’em away,” stammered Mr. Sims. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they’ll be easier to carry now,” said Mr. Drill, simply. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Sims glanced at him sharply, and then, to the extreme astonishment of Mr. +Gunnill, snatched up the relics and, wrapping them up in the paper, dashed out +of the house. Mr. Gunnill turned a look of blank inquiry upon Mr. Drill. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t Cooper’s number on the helmet,” said that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Eh?</i>” shouted Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” inquired Selina. +</p> + +<p> +“I just happened to notice,” replied Mr. Drill. He reached down as though to +take up the carpet-bag which he had placed by the side of his chair, and then, +apparently thinking better of it, leaned back in his seat and eyed Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me,” said the latter, “that he’s been and upset the wrong +man?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Drill shook his head. “That’s the puzzle,” he said, softly. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled over at Miss Gunnill, but that young lady, who found him somewhat +mysterious, looked away and frowned. Her father sat and exhausted conjecture, +his final conclusion being that Mr. Sims had attacked the first policeman that +had come in his way and was now suffering the agonies of remorse. +</p> + +<p> +He raised his head sharply at the sound of hurried footsteps outside. There was +a smart rap at the street door, then the handle was turned, and the next +moment, to the dismay of all present, the red and angry face of one of Mr. +Cooper’s brother-constables was thrust into the room. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gunnill gazed at it in helpless fascination. The body of the constable +garbed in plain clothes followed the face and, standing before him in a +menacing fashion, held out a broken helmet and staff. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you seen these afore?” he inquired, in a terrible voice. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Mr. Gunnill, with an attempt at surprise. “What are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what they are,” said Police-constable Jenkins, ferociously; +“they’re my helmet and truncheon. You’ve been spoiling His Majesty’s property, +and you’ll be locked up.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Yours?</i>” said the astonished Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<p> +“I lent ’em to young Sims, just for a joke,” said the constable. “I felt all +along I was doing a silly thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no joke,” said Mr. Gunnill, severely. “I’ll tell young Herbert what I +think of him trying to deceive me like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about deceiving,” interrupted the constable. “What are you going to +do about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you?” inquired Mr. Gunnill, hardily. “It seems to me it’s between you +and him; you’ll very likely be dismissed from the force, and all through trying +to deceive. I wash my hands of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d no business to lend it,” said Drill, interrupting the constable’s +indignant retort; “especially for Sims to pretend that he had stolen it from +Cooper. It’s a roundabout sort of thing, but you can’t tell of Mr. Gunnill +without getting into trouble yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to put up with that,” said the constable, desperately; “it’s got +to be explained. It’s my day-helmet, too, and the night one’s as shabby as can +be. Twenty years in the force and never a mark against my name till now.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’d only keep quiet a bit instead of talking so much,” said Mr. Drill, +who had been doing some hard thinking, “I might be able to help you, p’r’aps.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” inquired the constable. +</p> + +<p> +“Help him if you can, Ted,” said Mr. Gunnill, eagerly; “we ought all to help +others when we get a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Drill sat bolt upright and looked very wise. +</p> + +<p> +He took the smashed helmet from the table and examined it carefully. It was +broken in at least half-a-dozen places, and he laboured in vain to push it into +shape. He might as well have tried to make a silk hat out of a concertina. The +only thing that had escaped injury was the metal plate with the number. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you mend it?” he inquired, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mend</i> it?” shouted the incensed Mr. Jenkins. “Why don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I could,” said Mr. Drill, slowly; “give me half an hour in the kitchen +and I’ll try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have as long as you like,” said Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<p> +“And I shall want some glue, and Miss Gunnill, and some tin-tacks,” said Drill. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want me for?” inquired Selina. +</p> + +<p> +“To hold the things for me,” replied Mr. Drill. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill tossed her head, but after a little demur consented; and Drill, +ignoring the impatience of the constable, picked up his bag and led the way +into the kitchen. Messrs. Gunnill and Jenkins, left behind in the living-room, +sought for some neutral topic of discourse, but in vain; conversation would +revolve round hard labour and lost pensions. From the kitchen came sounds of +hammering, then a loud “<i>Ooh!</i>” from Miss Gunnill, followed by a burst of +laughter and a clapping of hands. Mr. Jenkins shifted in his seat and exchanged +glances with Mr. Gunnill. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus41"></a> +<img src="images/041.jpg" width="565" height="691" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“He’s a clever fellow,” said that gentleman, hopefully. “You should hear him +imitate a canary; life-like it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins was about to make a hasty and obvious rejoinder, when the kitchen +door opened and Selina emerged, followed by Drill. The snarl which the +constable had prepared died away in a murmur of astonishment as he took the +helmet. It looked as good as ever. +</p> + +<p> +He turned it over and over in amaze, and looked in vain for any signs of the +disastrous cracks. It was stiff and upright. He looked at the number: it was +his own. His eyes round with astonishment he tried it on, and then his face +relaxed. +</p> + +<p> +“It don’t fit as well as it did,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, upon my word, some people are never satisfied,” said the indignant +Drill. “There isn’t another man in England could have done it better.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not grumbling,” said the constable, hastily; “it’s a wonderful piece o’ +work. Wonderful! I can’t even see where it was broke. How on earth did you do +it?” +</p> + +<p> +Drill shook his head. “It’s a secret process,” he said, slowly. “I might want +to go into the hat trade some day, and I’m not going to give things away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right,” said Mr. Jenkins. “Still—well, it’s a marvel, that’s what it is; +a fair marvel. If you take my advice you’ll go in the hat trade to-morrow, my +lad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not surprised,” said Mr. Gunnill, whose face as he spoke was a map of +astonishment. “Not a bit. I’ve seen him do more surprising things than that. +Have a go at the staff now, Teddy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see about it,” said Mr. Drill, modestly. “I can’t do impossibilities. You +leave it here, Mr. Jenkins, and we’ll talk about it later on.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins, still marvelling over his helmet, assented, and, after another +reference to the possibilities in the hat trade to a man with a born gift for +repairs, wrapped his property in a piece of newspaper and departed, whistling. +</p> + +<p> +“Ted,” said Mr. Gunnill, impressively, as he sank into his chair with a sigh of +relief. “How you done it I don’t know. It’s a surprise even to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is very clever,” said Selina, with a kind smile. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Drill turned pale, and then, somewhat emboldened by praise from such a +quarter, dropped into a chair by her side and began to talk in low tones. The +grateful Mr. Gunnill, more relieved than he cared to confess, thoughtfully +closed his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think all along that you’d let Herbert outdo you,” said Selina. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to outdo <i>him</i>,” said Mr. Drill, in a voice of much meaning. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Gunnill cast down her eyes and Mr. Drill had just plucked up sufficient +courage to take her hand when footsteps stopped at the house, the handle of the +door was turned, and, for the second time that evening, the inflamed visage of +Mr. Jenkins confronted the company. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me it’s a failure,” said Mr. Gunnill, starting from his chair. “You +must have been handling it roughly. It was as good as new when you took it +away.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins waved him away and fixed his eyes upon Drill. +</p> + +<p> +“You think you’re mighty clever, I dare say,” he said, grimly; “but I can put +two and two together. I’ve just heard of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Heard of two and two?” said Drill, looking puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want any of your nonsense,” said Mr. Jenkins. “I’m not on duty now, +but I warn you not to say anything that may be used against you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never do,” said Mr. Drill, piously. +</p> + +<p> +“Somebody threw a handful o’ flour in poor Cooper’s face a couple of hours +ago,” said Mr. Jenkins, watching him closely, “and while he was getting it out +of his eyes they upset him and made off with his helmet and truncheon. I just +met Brown and he says Cooper’s been going on like a madman.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! it’s a good job I mended your helmet for you,” said Mr. Drill, “or +else they might have suspected you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins stared at him. “I know who did do it,” he said, significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Herbert Sims?” guessed Mr. Drill, in a stage whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be one o’ the first to know,” said Mr. Jenkins, darkly; “he’ll be +arrested to-morrow. Fancy the impudence of it! It’s shocking.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Drill whistled. “Nell, don’t let that little affair o’ yours with Sims be +known,” he said, quietly. “Have that kept quiet—<i>if you can</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins started as though he had been stung. In the joy of a case he had +overlooked one or two things. He turned and regarded the young man wistfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call on me as a witness, that’s all,” continued Mr. Drill. “I never was +a mischief-maker, and I shouldn’t like to have to tell how you lent your helmet +to Sims so that he could pretend he had knocked Cooper down and taken it from +him.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus42"></a> +<img src="images/042.jpg" width="550" height="515" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t look at all well,” said Mr. Gunnill, nodding his head sagely. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins breathed hard and looked from one to the other. It was plain that +it was no good reminding them that he had not had a case for five years. +</p> + +<p> +“When I say that I know who did it,” he said, slowly, “I mean that I have my +suspicions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Mr. Drill, “that’s a very different thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing like the same,” said Mr. Gunnill, pouring the constable a glass of +ale. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins drank it and smacked his lips feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“Sims needn’t know anything about that helmet being repaired,” he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” said everybody. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Jenkins sighed and turned to Drill. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good spoiling the ship for a ha’porth o’ tar,” he said, with a faint +suspicion of a wink. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Drill, looking puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything that’s worth doing at all is worth doing well,” continued the +constable, “and while I’m drinking another glass with Mr. Gunnill here, suppose +you go into the kitchen with that useful bag o’ yours and finish repairing my +truncheon?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a> +THE PERSECUTION OF BOB PRETTY +</h2> + +<p> +The old man sat on his accustomed bench outside the Cauliflower. A generous +measure of beer stood in a blue and white jug by his elbow, and little wisps of +smoke curled slowly upward from the bowl of his churchwarden pipe. The +knapsacks of two young men lay where they were flung on the table, and the +owners, taking a noon-tide rest, turned a polite, if bored, ear to the +reminiscences of grateful old age. +</p> + +<p> +Poaching, said the old man, who had tried topics ranging from early turnips to +horseshoeing—poaching ain’t wot it used to be in these ’ere parts. Nothing is +like it used to be, poaching nor anything else; but that there man you might +ha’ noticed as went out about ten minutes ago and called me “Old Truthfulness” +as ’e passed is the worst one I know. Bob Pretty ’is name is, and of all the +sly, artful, deceiving men that ever lived in Claybury ’e is the worst—never +did a honest day’s work in ’is life and never wanted the price of a glass of +ale. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus43"></a> +<img src="images/043.jpg" width="592" height="521" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Bob Pretty’s worst time was just after old Squire Brown died. The old squire +couldn’t afford to preserve much, but by-and-by a gentleman with plenty o’ +money, from London, named Rockett, took ’is place and things began to look up. +Pheasants was ’is favourites, and ’e spent no end o’ money rearing of ’em, but +anything that could be shot at suited ’im, too. +</p> + +<p> +He started by sneering at the little game that Squire Brown ’ad left, but all +’e could do didn’t seem to make much difference; things disappeared in a most +eggstrordinary way, and the keepers went pretty near crazy, while the things +the squire said about Claybury and Claybury men was disgraceful. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody knew as it was Bob Pretty and one or two of ’is mates from other +places, but they couldn’t prove it. They couldn’t catch ’im nohow, and at last +the squire ’ad two keepers set off to watch ’im by night and by day. +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty wouldn’t believe it; he said ’e couldn’t. And even when it was +pointed out to ’im that Keeper Lewis was follering of ’im he said that it just +’appened he was going the same way, that was all. And sometimes ’e’d get up in +the middle of the night and go for a fifteen-mile walk ’cos ’e’d got the +toothache, and Mr. Lewis, who ’adn’t got it, had to tag along arter ’im till he +was fit to drop. O’ course, it was one keeper the less to look arter the game, +and by-and-by the squire see that and took ’im off. +</p> + +<p> +All the same they kept a pretty close watch on Bob, and at last one arternoon +they sprang out on ’im as he was walking past Gray’s farm, and asked him wot it +was he ’ad in his pockets. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my bisness, Mr. Lewis,” ses Bob Pretty. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Smith, the other keeper, passed ’is hands over Bob’s coat and felt +something soft and bulgy. +</p> + +<p> +“You take your ’ands off of me,” ses Bob; “you don’t know ’ow partikler I am.” +</p> + +<p> +He jerked ’imself away, but they caught ’old of ’im agin, and Mr. Lewis put ’is +hand in his inside pocket and pulled out two brace o’ partridges. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll come along of us,” he ses, catching ’im by the arm. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been looking for you a long time,” ses Keeper Smith, “and it’s a +pleasure for us to ’ave your company.” +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty said ’e wouldn’t go, but they forced ’im along and took ’im all the +way to Cudford, four miles off, so that Policeman White could lock ’im up for +the night. Mr. White was a’most as pleased as the keepers, and ’e warned Bob +solemn not to speak becos all ’e said would be used agin ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about that,” ses Bob Pretty. “I’ve got a clear conscience, and +talking can’t ’urt me. I’m very glad to see you, Mr. White; if these two +clever, experienced keepers hadn’t brought me I should ’ave looked you up +myself. They’ve been and stole my partridges.” +</p> + +<p> +Them as was standing round laughed, and even Policeman White couldn’t ’elp +giving a little smile. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing to laugh at,” ses Bob, ’olding his ’ead up. “It’s a fine thing +when a working man—a ’ardworking man—can’t take home a little game for ’is +family without being stopped and robbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose they flew into your pocket?” ses Policeman White. +</p> + +<p> +“No, they didn’t,” ses Bob. “I’m not going to tell any lies about it; I put ’em +there. The partridges in my inside coat-pocket and the bill in my +waistcoat-pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“The <i>bill?</i>” ses Keeper Lewis, staring at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the bill,” ses Bob Pretty, staring back at ’im; “the bill from Mr. Keen, +the poulterer, at Wickham.” +</p> + +<p> +He fetched it out of ’is pocket and showed it to Mr. White, and the keepers was +like madmen a’most ’cos it was plain to see that Bob Pretty ’ad been and bought +them partridges just for to play a game on ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“I was curious to know wot they tasted like,” he ses to the policeman. “Worst +of it is, I don’t s’pose my pore wife’ll know ’ow to cook ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“You get off ’ome,” ses Policeman White, staring at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“But ain’t I goin’ to be locked up?” ses Bob. “’Ave I been brought all this way +just to ’ave a little chat with a policeman I don’t like.” +</p> + +<p> +“You go ’ome,” ses Policeman White, handing the partridges back to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” ses Bob, “and I may ’ave to call you to witness that these ’ere +two men laid hold o’ me and tried to steal my partridges. I shall go up and see +my loryer about it.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked off ’ome with his ’ead up as high as ’e could hold it, and the airs +’e used to give ’imself arter this was terrible for to behold. He got ’is +eldest boy to write a long letter to the squire about it, saying that ’e’d +overlook it this time, but ’e couldn’t promise for the future. Wot with Bob +Pretty on one side and Squire Rockett on the other, them two keepers’ lives was +’ardly worth living. +</p> + +<p> +Then the squire got a head-keeper named Cutts, a man as was said to know more +about the ways of poachers than they did themselves. He was said to ’ave +cleared out all the poachers for miles round the place ’e came from, and +pheasants could walk into people’s cottages and not be touched. +</p> + +<p> +He was a sharp-looking man, tall and thin, with screwed-up eyes and a little +red beard. The second day ’e came ’e was up here at this ’ere Cauliflower, +having a pint o’ beer and looking round at the chaps as he talked to the +landlord. The odd thing was that men who’d never taken a hare or a pheasant in +their lives could ’ardly meet ’is eye, while Bob Pretty stared at ’im as if ’e +was a wax-works. +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ear you ’ad a little poaching in these parts afore I came,” ses Mr. Cutts +to the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I ’ave ’eard something o’ the kind,” ses the landlord, staring over +his ’ead with a far-away look in ’is eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t hear of much more,” ses the keeper. “I’ve invented a new way of +catching the dirty rascals; afore I came ’ere I caught all the poachers on +three estates. I clear ’em out just like a ferret clears out rats.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sort o’ man-trap?” ses the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s tellings,” ses Mr. Cutts. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I ’ope you’ll catch ’em here,” ses Bob Pretty; “there’s far too many of +’em about for my liking. Far too many.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall ’ave ’em afore long,” ses Mr. Cutts, nodding his ’ead. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus44"></a> +<img src="images/044.jpg" width="533" height="451" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Your good ’ealth,” ses Bob Pretty, holding up ’is mug. “We’ve been wanting a +man like you for a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want any of your impidence, my man,” ses the keeper. “I’ve ’eard about +you, and nothing good either. You be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am careful,” ses Bob, winking at the others. “I ’ope you’ll catch all them +low poaching chaps; they give the place a bad name, and I’m a’most afraid to go +out arter dark for fear of meeting ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter Gubbins and Sam Jones began to laugh, but Bob Pretty got angry with ’em +and said he didn’t see there was anything to laugh at. He said that poaching +was a disgrace to their native place, and instead o’ laughing they ought to be +thankful to Mr. Cutts for coming to do away with it all. +</p> + +<p> +“Any help I can give you shall be given cheerful,” he ses to the keeper. +</p> + +<p> +“When I want your help I’ll ask you for it,” ses Mr. Cutts. +</p> + +<p> +“Thankee,” ses Bob Pretty. “I on’y ’ope I sha’n’t get my face knocked about +like yours ’as been, that’s all; ’cos my wife’s so partikler.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot d’ye mean?” ses Mr. Cutts, turning on him. “My face ain’t been knocked +about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I beg your pardin,” ses Bob; “I didn’t know it was natural.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cutts went black in the face a’most and stared at Bob Pretty as if ’e was +going to eat ’im, and Bob stared back, looking fust at the keeper’s nose and +then at ’is eyes and mouth, and then at ’is nose agin. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll know me agin, I s’pose?” ses Mr. Cutts, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” ses Bob, smiling; “I should know you a mile off—on the darkest night.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall see,” ses Mr. Cutts, taking up ’is beer and turning ’is back on him. +“Those of us as live the longest’ll see the most.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad I’ve lived long enough to see ’im,” ses Bob to Bill Chambers. “I feel +more satisfied with <i>myself</i> now.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill Chambers coughed, and Mr. Cutts, arter finishing ’is beer, took another +look at Bob Pretty, and went off boiling a’most. +</p> + +<p> +The trouble he took to catch Bob Pretty arter that you wouldn’t believe, and +all the time the game seemed to be simply melting away, and Squire Rockett was +finding fault with ’im all day long. He was worn to a shadder a’most with +watching, and Bob Pretty seemed to be more prosperous than ever. +</p> + +<p> +Sometimes Mr. Cutts watched in the plantations, and sometimes ’e hid ’imself +near Bob’s house, and at last one night, when ’e was crouching behind the fence +of Frederick Scott’s front garden, ’e saw Bob Pretty come out of ’is house and, +arter a careful look round, walk up the road. He held ’is breath as Bob passed +’im, and was just getting up to foller ’im when Bob stopped and walked slowly +back agin, sniffing. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot a delicious smell o’ roses!” he ses, out loud. +</p> + +<p> +He stood in the middle o’ the road nearly opposite where the keeper was hiding, +and sniffed so that you could ha’ ’eard him the other end o’ the village. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be roses,” he ses, in a puzzled voice, “becos there ain’t no roses +hereabouts, and, besides, it’s late for ’em. It must be Mr. Cutts, the clever +new keeper.” +</p> + +<p> +He put his ’ead over the fence and bid ’im good evening, and said wot a fine +night for a stroll it was, and asked ’im whether ’e was waiting for Frederick +Scott’s aunt. Mr. Cutts didn’t answer ’im a word; ’e was pretty near bursting +with passion. He got up and shook ’is fist in Bob Pretty’s face, and then ’e +went off stamping down the road as if ’e was going mad. +</p> + +<p> +And for a time Bob Pretty seemed to ’ave all the luck on ’is side. Keeper Lewis +got rheumatic fever, which ’e put down to sitting about night arter night in +damp places watching for Bob, and, while ’e was in the thick of it, with the +doctor going every day, Mr. Cutts fell in getting over a fence and broke ’is +leg. Then all the work fell on Keeper Smith, and to ’ear ’im talk you’d think +that rheumatic fever and broken legs was better than anything else in the +world. He asked the squire for ’elp, but the squire wouldn’t give it to ’im, +and he kept telling ’im wot a feather in ’is cap it would be if ’e did wot the +other two couldn’t do, and caught Bob Pretty. It was all very well, but, as +Smith said, wot ’e wanted was feathers in ’is piller, instead of ’aving to +snatch a bit o’ sleep in ’is chair or sitting down with his ’ead agin a tree. +When I tell you that ’e fell asleep in this public-’ouse one night while the +landlord was drawing a pint o’ beer he ’ad ordered, you’ll know wot ’e +suffered. +</p> + +<p> +O’ course, all this suited Bob Pretty as well as could be, and ’e was that +good-tempered ’e’d got a nice word for everybody, and when Bill Chambers told +’im ’e was foolhardy ’e only laughed and said ’e knew wot ’e was about. +</p> + +<p> +But the very next night ’e had reason to remember Bill Chambers’s words. He was +walking along Farmer Hall’s field—the one next to the squire’s plantation—and, +so far from being nervous, ’e was actually a-whistling. He’d got a sack over +’is shoulder, loaded as full as it could be, and ’e ’ad just stopped to light +’is pipe when three men burst out o’ the plantation and ran toward ’im as ’ard +as they could run. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus45"></a> +<img src="images/045.jpg" width="498" height="675" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Bob Pretty just gave one look and then ’e dropped ’is pipe and set off like a +hare. It was no good dropping the sack, because Smith, the keeper, ’ad +recognised ’im and called ’im by name, so ’e just put ’is teeth together and +did the best he could, and there’s no doubt that if it ’adn’t ha’ been for the +sack ’e could ’ave got clear away. +</p> + +<p> +As it was, ’e ran for pretty near a mile, and they could ’ear ’im breathing +like a pair o’ bellows; but at last ’e saw that the game was up. He just +managed to struggle as far as Farmer Pinnock’s pond, and then, waving the sack +round his ’ead, ’e flung it into the middle of it, and fell down gasping for +breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Got—you—this time—Bob Pretty,” ses one o’ the men, as they came up. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot—<i>Mr. Cutts?</i>” ses Bob, with a start. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me, my man,” ses the keeper. +</p> + +<p> +“Why—I thought—you was. Is that <i>Mr. Lewis?</i> It can’t be.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me,” ses Keeper Lewis. “We both got well sudden-like, Bob Pretty, when +we ’eard you was out. You ain’t so sharp as you thought you was.” +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty sat still, getting ’is breath back and doing a bit o’ thinking at +the same time. +</p> + +<p> +“You give me a start,” he ses, at last. “I thought you was both in bed, and, +knowing ’ow hard worked Mr. Smith ’as been, I just came round to ’elp ’im keep +watch like. I promised to ’elp you, Mr. Cutts, if you remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot was that you threw in the pond just now?” ses Mr. Cutts. +</p> + +<p> +“A sack,” ses Bob Pretty; “a sack I found in Farmer Hall’s field. It felt to me +as though it might ’ave birds in it, so I picked it up, and I was just on my +way to your ’ouse with it, Mr. Cutts, when you started arter me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” ses the keeper, “and wot did you run for?” +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty tried to laugh. “Becos I thought it was the poachers arter me,” he +ses. “It seems ridikilous, don’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it does,” ses Lewis. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you’d know me a mile off,” ses Mr. Cutts. “I should ha’ thought the +smell o’ roses would ha’ told you I was near.” +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty scratched ’is ’ead and looked at ’im out of the corner of ’is eye, +but he ’adn’t got any answer. Then ’e sat biting his finger-nails and thinking +while the keepers stood argyfying as to who should take ’is clothes off and go +into the pond arter the pheasants. It was a very cold night and the pond was +pretty deep in places, and none of ’em seemed anxious. +</p> + +<p> +“Make ’im go in for it,” ses Lewis, looking at Bob; “’e chucked it in.” +</p> + +<p> +“On’y becos I thought you was poachers,” ses Bob. “I’m sorry to ’ave caused so +much trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you go in and get it out,” ses Lewis, who pretty well guessed who’d ’ave +to do it if Bob didn’t. “It’ll look better for you, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got my defence all right,” ses Bob Pretty. “I ain’t set a foot on the +squire’s preserves, and I found this sack a ’undred yards away from it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t waste more time,” ses Mr. Cutts to Lewis. +</p> + +<p> +“Off with your clothes and in with you. Anybody’d think you was afraid of a +little cold water.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whereabouts did ’e pitch it in?” ses Lewis. +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty pointed with ’is finger exactly where ’e thought it was, but they +wouldn’t listen to ’im, and then Lewis, arter twice saying wot a bad cold he’d +got, took ’is coat off very slow and careful. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus46"></a> +<img src="images/046.jpg" width="538" height="555" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t mind going in to oblige you,” ses Bob Pretty, “but the pond is so +full o’ them cold, slimy efts; I don’t fancy them crawling up agin me, and, +besides that, there’s such a lot o’ deep holes in it. And wotever you do don’t +put your ’ead under; you know ’ow foul that water is.” +</p> + +<p> +Keeper Lewis pretended not to listen to ’im. He took off ’is clothes very +slowly and then ’e put one foot in and stood shivering, although Smith, who +felt the water with his ’and, said it was quite warm. Then Lewis put the other +foot in and began to walk about careful, ’arf-way up to ’is knees. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t find it,” he ses, with ’is teeth chattering. +</p> + +<p> +“You ’aven’t looked,” ses Mr. Cutts; “walk about more; you can’t expect to find +it all at once. Try the middle.” +</p> + +<p> +Lewis tried the middle, and ’e stood there up to ’is neck, feeling about with +his foot and saying things out loud about Bob Pretty, and other things under +’is breath about Mr. Cutts. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m going off ’ome,” ses Bob Pretty, getting up. “I’m too tender-’arted +to stop and see a man drownded.” +</p> + +<p> +“You stay ’ere,” ses Mr. Cutts, catching ’old of him. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot for?” ses Bob; “you’ve got no right to keep me ’ere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Catch ’old of ’im, Joe,” ses Mr. Cutts, quick-like. +</p> + +<p> +Smith caught ’old of his other arm, and Lewis left off trying to find the sack +to watch the struggle. Bob Pretty fought ’ard, and once or twice ’e nearly +tumbled Mr. Cutts into the pond, but at last ’e gave in and lay down panting +and talking about ’is loryer. Smith ’eld him down on the ground while Mr. Cutts +kept pointing out places with ’is finger for Lewis to walk to. The last place +’e pointed to wanted a much taller man, but it wasn’t found out till too late, +and the fuss Keeper Lewis made when ’e could speak agin was terrible. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better come out,” ses Mr. Cutts; “you ain’t doing no good. We know where +they are and we’ll watch the pond till daylight—that is, unless Smith ’ud like +to ’ave a try.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s pretty near daylight now, I think,” ses Smith. +</p> + +<p> +Lewis came out and ran up and down to dry ’imself, and finished off on ’is +pocket-’andkerchief, and then with ’is teeth chattering ’e began to dress +’imself. He got ’is shirt on, and then ’e stood turning over ’is clothes as if +’e was looking for something. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about your stud now,” ses Mr. Cutts; “hurry up and dress.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Stud?</i>” ses Lewis, very snappish. “I’m looking for my trowsis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your trowsis?” ses Smith, ’elping ’im look. +</p> + +<p> +“I put all my clothes together,” ses Lewis, a’most shouting. “Where are they? +I’m ’arf perished with cold. Where are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“He ’ad ’em on this evening,” ses Bob Pretty, “’cos I remember noticing ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“They must be somewhere about,” ses Mr. Cutts; “why don’t you use your eyes?” +</p> + +<p> +He walked up and down, peering about, and as for Lewis he was ’opping round +’arf crazy. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” ses Bob Pretty, in a thoughtful voice, to Smith—“I wonder whether +you or Mr. Cutts kicked ’em in the pond while you was struggling with me. Come +to think of it, I seem to remember ’earing a splash.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s done it, Mr. Cutts,” ses Smith; “never mind, it’ll go all the ’arder with +’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I do mind,” ses Lewis, shouting. “I’ll be even with you for this, Bob +Pretty. I’ll make you feel it. You wait till I’ve done with you. You’ll get a +month extra for this, you see if you don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you mind about me,” ses Bob; “you run off ’ome and cover up them legs of +yours. I found that sack, so my conscience is clear.” +</p> + +<p> +Lewis put on ’is coat and waistcoat and set off, and Mr. Cutts and Smith, arter +feeling about for a dry place, set theirselves down and began to smoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere,” ses Bob Pretty, “I’m not going to sit ’ere all night to please +you; I’m going off ’ome. If you want me you’ll know where to find me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You stay where you are,” ses Mr. Cutts. “We ain’t going to let you out of our +sight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, then, you take me ’ome,” ses Bob. “I’m not going to catch my death +o’ cold sitting ’ere. I’m not used to being out of a night like you are. I was +brought up respectable.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” ses Mr. Cutts. “Take you ’ome, and then ’ave one o’ your mates +come and get the sack while we’re away.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Bob Pretty lost ’is temper, and the things ’e said about Mr. Cutts wasn’t +fit for Smith to ’ear. He threw ’imself down at last full length on the ground +and sulked till the day broke. +</p> + +<p> +Keeper Lewis was there a’most as soon as it was light, with some long hay-rakes +he’d borrowed, and I should think that pretty near ’arf the folks in Claybury +’ad turned up to see the fun. Mrs. Pretty was crying and wringing ’er ’ands; +but most folks seemed to be rather pleased that Bob ’ad been caught at last. +</p> + +<p> +In next to no time ’arf-a-dozen rakes was at work, and the things they brought +out o’ that pond you wouldn’t believe. The edge of it was all littered with +rusty tin pails and saucepans and such-like, and by-and-by Lewis found the +things he’d ’ad to go ’ome without a few hours afore, but they didn’t seem to +find that sack, and Bob Pretty, wot was talking to ’is wife, began to look +’opeful. +</p> + +<p> +But just then the squire came riding up with two friends as was staying with +’im, and he offered a reward of five shillings to the man wot found it. Three +or four of ’em waded in up to their middle then and raked their ’ardest, and at +last Henery Walker give a cheer and brought it to the side, all heavy with +water. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the sack I found, sir,” ses Bob, starting up. “It wasn’t on your land +at all, but on the field next to it. I’m an honest, ’ardworking man, and I’ve +never been in trouble afore. Ask anybody ’ere and they’ll tell you the same.” +</p> + +<p> +Squire Rockett took no notice of ’im. “Is that the sack?” he asks, turning to +Mr. Cutts. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the one, sir,” ses Mr. Cutts. “I’d swear to it anywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d swear a man’s life away,” ses Bob. “’Ow can you swear to it when it was +dark?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cutts didn’t answer ’im. He went down on ’is knees and cut the string that +tied up the mouth o’ the sack, and then ’e started back as if ’e’d been shot, +and ’is eyes a’most started out of ’is ’ead. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot’s the matter?” ses the squire. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Cutts couldn’t speak; he could only stutter and point at the sack with ’is +finger, and Henery Walker, as was getting curious, lifted up the other end of +it and out rolled a score of as fine cabbages as you could wish to see. +</p> + +<p> +I never see people so astonished afore in all my born days, and as for Bob +Pretty, ’e stood staring at them cabbages as if ’e couldn’t believe ’is +eyesight. +</p> + +<p> +“And that’s wot I’ve been kept ’ere all night for,” he ses, at last, shaking +his ’ead. “That’s wot comes o’ trying to do a kindness to keepers, and ’elping +of ’em in their difficult work. P’r’aps that ain’t the sack arter all, Mr. +Cutts. I could ha’ sworn they was pheasants in the one I found, but I may be +mistook, never ’aving ’ad one in my ’ands afore. Or p’r’aps somebody was trying +to ’ave a game with you, Mr. Cutts, and deceived me instead.” +</p> + +<p> +The keepers on’y stared at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to be more careful,” ses Bob. “Very likely while you was taking all +that trouble over me, and Keeper Lewis was catching ’is death o’ cold, the +poachers was up at the plantation taking all they wanted. And, besides, it +ain’t right for Squire Rockett to ’ave to pay Henery Walker five shillings for +finding a lot of old cabbages. I shouldn’t like it myself.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus47"></a> +<img src="images/047.jpg" width="580" height="551" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +He looked out of the corner of ’is eye at the squire, as was pretending not to +notice Henery Walker touching ’is cap to him, and then ’e turns to ’is wife and +he ses: +</p> + +<p> +“Come along, old gal,” ’e ses. “I want my breakfast bad, and arter that I shall +’ave to lose a honest day’s work in bed.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a> +DIXON’S RETURN +</h2> + +<p> +Talking about eddication, said the night-watchman, thoughtfully, the finest +eddication you can give a lad is to send ’im to sea. School is all right up to +a certain p’int, but arter that comes the sea. I’ve been there myself and I +know wot I’m talking about. All that I am I owe to ’aving been to sea. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus48"></a> +<img src="images/048.jpg" width="599" height="483" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +There’s a saying that boys will be boys. That’s all right till they go to sea, +and then they ’ave to be men, and good men too. They get knocked about a bit, +o’ course, but that’s all part o’ the eddication, and when they get bigger they +pass the eddication they’ve received on to other boys smaller than wot they +are. Arter I’d been at sea a year I spent all my fust time ashore going round +and looking for boys wot ’ad knocked me about afore I sailed, and there was +only one out o’ the whole lot that I wished I ’adn’t found. +</p> + +<p> +Most people, o’ course, go to sea as boys or else not at all, but I mind one +chap as was pretty near thirty years old when ’e started. It’s a good many +years ago now, and he was landlord of a public-’ouse as used to stand in +Wapping, called the Blue Lion. +</p> + +<p> +His mother, wot had ’ad the pub afore ’im, ’ad brought ’im up very quiet and +genteel, and when she died ’e went and married a fine, handsome young woman who +’ad got her eye on the pub without thinking much about ’im. I got to know about +it through knowing the servant that lived there. A nice, quiet gal she was, and +there wasn’t much went on that she didn’t hear. I’ve known ’er to cry for hours +with the ear-ache, pore gal. +</p> + +<p> +Not caring much for ’er ’usband, and being spoiled by ’im into the bargain, +Mrs. Dixon soon began to lead ’im a terrible life. She was always throwing his +meekness and mildness up into ’is face, and arter they ’ad been married two or +three years he was no more like the landlord o’ that public-’ouse than I’m like +a lord. Not so much. She used to get into such terrible tempers there was no +doing anything with ’er, and for the sake o’ peace and quietness he gave way to +’er till ’e got into the habit of it and couldn’t break ’imself of it. +</p> + +<p> +They ’adn’t been married long afore she ’ad her cousin, Charlie Burge, come in +as barman, and a month or two arter that ’is brother Bob, who ’ad been spending +a lot o’ time looking for work instead o’ doing it, came too. They was so +comfortable there that their father—a ’ouse-painter by trade—came round to see +whether he couldn’t paint the Blue Lion up a bit and make ’em look smart, so +that they’d get more trade. He was one o’ these ’ere fust-class ’ousepainters +that can go to sleep on a ladder holding a brush in one hand and a pot o’ paint +in the other, and by the time he ’ad finished painting the ’ouse it was ready +to be done all over agin. +</p> + +<p> +I dare say that George Dixon—that was ’is name—wouldn’t ha’ minded so much if +’is wife ’ad only been civil, but instead o’ that she used to make fun of ’im +and order ’im about, and by-and-by the others began to try the same thing. As I +said afore, Dixon was a very quiet man, and if there was ever anybody to be put +outside Charlie or Bob used to do it. They tried to put me outside once, the +two of ’em, but they on’y did it at last by telling me that somebody ’ad gone +off and left a pot o’ beer standing on the pavement. They was both of ’em +fairly strong young chaps with a lot of bounce in ’em, and she used to say to +her ’usband wot fine young fellers they was, and wot a pity it was he wasn’t +like ’em. +</p> + +<p> +Talk like this used to upset George Dixon awful. Having been brought up careful +by ’is mother, and keeping a very quiet, respectable ’ouse—I used it myself—he +cert’nly was soft, and I remember ’im telling me once that he didn’t believe in +fighting, and that instead of hitting people you ought to try and persuade +them. He was uncommon fond of ’is wife, but at last one day, arter she ’ad made +a laughing-stock of ’im in the bar, he up and spoke sharp to her. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wot?</i>” ses Mrs. Dixon, ’ardly able to believe her ears. +</p> + +<p> +“Remember who you’re speaking to; that’s wot I said,” ses Dixon. +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow dare you talk to me like that?” screams ’is wife, turning red with rage. +“Wot d’ye mean by it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you seem to forget who is master ’ere,” ses Dixon, in a trembling +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Master?</i>” she ses, firing up. “I’ll soon show you who’s master. Go out +o’ my bar; I won’t ’ave you in it. D’ye ’ear? Go out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Dixon turned away and began to serve a customer. “D’ye hear wot I say?” ses +Mrs. Dixon, stamping ’er foot. “Go out o’ my bar. Here, Charlie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” ses ’er cousin, who ’ad been standing looking on and grinning. +</p> + +<p> +“Take the <i>master</i> and put ’im into the parlour,” ses Mrs. Dixon, “and +don’t let ’im come out till he’s begged my pardon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” ses Charlie, brushing up ’is shirt-sleeves; “in you go. You ’ear wot +she said.” +</p> + +<p> +He caught ’old of George Dixon, who ’ad just turned to the back o’ the bar to +give a customer change out of ’arf a crown, and ran ’im kicking and struggling +into the parlour. George gave ’im a silly little punch in the chest, and got +such a bang on the ’ead back that at fust he thought it was knocked off. +</p> + +<p> +When ’e came to ’is senses agin the door leading to the bar was shut, and ’is +wife’s uncle, who ’ad been asleep in the easy-chair, was finding fault with ’im +for waking ’im up. +</p> + +<p> +“Why can’t you be quiet and peaceable?” he ses, shaking his ’ead at him. “I’ve +been ’ard at work all the morning thinking wot colour to paint the back-door, +and this is the second time I’ve been woke up since dinner. You’re old enough +to know better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and sleep somewhere else, then,” ses Dixon. “I don’t want you ’ere at all, +or your boys neither. Go and give somebody else a treat; I’ve ’ad enough of the +whole pack of you.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus49"></a> +<img src="images/049.jpg" width="502" height="542" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +He sat down and put ’is feet in the fender, and old Burge, as soon as he ’ad +got ’is senses back, went into the bar and complained to ’is niece, and she +came into the parlour like a thunderstorm. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll beg my uncle’s pardon as well as mine afore you come out o’ that room,” +she said to her ’usband; “mind that.” +</p> + +<p> +George Dixon didn’t say a word; the shame of it was a’most more than ’e could +stand. Then ’e got up to go out o’ the parlour and Charlie pushed ’im back +agin. Three times he tried, and then ’e stood up and looked at ’is wife. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been a good ’usband to you,” he ses; “but there’s no satisfying you. You +ought to ha’ married somebody that would ha’ knocked you about, and then you’d +ha’ been happy. I’m too fond of a quiet life to suit you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to beg my pardon and my uncle’s pardon?” ses ’is wife, stamping +’er foot. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses Dixon; “I am not. I’m surprised at you asking it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you don’t come out o’ this room till you do,” ses ’is wife. +</p> + +<p> +“That won’t hurt me,” ses Dixon. “I couldn’t look anybody in the face arter +being pushed out o’ my own bar.” +</p> + +<p> +They kept ’im there all the rest o’ the day, and, as ’e was still obstinate +when bedtime came, Mrs. Dixon, who wasn’t to be beat, brought down some +bedclothes and ’ad a bed made up for ’im on the sofa. Some men would ha’ ’ad +the police in for less than that, but George Dixon ’ad got a great deal o’ +pride and ’e couldn’t bear the shame of it. Instead o’ that ’e acted like a +fourteen-year-old boy and ran away to sea. +</p> + +<p> +They found ’im gone when they came down in the morning, and the side-door on +the latch. He ’ad left a letter for ’is wife on the table, telling ’er wot he +’ad done. Short and sweet it was, and wound up with telling ’er to be careful +that her uncle and cousins didn’t eat ’er out of house and ’ome. +</p> + +<p> +She got another letter two days arterward, saying that he ’ad shipped as +ordinary seaman on an American barque called the <i>Seabird</i>, bound for +California, and that ’e expected to be away a year, or thereabouts. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll do ’im good,” ses old Burge, when Mrs. Dixon read the letter to ’em. +“It’s a ’ard life is the sea, and he’ll appreciate his ’ome when ’e comes back +to it agin. He don’t know when ’e’s well off. It’s as comfortable a ’ome as a +man could wish to ’ave.” It was surprising wot a little difference George +Dixon’s being away made to the Blue Lion. Nobody seemed to miss ’im much, and +things went on just the same as afore he went. Mrs. Dixon was all right with +most people, and ’er relations ’ad a very good time of it; old Burge began to +put on flesh at such a rate that the sight of a ladder made ’im ill a’most, and +Charlie and Bob went about as if the place belonged to ’em. +</p> + +<p> +They ’eard nothing for eight months, and then a letter came for Mrs. Dixon from +her ’usband in which he said that ’e had left the <i>Seabird</i> after ’aving +had a time which made ’im shiver to think of. He said that the men was the +roughest of the rough and the officers was worse, and that he ’ad hardly ’ad a +day without a blow from one or the other since he’d been aboard. He’d been +knocked down with a hand-spike by the second mate, and had ’ad a week in his +bunk with a kick given ’im by the boatswain. He said ’e was now on the +<i>Rochester Castle</i>, bound for Sydney, and he ’oped for better times. +</p> + +<p> +That was all they ’eard for some months, and then they got another letter +saying that the men on the <i>Rochester Castle</i> was, if anything, worse than +those on the <i>Seabird</i>, and that he’d begun to think that running away to +sea was diff’rent to wot he’d expected, and that he supposed ’e’d done it too +late in life. He sent ’is love to ’is wife and asked ’er as a favour to send +Uncle Burge and ’is boys away, as ’e didn’t want to find them there when ’e +came home, because they was the cause of all his sufferings. +</p> + +<p> +“He don’t know ’is best friends,” ses old Burge. “’E’s got a nasty sperrit I +don’t like to see.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll ’ave a word with ’im when ’e does come home,” ses Bob. “I s’pose he +thinks ’imself safe writing letters thousands o’ miles away.” +</p> + +<p> +The last letter they ’ad came from Auckland, and said that he ’ad shipped on +the <i>Monarch</i>, bound for the Albert Docks, and he ’oped soon to be at ’ome +and managing the Blue Lion, same as in the old happy days afore he was fool +enough to go to sea. +</p> + +<p> +That was the very last letter, and some time arterward the <i>Monarch</i> was +in the missing list, and by-and-by it became known that she ’ad gone down with +all hands not long arter leaving New Zealand. The only difference it made at +the Blue Lion was that Mrs. Dixon ’ad two of ’er dresses dyed black, and the +others wore black neckties for a fortnight and spoke of Dixon as pore George, +and said it was a funny world, but they supposed everything was for the best. +</p> + +<p> +It must ha’ been pretty near four years since George Dixon ’ad run off to sea +when Charlie, who was sitting in the bar one arternoon reading the paper, +things being dull, saw a man’s head peep through the door for a minute and then +disappear. A’most direckly arterward it looked in at another door and then +disappeared agin. When it looked in at the third door Charlie ’ad put down ’is +paper and was ready for it. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you looking for?” he ses, rather sharp. “Wot d’ye want? Are you ’aving +a game of peepbo, or wot?” +</p> + +<p> +The man coughed and smiled, and then ’e pushed the door open gently and came +in, and stood there fingering ’is beard as though ’e didn’t know wot to say. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve come back, Charlie,” he ses at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot, <i>George!</i>” ses Charlie, starting. “Why, I didn’t know you in that +beard. We all thought you was dead, years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was pretty nearly, Charlie,” ses Dixon, shaking his ’ead. “Ah! I’ve ’ad a +terrible time since I left ’once.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘You don’t seem to ha’ made your fortune,” ses Charlie, looking down at ’is +clothes. “I’d ha’ been ashamed to come ’ome like that if it ’ad been me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m wore out,” ses Dixon, leaning agin the bar. “I’ve got no pride left; it’s +all been knocked out of me. How’s Julia?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s all right,” ses Charlie. “Here, Ju—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>H’sh!</i>” ses Dixon, reaching over the bar and laying his ’and on his arm. +“Don’t let ’er know too sudden; break it to ’er gently.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fiddlesticks!” ses Charlie, throwing his ’and off and calling, “Here, +<i>Julia!</i> He’s come back.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar. “Good gracious!” she ses, +staring at her ’usband. “Whoever’d ha’ thought o’ seeing you agin? Where ’ave +you sprung from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t you glad to see me, Julia?” ses George Dixon. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I s’pose so; if you’ve come back to behave yourself,” ses Mrs. Dixon. +“What ’ave you got to say for yourself for running away and then writing them +letters, telling me to get rid of my relations?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a long time ago, Julia,” ses Dixon, raising the flap in the counter and +going into the bar. “I’ve gone through a great deal o’ suffering since then. +I’ve been knocked about till I ’adn’t got any feeling left in me; I’ve been +shipwrecked, and I’ve ’ad to fight for my life with savages.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody asked you to run away,” ses his wife, edging away as he went to put his +arm round ’er waist. “You’d better go upstairs and put on some decent clothes.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus50"></a> +<img src="images/050.jpg" width="532" height="613" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Dixon looked at ’er for a moment and then he ’ung his ’ead. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been thinking o’ you and of seeing you agin every day since I went away, +Julia,” he ses. “You’d be the same to me if you was dressed in rags.” +</p> + +<p> +He went upstairs without another word, and old Burge, who was coming down, came +down five of ’em at once owing to Dixon speaking to ’im afore he knew who ’e +was. The old man was still grumbling when Dixon came down agin, and said he +believed he’d done it a-purpose. +</p> + +<p> +“You run away from a good ’ome,” he ses, “and the best wife in Wapping, and you +come back and frighten people ’arf out o’ their lives. I never see such a +feller in all my born days.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was so glad to get ’ome agin I didn’t think,” ses Dixon. “I hope you’re not +’urt.” +</p> + +<p> +He started telling them all about his ’ardships while they were at tea, but +none of ’em seemed to care much about hearing ’em. Bob said that the sea was +all right for men, and that other people were sure not to like it. +</p> + +<p> +“And you brought it all on yourself,” ses Charlie. “You’ve only got yourself to +thank for it. I ’ad thought o’ picking a bone with you over those letters you +wrote.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s ’ope ’e’s come back more sensible than wot ’e was when ’e went away,” +ses old Burge, with ’is mouth full o’ toast. +</p> + +<p> +By the time he’d been back a couple o’ days George Dixon could see that ’is +going away ’adn’t done any good at all. Nobody seemed to take any notice of ’im +or wot he said, and at last, arter a word or two with Charlie about the rough +way he spoke to some o’ the customers, Charlie came in to Mrs. Dixon and said +that he was at ’is old tricks of interfering, and he would not ’ave it. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he’d better keep out o’ the bar altogether,” ses Mrs. Dixon. “There’s no +need for ’im to go there; we managed all right while ’e was away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean I’m not to go into my own bar?” ses Dixon, stammering. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do,” ses Mrs. Dixon. “You kept out of it for four years to please +yourself, and now you can keep out of it to please me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve put you out o’ the bar before,” ses Charlie, “and if you come messing +about with me any more I’ll do it agin. So now you know.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked back into the bar whistling, and George Dixon, arter sitting still +for a long time thinking, got up and went into the bar, and he’d ’ardly got his +foot inside afore Charlie caught ’old of ’im by the shoulder and shoved ’im +back into the parlour agin. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you wot it would be,” ses Mrs. Dixon, looking up from ’er sewing. +“You’ve only got your interfering ways to thank for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a fine state of affairs in my own ’ouse,” ses Dixon, ’ardly able to +speak. “You’ve got no proper feeling for your husband, Julia, else you wouldn’t +allow it. Why, I was happier at sea than wot I am ’ere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’d better go back to it if you’re so fond of it,” ses ’is wife. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I ’ad,” ses Dixon. “If I can’t be master in my own ’ouse I’m better at +sea, hard as it is. You must choose between us, Julia—me or your relations. I +won’t sleep under the same roof as them for another night. Am I to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please yourself,” ses ’is wife. “I don’t mind your staying ’ere so long as you +behave yourself, but the others won’t go; you can make your mind easy on that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go and look for another ship, then,” ses Dixon, taking up ’is cap. “I’m +not wanted here. P’r’aps you wouldn’t mind ’aving some clothes packed into a +chest for me so as I can go away decent.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked round at ’is wife, as though ’e expected she’d ask ’im not to go, but +she took no notice, and he opened the door softly and went out, while old +Burge, who ’ad come into the room and ’eard what he was saying, trotted off +upstairs to pack ’is chest for ’im. +</p> + +<p> +In two hours ’e was back agin and more cheerful than he ’ad been since he ’ad +come ’ome. Bob was in the bar and the others were just sitting down to tea, and +a big chest, nicely corded, stood on the floor in the corner of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” he ses, looking at it; “that’s just wot I wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s as full as it can be,” ses old Burge. “I done it for you myself. ’Ave you +got a ship?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ave,” ses Dixon. “A jolly good ship. No more hardships for me this time. +I’ve got a berth as captain.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wot?</i>” ses ’is wife. “Captain? You!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” ses Dixon, smiling at her. “You can sail with me if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thankee,” ses Mrs. Dixon, “I’m quite comfortable where I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say <i>you’ve</i> got a master’s berth?” ses Charlie, staring +at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” ses Dixon; “master and owner.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlie coughed. “Wot’s the name of the ship?” he asks, winking at the others. +</p> + +<p> +“The B<small>LUE</small> L<small>ION</small>,” ses Dixon, in a voice that made +’em all start. “I’m shipping a new crew and I pay off the old one to-night. You +first, my lad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pay off,” ses Charlie, leaning back in ’is chair and staring at ’im in a +puzzled way. “<i>Blue Lion?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” ses Dixon, in the same loud voice. “When I came ’ome the other day I +thought p’r’aps I’d let bygones be bygones, and I laid low for a bit to see +whether any of you deserved it. I went to sea to get hardened—and I got hard. +I’ve fought men that would eat you at a meal. I’ve ’ad more blows in a week +than you’ve ’ad in a lifetime, you fat-faced land-lubber.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked to the door leading to the bar, where Bob was doing ’is best to serve +customers and listen at the same time, and arter locking it put the key in ’is +pocket. Then ’e put his ’and in ’is pocket and slapped some money down on the +table in front o’ Charlie. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a month’s pay instead o’ notice,” he ses. “Now git.” +</p> + +<p> +“George!” screams ’is wife. “’Ow dare you? ’Ave you gone crazy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m surprised at you,” ses old Burge, who’d been looking on with ’is mouth +wide open, and pinching ’imself to see whether ’e wasn’t dreaming. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t go for your orders,” ses Charlie, getting up. “Wot d’ye mean by +locking that door?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wot!</i>” roars Dixon. “Hang it! I mustn’t lock a door without asking my +barman now. Pack up and be off, you swab, afore I start on you.” +</p> + +<p> +Charlie gave a growl and rushed at ’im, and the next moment ’e was down on the +floor with the ’ardest bang in the face that he’d ever ’ad in ’is life. Mrs. +Dixon screamed and ran into the kitchen, follered by old Burge, who went in to +tell ’er not to be frightened. Charlie got up and went for Dixon agin; but he +’ad come back as ’ard as nails and ’ad a rushing style o’ fighting that took +Charlie’s breath away. By the time Bob ’ad left the bar to take care of itself, +and run round and got in the back way, Charlie had ’ad as much as ’e wanted and +was lying on the sea-chest in the corner trying to get ’is breath. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus51"></a> +<img src="images/051.jpg" width="507" height="609" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Yes? Wot d’ye want?” ses Dixon, with a growl, as Bob came in at the door. +</p> + +<p> +He was such a ’orrible figure, with the blood on ’is face and ’is beard +sticking out all ways, that Bob, instead of doing wot he ’ad come round for, +stood in the doorway staring at ’im without a word. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m paying off,” ses Dixon. “’Ave you got anything to say agin it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses Bob, drawing back. +</p> + +<p> +“You and Charlie’ll go now,” ses Dixon, taking out some money. “The old man can +stay on for a month to give ’im time to look round. Don’t look at me that way, +else I’ll knock your ’ead off.” +</p> + +<p> +He started counting out Bob’s money just as old Burge and Mrs. Dixon, hearing +all quiet, came in out of the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you be alarmed on my account, my dear,” he ses, turning to ’is wife; +“it’s child’s play to wot I’ve been used to. I’ll just see these two mistaken +young fellers off the premises, and then we’ll ’ave a cup o’ tea while the old +man minds the bar.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dixon tried to speak, but ’er temper was too much for ’er. She looked from +her ’usband to Charlie and Bob and then back at ’im agin and caught ’er breath. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” ses Dixon, nodding his ’ead at her. “I’m master and owner of +the <i>Blue Lion</i> and you’re first mate. When I’m speaking you keep quiet; +that’s dissipline.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +I was in that bar about three months arterward, and I never saw such a change +in any woman as there was in Mrs. Dixon. Of all the nice-mannered, soft-spoken +landladies I’ve ever seen, she was the best, and on’y to ’ear the way she +answered her ’usband when he spoke to ’er was a pleasure to every married man +in the bar. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus52"></a> +<img src="images/052.jpg" width="539" height="536" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a> +A SPIRIT OF AVARICE +</h2> + +<p> +Mr. John Blows stood listening to the foreman with an air of lofty disdain. He +was a free-born Englishman, and yet he had been summarily paid off at eleven +o’clock in the morning and told that his valuable services would no longer be +required. More than that, the foreman had passed certain strictures upon his +features which, however true they might be, were quite irrelevant to the fact +that Mr. Blows had been discovered slumbering in a shed when he should have +been laying bricks. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus53"></a> +<img src="images/053.jpg" width="586" height="503" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Take your ugly face off these ’ere works,” said the foreman; “take it ’ome and +bury it in the back-yard. Anybody’ll be glad to lend you a spade.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows, in a somewhat fluent reply, reflected severely on the foreman’s +immediate ancestors, and the strange lack of good-feeling and public spirit +they had exhibited by allowing him to grow up. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it ’ome and bury it,” said the foreman again. “Not under any plants +you’ve got a liking for.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” said Mr. Blows, still referring to his foe’s parents, and now +endeavouring to make excuses for them—“I s’pose they was so pleased, and so +surprised when they found that you <i>was</i> a ’uman being, that they didn’t +mind anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked off with his head in the air, and the other men, who had partially +suspended work to listen, resumed their labours. A modest pint at the Rising +Sun revived his drooping spirits, and he walked home thinking of several things +which he might have said to the foreman if he had only thought of them in time. +</p> + +<p> +He paused at the open door of his house and, looking in, sniffed at the smell +of mottled soap and dirty water which pervaded it. The stairs were wet, and a +pail stood in the narrow passage. From the kitchen came the sounds of crying +children and a scolding mother. Master Joseph Henry Blows, aged three, was +“holding his breath,” and the family were all aghast at the length of his +performance. He re-covered it as his father entered the room, and drowned, +without distressing himself, the impotent efforts of the others. Mrs. Blows +turned upon her husband a look of hot inquiry. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got the chuck,” he said, surlily. +</p> + +<p> +“What, again?” said the unfortunate woman. “Yes, again,” repeated her husband. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Blows turned away, and dropping into a chair threw her apron over her head +and burst into discordant weeping. Two little Blows, who had ceased their +outcries, resumed them again from sheer sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop it,” yelled the indignant Mr. Blows; “stop it at once; d’ye hear?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I’d never seen you,” sobbed his wife from behind her apron. “Of all the +lazy, idle, drunken, good-for-nothing——” +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Mr. Blows, grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” declared Mrs. Blows. “Look at your +father, my dears,” she continued, taking the apron away from her face; “take a +good look at him, and mind you don’t grow up like it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows met the combined gaze of his innocent offspring with a dark scowl, +and then fell to moodily walking up and down the passage until he fell over the +pail. At that his mood changed, and, turning fiercely, he kicked that useful +article up and down the passage until he was tired. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve ’ad enough of it,” he muttered. He stopped at the kitchen-door and, +putting his hand in his pocket, threw a handful of change on to the floor and +swung out of the house. +</p> + +<p> +Another pint of beer confirmed him in his resolution. He would go far away and +make a fresh start in the world. The morning was bright and the air fresh, and +a pleasant sense of freedom and adventure possessed his soul as he walked. At a +swinging pace he soon left Gravelton behind him, and, coming to the river, sat +down to smoke a final pipe before turning his back forever on a town which had +treated him so badly. +</p> + +<p> +The river murmured agreeably and the rushes stirred softly in the breeze; Mr. +Blows, who could fall asleep on an upturned pail, succumbed to the influence at +once; the pipe dropped from his mouth and he snored peacefully. +</p> + +<p> +He was awakened by a choking scream, and, starting up hastily, looked about for +the cause. Then in the water he saw the little white face of Billy Clements, +and wading in up to his middle he reached out and, catching the child by the +hair, drew him to the bank and set him on his feet. Still screaming with +terror, Billy threw up some of the water he had swallowed, and without turning +his head made off in the direction of home, calling piteously upon his mother. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows, shivering on the bank, watched him out of sight, and, missing his +cap, was just in time to see that friend of several seasons slowly sinking in +the middle of the river. He squeezed the water from his trousers and, crossing +the bridge, set off across the meadows. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +His self-imposed term of bachelorhood lasted just three months, at the end of +which time he made up his mind to enact the part of the generous husband and +forgive his wife everything. He would not go into details, but issue one big, +magnanimous pardon. +</p> + +<p> +Full of these lofty ideas he set off in the direction of home again. It was a +three-days’ tramp, and the evening of the third day saw him but a bare two +miles from home. He clambered up the bank at the side of the road and, +sprawling at his ease, smoked quietly in the moonlight. +</p> + +<p> +A waggon piled up with straw came jolting and creaking toward him. The driver +sat dozing on the shafts, and Mr. Blows smiled pleasantly as he recognised the +first face of a friend he had seen for three months. He thrust his pipe in his +pocket and, rising to his feet, clambered on to the back of the waggon, and +lying face downward on the straw peered down at the unconscious driver below. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give old Joe a surprise,” he said to himself. “He’ll be the first to +welcome me back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Joe,” he said, softly. “’Ow goes it, old pal?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Joe Carter, still dozing, opened his eyes at the sound of his name and +looked round; then, coming to the conclusion that he had been dreaming, closed +them again. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a-looking at you, Joe,” said Mr. Blows, waggishly. “I can see you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Carter looked up sharply and, catching sight of the grinning features of +Mr. Blows protruding over the edge of the straw, threw up his arms with a +piercing shriek and fell off the shafts on to the road. The astounded Mr. +Blows, raising himself on his hands, saw him pick himself up and, giving vent +to a series of fearsome yelps, run clumsily back along the road. +</p> + +<p> +“Joe!” shouted Mr. Blows. “J-o-o-oE!” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus54"></a> +<img src="images/054.jpg" width="566" height="489" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Carter put his hands to his ears and ran on blindly, while his friend, +sitting on the top of the straw, regarded his proceedings with mixed feelings +of surprise and indignation. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be that tanner ’e owes me,” he mused, “and yet I don’t know what else +it can be. I never see a man so jumpy.” +</p> + +<p> +He continued to speculate while the old horse, undisturbed by the driver’s +absence, placidly continued its journey. A mile farther, however, he got down +to take the short cut by the fields. +</p> + +<p> +“If Joe can’t look after his ’orse and cart,” he said, primly, as he watched it +along the road, “it’s not my business.” +</p> + +<p> +The footpath was not much used at that time of night, and he only met one man. +They were in the shadow of the trees which fringed the new cemetery as they +passed, and both peered. The stranger was satisfied first and, to Mr. Blows’s +growing indignation, first gave a leap backward which would not have disgraced +an acrobat, and then made off across the field with hideous outcries. +</p> + +<p> +“If I get ’old of some of you,” said the offended Mr. Blows, “I’ll give you +something to holler for.” +</p> + +<p> +He pursued his way grumbling, and insensibly slackened his pace as he drew near +home. A remnant of conscience which had stuck to him without encouragement for +thirty-five years persisted in suggesting that he had behaved badly. It also +made a few ill-bred inquiries as to how his wife and children had subsisted for +the last three months. He stood outside the house for a short space, and then, +opening the door softly, walked in. +</p> + +<p> +The kitchen-door stood open, and his wife in a black dress sat sewing by the +light of a smoky lamp. She looked up as she heard his footsteps, and then, +without a word, slid from the chair full length to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Mr. Blows, bitterly; “keep it up. Don’t mind me.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Blows paid no heed; her face was white and her eyes were closed. Her +husband, with a dawning perception of the state of affairs, drew a mug of water +from the tap and flung it over her. She opened her eyes and gave a faint +scream, and then, scrambling to her feet, tottered toward him and sobbed on his +breast. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there,” said Mr. Blows. “Don’t take on; I forgive you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, John,” said his wife, sobbing convulsively, “I thought you was dead. I +thought you was dead. It’s only a fortnight ago since we buried you!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Buried me?</i>” said the startled Mr. Blows. “<i>Buried me?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall wake up and find I’m dreaming,” wailed Mrs. Blows; “I know I shall. +I’m always dreaming that you’re not dead. Night before last I dreamt that you +was alive, and I woke up sobbing as if my ’art would break.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sobbing?” said Mr. Blows, with a scowl. +</p> + +<p> +“For joy, John,” explained his wife. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows was about to ask for a further explanation of the mystery when he +stopped, and regarded with much interest a fair-sized cask which stood in one +corner. +</p> + +<p> +“A cask o’ beer,” he said, staring, as he took a glass from the dresser and +crossed over to it. “You don’t seem to ’ave taken much ’arm during my—my going +after work.” +</p> + +<p> +“We ’ad it for the funeral, John,” said his wife; “leastways, we ’ad two; this +is the second.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows, who had filled the glass, set it down on the table untasted; things +seemed a trifle uncanny. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Mrs. Blows; “you’ve got more right to it than anybody else. Fancy +’aving you here drinking up the beer for your own funeral.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand what you’re a-driving at,” retorted Mr. Blows, drinking +somewhat gingerly from the glass. “’Ow could there be a funeral without me?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all a mistake,” said the overjoyed Mrs. Blows; “we must have buried +somebody else. But such a funeral, John; you would ha’ been proud if you could +ha’ seen it. All Gravelton followed, nearly. There was the boys’ drum and fife +band, and the Ancient Order of Camels, what you used to belong to, turned out +with their brass band and banners—all the people marching four abreast and +sometimes five.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows’s face softened; he had no idea that he had established himself so +firmly in the affections of his fellow-townsmen. +</p> + +<p> +“Four mourning carriages,” continued his wife, “and the—the hearse, all covered +in flowers so that you couldn’t see it ’ardly. One wreath cost two pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows endeavoured to conceal his gratification beneath a mask of surliness. +“Waste o’ money,” he growled, and stooping to the cask drew himself another +glass of beer. +</p> + +<p> +“Some o’ the gentry sent their carriages to follow,” said Mrs. Blows, sitting +down and clasping her hands in her lap. +</p> + +<p> +“I know one or two that ’ad a liking for me,” said Mr. Blows, almost blushing. +</p> + +<p> +“And to think that it’s all a mistake,” continued his wife. “But I thought it +was you; it was dressed like you, and your cap was found near it.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m,” said Mr. Blows; “a pretty mess you’ve been and made of it. Here’s people +been giving two pounds for wreaths and turning up with brass bands and banners +because they thought it was me, and it’s all been wasted.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t my fault,” said his wife. “Little Billy Clements came running ’ome +the day you went away and said ’e’d fallen in the water, and you’d gone in and +pulled ’im out. He said ’e thought you was drownded, and when you didn’t come +’ome I naturally thought so too. What else could I think?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows coughed, and holding his glass up to the light regarded it with a +preoccupied air. +</p> + +<p> +“They dragged the river,” resumed his wife, “and found the cap, but they didn’t +find the body till nine weeks afterward. There was a inquest at the Peal o’ +Bells, and I identified you, and all that grand funeral was because they +thought you’d lost your life saving little Billy. They said you was a hero.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus55"></a> +<img src="images/055.jpg" width="552" height="555" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“You’ve made a nice mess of it,” repeated Mr. Blows. +</p> + +<p> +“The rector preached the sermon,” continued his wife; “a beautiful sermon it +was, too. I wish you’d been there to hear it; I should ’ave enjoyed it ever so +much better. He said that nobody was more surprised than what ’e was at your +doing such a thing, and that it only showed ’ow little we knowed our +fellow-creatures. He said that it proved there was good in all of us if we only +gave it a chance to come out.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows eyed her suspiciously, but she sat thinking and staring at the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose we shall have to give the money back now,” she said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Money!” said the other; “what money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Money that was collected for us,” replied his wife. “One ’undered and +eighty-three pounds seven shillings and fourpence.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows took a long breath. “’Ow much?” he said, faintly; “say it agin.” +</p> + +<p> +His wife obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +“Show it to me,” said the other, in trembling tones; “let’s ’ave a look at it. +Let’s ’old some of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t,” was the reply; “there’s a committee of the Camels took charge of it, +and they pay my rent and allow me ten shillings a week. Now I s’pose it’ll have +to be given back?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you talk nonsense,” said Mr. Blows, violently. “You go to them +interfering Camels and say you want your money—all of it. Say you’re going to +Australia. Say it was my last dying wish.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Blows puckered her brow. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll keep quiet upstairs till you’ve got it,” continued her husband, rapidly. +“There was only two men saw me, and I can see now that they thought I was my +own ghost. Send the kids off to your mother for a few days.” +</p> + +<p> +His wife sent them off next morning, and a little later was able to tell him +that his surmise as to his friends’ mistake was correct. All Gravelton was +thrilled by the news that the spiritual part of Mr. John Blows was walking the +earth, and much exercised as to his reasons for so doing. +</p> + +<p> +“Seemed such a monkey trick for ’im to do,” complained Mr. Carter, to the +listening circle at the Peal o’ Bells. “‘I’m a-looking at you, Joe,’ he ses, +and he waggled his ’ead as if it was made of india-rubber.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’d got something on ’is mind what he wanted to tell you,” said a listener, +severely; “you ought to ’ave stopped, Joe, and asked ’im what it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I see myself,” said the shivering Mr. Carter. “I think I see myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he wouldn’t ’ave troubled you any more,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Carter turned pale and eyed him fixedly. “P’r’aps it was only a +death-warning,” said another man. +</p> + +<p> +“What d’ye mean, ‘<i>only</i> a death-warning’?” demanded the unfortunate Mr. +Carter; “you don’t know what you’re talking about.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ad an uncle o’ mine see a ghost once,” said a third man, anxious to relieve +the tension. +</p> + +<p> +“And what ’appened?” inquired the first speaker. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you after Joe’s gone,” said the other, with rare consideration. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Carter called for some more beer and told the barmaid to put a little gin +in it. In a pitiable state of “nerves” he sat at the extreme end of a bench, +and felt that he was an object of unwholesome interest to his acquaintances. +The finishing touch was put to his discomfiture when a well-meaning friend in a +vague and disjointed way advised him to give up drink, swearing, and any other +bad habits which he might have contracted. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus56"></a> +<img src="images/056.jpg" width="531" height="513" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +The committee of the Ancient Order of Camels took the news calmly, and classed +it with pink rats and other abnormalities. In reply to Mrs. Blows’s request for +the capital sum, they expressed astonishment that she could be willing to tear +herself away from the hero’s grave, and spoke of the pain which such an act on +her part would cause him in the event of his being conscious of it. In order to +show that they were reasonable men, they allowed her an extra shilling that +week. +</p> + +<p> +The hero threw the dole on the bedroom floor, and in a speech bristling with +personalities, consigned the committee to perdition. The confinement was +beginning to tell upon him, and two nights afterward, just before midnight, he +slipped out for a breath of fresh air. +</p> + +<p> +It was a clear night, and all Gravelton with one exception, appeared to have +gone to bed. The exception was Police-constable Collins, and he, after tracking +the skulking figure of Mr. Blows and finally bringing it to bay in a doorway, +kept his for a fortnight. As a sensible man, Mr. Blows took no credit to +himself for the circumstance, but a natural feeling of satisfaction at the +discomfiture of a member of a force for which he had long entertained a strong +objection could not be denied. +</p> + +<p> +Gravelton debated this new appearance with bated breath, and even the purblind +committee of the Camels had to alter their views. They no longer denied the +supernatural nature of the manifestations, but, with a strange misunderstanding +of Mr. Blows’s desires, attributed his restlessness to dissatisfaction with the +projected tombstone, and, having plenty of funds, amended their order for a +plain stone at ten guineas to one in pink marble at twenty-five. +</p> + +<p> +“That there committee,” said Mr. Blows to his wife, in a trembling voice, as he +heard of the alteration—“that there committee seem to think that they can play +about with my money as they like. You go and tell ’em you won’t ’ave it. And +say you’ve given up the idea of going to Australia and you want the money to +open a shop with. We’ll take a little pub somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Blows went, and returned in tears, and for two entire days her husband, a +prey to gloom, sat trying to evolve fresh and original ideas for the possession +of the money. On the evening of the second day he became low-spirited, and +going down to the kitchen took a glass from the dresser and sat down by the +beer-cask. +</p> + +<p> +Almost insensibly he began to take a brighter view of things. It was Saturday +night and his wife was out. He shook his head indulgently as he thought of her, +and began to realise how foolish he had been to entrust such a delicate mission +to a woman. The Ancient Order of Camels wanted a man to talk to them—a man who +knew the world and could assail them with unanswerable arguments. Having +applied every known test to make sure that the cask was empty, he took his cap +from a nail and sallied out into the street. +</p> + +<p> +Old Mrs. Martin, a neighbour, saw him first, and announced the fact with a +scream that brought a dozen people round her. Bereft of speech, she mouthed +dumbly at Mr. Blows. +</p> + +<p> +“I ain’t touch—touched her,” said that gentleman, earnestly. “I ain’t—been +near ’er.” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd regarded him wild-eyed. Fresh members came running up, and pushing +for a front place fell back hastily on the main body and watched breathlessly. +Mr. Blows, disquieted by their silence, renewed his protestations. +</p> + +<p> +“I was coming ’long——” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off suddenly and, turning round, gazed with some heat at a gentleman +who was endeavouring to ascertain whether an umbrella would pass through him. +The investigator backed hastily into the crowd again, and a faint murmur of +surprise arose as the indignant Mr. Blows rubbed the place. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s alive, I tell you,” said a voice. “What cheer, Jack!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ullo, Bill,” said Mr. Blows, genially. +</p> + +<p> +Bill came forward cautiously, and, first shaking hands, satisfied himself by +various little taps and prods that his friend was really alive. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” he shouted; “come and feel.” +</p> + +<p> +At least fifty hands accepted the invitation, and, ignoring the threats and +entreaties of Mr. Blows, who was a highly ticklish subject, wandered briskly +over his anatomy. He broke free at last and, supported by Bill and a friend, +set off for the Peal o’ Bells. +</p> + +<p> +By the time he arrived there his following had swollen to immense proportions. +Windows were thrown up, and people standing on their doorsteps shouted +inquiries. Congratulations met him on all sides, and the joy of Mr. Joseph +Carter was so great that Mr. Blows was quite affected. +</p> + +<p> +In high feather at the attention he was receiving, Mr. Blows pushed his way +through the idlers at the door and ascended the short flight of stairs which +led to the room where the members of the Ancient Order of Camels were holding +their lodge. The crowd swarmed up after him. +</p> + +<p> +The door was locked, but in response to his knocking it opened a couple of +inches, and a gruff voice demanded his business. Then, before he could give it, +the doorkeeper reeled back into the room, and Mr. Blows with a large following +pushed his way in. +</p> + +<p> +The president and his officers, who were sitting in state behind a long table +at the end of the room, started to their feet with mingled cries of indignation +and dismay at the intrusion. Mr. Blows, conscious of the strength of his +position, walked up to them. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus57"></a> +<img src="images/057.jpg" width="536" height="493" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“<i>Mr. Blows!</i>” gasped the president. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, you didn’t expec’ see me,” said Mr. Blows, with a scornful laugh. “They’re +trying do me, do me out o’ my lill bit o’ money, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you ain’t got no money,” said his bewildered friend. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blows turned and eyed him haughtily; then he confronted the staring +president again. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve come for—my money,” he said, impressively—“one ’under-eighty pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“But look ’ere,” said the scandalised Bill, tugging at his sleeve; “you ain’t +dead, Jack.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understan’,” said Mr. Blows, impatiently. “They know wharri mean; +one ’undereighty pounds. They want to buy me a tombstone, an’ I don’t want it. +I want the money. Here, stop it! <i>D’ye hear?</i>” The words were wrung from +him by the action of the president, who, after eyeing him doubtfully during his +remarks, suddenly prodded him with the butt-end of one of the property spears +which leaned against his chair. The solidity of Mr. Blows was unmistakable, and +with a sudden resumption of dignity the official seated himself and called for +silence. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry to say there’s been a bit of a mistake made,” he said, slowly, “but +I’m glad to say that Mr. Blows has come back to support his wife and family +with the sweat of his own brow. Only a pound or two of the money so kindly +subscribed has been spent, and the remainder will be handed back to the +subscribers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here,” said the incensed Mr. Blows, “listen me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take him away,” said the president, with great dignity. “Clear the room. +Strangers outside.” +</p> + +<p> +Two of the members approached Mr. Blows and, placing their hands on his +shoulders, requested him to withdraw. He went at last, the centre of a dozen +panting men, and becoming wedged on the narrow staircase, spoke fluently on +such widely differing subjects as the rights of man and the shape of the +president’s nose. +</p> + +<p> +He finished his remarks in the street, but, becoming aware at last of a strange +lack of sympathy on the part of his audience, he shook off the arm of the +faithful Mr. Carter and stalked moodily home. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a> +THE THIRD STRING +</h2> + +<p> +Love? said the night-watchman, as he watched in an abstracted fashion the +efforts of a skipper to reach a brother skipper on a passing barge with a +boathook. Don’t talk to me about love, because I’ve suffered enough through it. +There ought to be teetotalers for love the same as wot there is for drink, and +they ought to wear a piece o’ ribbon to show it, the same as the teetotalers +do; but not an attractive piece o’ ribbon, mind you. I’ve seen as much mischief +caused by love as by drink, and the funny thing is, one often leads to the +other. Love, arter it is over, often leads to drink, and drink often leads to +love and to a man committing himself for life afore it is over. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus58"></a> +<img src="images/058.jpg" width="548" height="335" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Sailormen give way to it most; they see so little o’ wimmen that they naturally +’ave a high opinion of ’em. Wait till they become night-watchmen and, having to +be at ’ome all day, see the other side of ’em. If people on’y started life as +night-watchmen there wouldn’t be one ’arf the falling in love that there is +now. +</p> + +<p> +I remember one chap, as nice a fellow as you could wish to meet, too. He always +carried his sweet-heart’s photograph about with ’im, and it was the on’y thing +that cheered ’im up during the fourteen years he was cast away on a deserted +island. He was picked up at last and taken ’ome, and there she was still single +and waiting for ’im; and arter spending fourteen years on a deserted island he +got another ten in quod for shooting ’er because she ’ad altered so much in ’er +looks. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was Ginger Dick, a red-’aired man I’ve spoken about before. He went +and fell in love one time when he was lodging in Wapping ’ere with old Sam +Small and Peter Russet, and a nice mess ’e made of it. +</p> + +<p> +They was just back from a v’y’ge, and they ’adn’t been ashore a week afore both +of ’em noticed a change for the worse in Ginger. He turned quiet and peaceful +and lost ’is taste for beer. He used to play with ’is food instead of eating +it, and in place of going out of an evening with Sam and Peter took to going +off by ’imself. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s love,” ses Peter Russet, shaking his ’ead, “and he’ll be worse afore he’s +better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s the gal?” ses old Sam. +</p> + +<p> +Peter didn’t know, but when they came ’ome that night ’e asked. Ginger, who was +sitting up in bed with a far-off look in ’is eyes, cuddling ’is knees, went on +staring but didn’t answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is it making a fool of you this time, Ginger?” ses old Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“You mind your bisness and I’ll mind mine,” ses Ginger, suddenly waking up and +looking very fierce. +</p> + +<p> +“No offence, mate,” ses Sam, winking at Peter. “I on’y asked in case I might be +able to do you a good turn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you can do that by not letting her know you’re a pal o’ mine,” ses +Ginger, very nasty. +</p> + +<p> +Old Sam didn’t understand at fust, and when Peter explained to ’im he wanted to +hit ’im for trying to twist Ginger’s words about. +</p> + +<p> +“She don’t like fat old men,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho!” ses old Sam, who couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Ho! don’t she? +Ho! Ho! indeed!” +</p> + +<p> +He undressed ’imself and got into the bed he shared with Peter, and kept ’im +awake for hours by telling ’im in a loud voice about all the gals he’d made +love to in his life, and partikler about one gal that always fainted dead away +whenever she saw either a red-’aired man or a monkey. +</p> + +<p> +Peter Russet found out all about it next day, and told Sam that it was a +barmaid with black ’air and eyes at the Jolly Pilots, and that she wouldn’t +’ave anything to say to Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +He spoke to Ginger about it agin when they were going to bed that night, and to +’is surprise found that he was quite civil. When ’e said that he would do +anything he could for ’im, Ginger was quite affected. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t eat or drink,” he ses, in a miserable voice; “I lay awake all last +night thinking of her. She’s so diff’rent to other gals; she’s got—If I start +on you, Sam Small, you’ll know it. You go and make that choking noise to them +as likes it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a bit o’ egg-shell I got in my throat at breakfast this morning, +Ginger,” ses Sam. “I wonder whether she lays awake all night thinking of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say she does,” ses Peter Russet, giving ’im a little push. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep your ’art up, Ginger,” ses Sam; “I’ve known gals to ’ave the most +ext’ordinary likings afore now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t take no notice of ’im,” ses Peter, holding Ginger back. “’Ow are you +getting on with her?” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger groaned and sat down on ’is bed and looked at the floor, and Sam went +and sat on his till it shook so that Ginger offered to step over and break ’is +neck for ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t ’elp the bed shaking,” ses Sam; “it ain’t my fault. I didn’t make it. +If being in love is going to make you so disagreeable to your best friends, +Ginger, you’d better go and live by yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ’eard something about her to-day, Ginger,” ses Peter Russet. “I met a chap I +used to know at Bull’s Wharf, and he told me that she used to keep company with +a chap named Bill Lumm, a bit of a prize-fighter, and since she gave ’im up she +won’t look at anybody else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was she very fond of ’im, then?” asks Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” ses Peter; “but this chap told me that she won’t walk out with +anybody agin, unless it’s another prize-fighter. Her pride won’t let her, I +s’pose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s all right, Ginger,” ses Sam; “all you’ve got to do is to go and +be a prize-fighter.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I ’ave any more o’ your nonsense—” ses Ginger, starting up. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” ses Sam; “jump down anybody’s throat when they’re trying to do +you a kindness. That’s you all over, Ginger, that is. Wot’s to prevent you +telling ’er that you’re a prize-fighter from Australia or somewhere? She won’t +know no better.” +</p> + +<p> +He got up off the bed and put his ’ands up as Ginger walked across the room to +’im, but Ginger on’y wanted to shake ’ands, and arter he ’ad done that ’e +patted ’im on the back and smiled at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try it,” he ses. “I’d tell any lies for ’er sake. Ah! you don’t know wot +love is, Sam.” +</p> + +<p> +“I used to,” ses Sam, and then he sat down agin and began to tell ’em all the +love-affairs he could remember, until at last Peter Russet got tired and said +it was ’ard to believe, looking at ’im now, wot a perfick terror he’d been with +gals, and said that the face he’d got now was a judgment on ’im. Sam shut up +arter that, and got into trouble with Peter in the middle o’ the night by +waking ’im up to tell ’im something that he ’ad just thought of about +<i>his</i> face. +</p> + +<p> +The more Ginger thought o’ Sam’s idea the more he liked it, and the very next +evening ’e took Peter Russet into the private bar o’ the Jolly Pilots. He +ordered port wine, which he thought seemed more ’igh-class than beer, and then +Peter Russet started talking to Miss Tucker and told her that Ginger was a +prize-fighter from Sydney, where he’d beat everybody that stood up to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +The gal seemed to change toward Ginger all in a flash, and ’er beautiful black +eyes looked at ’im so admiring that he felt quite faint. She started talking to +’im about his fights at once, and when at last ’e plucked up courage to ask ’er +to go for a walk with ’im on Sunday arternoon she seemed quite delighted. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll be a nice change for me,” she ses, smiling. “I used to walk out with a +prize-fighter once before, and since I gave ’im up I began to think I was never +going to ’ave a young man agin. You can’t think ’ow dull it’s been.” +</p> + +<p> +“Must ha’ been,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“I s’pose you’ve got a taste for prize-fighters, miss,” ses Peter Russet. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses Miss Tucker; “I don’t think that it’s that exactly, but, you see, I +couldn’t ’ave anybody else. Not for their own sakes.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus59"></a> +<img src="images/059.jpg" width="462" height="723" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Why not?” ses Ginger, looking puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” ses Miss Tucker. “Why, because o’ Bill. He’s such a ’orrid jealous +disposition. After I gave ’im up I walked out with a young fellow named Smith; +fine, big, strapping chap ’e was, too, and I never saw such a change in any man +as there was in ’im after Bill ’ad done with ’im. I couldn’t believe it was +’im. I told Bill he ought to be ashamed of ’imself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot did ’e say?” asks Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask me wot ’e said,” ses Miss Tucker, tossing her ’ead. “Not liking to +be beat, I ’ad one more try with a young fellow named Charlie Webb.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot ’appened to ’im?” ses Peter Russet, arter waiting a bit for ’er to finish. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t bear to talk of it,” ses Miss Tucker, holding up Ginger’s glass and +giving the counter a wipe down. “<i>He</i> met Bill, and I saw ’im six weeks +afterward just as ’e was being sent away from the ’ospital to a seaside home. +Bill disappeared after that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he gone far away?” ses Ginger, trying to speak in a off-’and way. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s back now,” ses Miss Tucker. “You’ll see ’im fast enough, and, wotever +you do, don’t let ’im know you’re a prize-fighter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” ses pore Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Because o’ the surprise it’ll be to ’im,” ses Miss Tucker. “Let ’im rush on to +’is doom. He’ll get a lesson ’e don’t expect, the bully. Don’t be afraid of +’urting ’im. Think o’ pore Smith and Charlie Webb.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am thinkin’ of ’em,” ses Ginger, slow-like. “Is—is Bill—very quick—with his +’ands?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Rather</i>,” ses Miss Tucker; “but o’ course he ain’t up to your mark; he’s +on’y known in these parts.” +</p> + +<p> +She went off to serve a customer, and Ginger Dick tried to catch Peter’s eye, +but couldn’t, and when Miss Tucker came back he said ’e must be going. +</p> + +<p> +“Sunday afternoon at a quarter past three sharp, outside ’ere,” she ses. “Never +mind about putting on your best clothes, because Bill is sure to be hanging +about. I’ll take care o’ that.” +</p> + +<p> +She reached over the bar and shook ’ands with ’im, and Ginger felt a thrill go +up ’is arm which lasted ’im all the way ’ome. +</p> + +<p> +He didn’t know whether to turn up on Sunday or not, and if it ’adn’t ha’ been +for Sam and Peter Russet he’d ha’ most likely stayed at home. Not that ’e was a +coward, being always ready for a scrap and gin’rally speaking doing well at it, +but he made a few inquiries about Bill Lumm and ’e saw that ’e had about as +much chance with ’im as a kitten would ’ave with a bulldog. +</p> + +<p> +Sam and Peter was delighted, and they talked about it as if it was a +pantermime, and old Sam said that <i>when</i> he was a young man he’d ha’ +fought six Bill Lumms afore he’d ha’ given a gal up. He brushed Ginger’s +clothes for ’im with ’is own hands on Sunday afternoon, and, when Ginger +started, ’im and Peter follered some distance behind to see fair play. +</p> + +<p> +The on’y person outside the Jolly Pilots when Ginger got there was a man; a +strong-built chap with a thick neck, very large ’ands, and a nose which ’ad +seen its best days some time afore. He looked ’ard at Ginger as ’e came up, and +then stuck his ’ands in ’is trouser pockets and spat on the pavement. Ginger +walked a little way past and then back agin, and just as he was thinking that +’e might venture to go off, as Miss Tucker ’adn’t come, the door opened and out +she came. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t find my ’at-pins,” she ses, taking Ginger’s arm and smiling up into +’is face. +</p> + +<p> +Before Ginger could say anything the man he ’ad noticed took his ’ands out of +’is pockets and stepped up to ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Let go o’ that young lady’s arm,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“Sha’n’t,” ses Ginger, holding it so tight that Miss Tucker nearly screamed. +</p> + +<p> +“Let go ’er arm and put your ’ands up,” ses the chap agin. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus60"></a> +<img src="images/060.jpg" width="532" height="609" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Not ’ere,” ses Ginger, who ’ad laid awake the night afore thinking wot to do +if he met Bill Lumm. “If you wish to ’ave a spar with me, my lad, you must ’ave +it where we can’t be interrupted. When I start on a man I like to make a good +job of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good job of it!” ses the other, starting. “Do you know who I am?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” ses Ginger, “and, wot’s more, I don’t care.” +</p> + +<p> +“My name,” ses the chap, speaking in a slow, careful voice, “is Bill Lumm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot a ’orrid name!” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Otherwise known as the Wapping Basher,” ses Bill, shoving ’is face into +Ginger’s and glaring at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho!” ses Ginger, sniffing, “a amatoor.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Amatoor?</i>” ses Bill, shouting. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s wot we should call you over in Australia,” ses Ginger; “<i>my</i> name +is Dick Duster, likewise known as the Sydney Puncher. I’ve killed three men in +the ring and ’ave never ’ad a defeat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, put ’em up,” ses Bill, doubling up ’is fists and shaping at ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Not in the street, I tell you,” ses Ginger, still clinging tight to Miss +Tucker’s arm. “I was fined five pounds the other day for punching a man in the +street, and the magistrate said it would be ’ard labour for me next time. You +find a nice, quiet spot for some arternoon, and I’ll knock your ’ead off with +pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d sooner ’ave it knocked off now,” ses Bill; “I don’t like waiting for +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thursday arternoon,” ses Ginger, very firm; “there’s one or two gentlemen want +to see a bit o’ my work afore backing me, and we can combine bisness with +pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked off with Miss Tucker, leaving Bill Lumm standing on the pavement +scratching his ’ead and staring arter ’im as though ’e didn’t quite know wot to +make of it. Bill stood there for pretty near five minutes, and then arter +asking Sam and Peter, who ’ad been standing by listening, whether they wanted +anything for themselves, walked off to ask ’is pals wot they knew about the +Sydney Puncher. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Dick was so quiet and satisfied about the fight that old Sam and Peter +couldn’t make ’im out at all. He wouldn’t even practise punching at a bolster +that Peter rigged up for ’im, and when ’e got a message from Bill Lumm naming a +quiet place on the Lea Marshes he agreed to it as comfortable as possible. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I must say, Ginger, that I like your pluck,” ses Peter Russet. +</p> + +<p> +“I always ’ave said that for Ginger; ’e’s got pluck,” ses Sam. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger coughed and tried to smile at ’em in a superior sort o’ way. “I thought +you’d got more sense,” he ses, at last. “You don’t think I’m going, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wot?</i>” ses old Sam, in a shocked voice. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re never going to back out of it, Ginger?” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I am,” ses Ginger. “If you think I’m going to be smashed up by a prize-fighter +just to show my pluck you’re mistook.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must go, Ginger,” ses old Sam, very severe. “It’s too late to back out of +it now. Think of the gal. Think of ’er feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“For the sake of your good name,” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I should never speak to you agin, Ginger,” ses old Sam, pursing up ’is lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor me neither,” ses Peter Russet. +</p> + +<p> +“To think of our Ginger being called a coward,” ses old Sam, with a shudder, +“and afore a gal, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“The loveliest gal in Wapping,” ses Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere,” ses Ginger, “you can shut up, both of you. I’m not going, and +that’s the long and short of it. I don’t mind an ordinary man, but I draw the +line at prize-fighters.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Sam sat down on the edge of ’is bed and looked the picture of despair. “You +must go, Ginger,” he ses, “for my sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sake?” ses Ginger, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got money on it,” ses Sam, “so’s Peter. If you don’t turn up all bets’ll +be off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good job for you, too,” ses Ginger. “If I did turn up you’d lose it, to a dead +certainty.” +</p> + +<p> +Old Sam coughed and looked at Peter, and Peter ’e coughed and looked at Sam. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand, Ginger,” said Sam, in a soft voice; “it ain’t often a +chap gets the chance o’ making a bit o’ money these ’ard times.” +</p> + +<p> +“So we’ve put all our money on Bill Lumm,” ses Peter. “It’s the safest and +easiest way o’ making money I ever ’eard of. You see, we know you’re not a +prize-fighter and the others don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Pore Ginger looked at ’em, and then ’e called ’em all the names he could lay +’is tongue to, but, with the idea o’ the money they was going make, they didn’t +mind a bit. They let him ’ave ’is say, and that night they brought ’ome two +other sailormen wot ’ad bet agin Ginger to share their room, and, though they +’ad bet agin ’im, they was so fond of ’im that it was evident that they wasn’t +going to leave ’im till the fight was over. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger gave up then, and at twelve o’clock next day they started off to find +the place. Mr. Webson, the landlord of the Jolly Pilots, a short, fat man o’ +fifty, wot ’ad spoke to Ginger once or twice, went with ’em, and all the way to +the station he kept saying wot a jolly spot it was for that sort o’ thing. +Perfickly private; nice soft green grass to be knocked down on, and larks up in +the air singing away as if they’d never leave off. +</p> + +<p> +They took the train to Homerton, and, being a slack time o’ the day, the +porters was surprised to see wot a lot o’ people was travelling by it. So was +Ginger. There was the landlords of ’arf the public-’ouses in Wapping, all +smoking big cigars; two dock policemen in plain clothes, wot ’ad got the +arternoon off—one with a raging toothache and the other with a baby wot wasn’t +expected to last the day out. They was as full o’ fun as kittens, and the +landlord o’ the Jolly Pilots pointed out to Ginger wot reasonable ’uman beings +policemen was at ’art. Besides them there was quite a lot o’ sailormen, even +skippers and mates, nearly all of ’em smoking big cigars, too, and looking at +Ginger out of the corner of one eye and at the Wapping Basher out of the corner +of the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Hit ’ard and hit straight,” ses the landlord to Ginger in a low voice, as they +got out of the train and walked up the road. “’Ow are you feeling?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a cold coming on,” ses pore Ginger, looking at the Basher, who was on +in front, “and a splitting ’eadache, and a sharp pain all down my left leg. I +don’t think——” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s a good job it’s no worse,” ses the landlord; “all you’ve got to do +is to hit ’ard. If you win it’s a ’undered pounds in my pocket, and I’ll stand +you a fiver of it. D’ye understand?” +</p> + +<p> +They turned down some little streets, several of ’em going diff’rent ways, and +arter crossing the River Lea got on to the marshes, and, as the landlord said, +the place might ha’ been made for it. +</p> + +<p> +A little chap from Mile End was the referee, and Bill Lumm, ’aving peeled, +stood looking on while Ginger took ’is things off and slowly and carefully +folded ’em up. Then they stepped toward each other, Bill taking longer steps +than Ginger, and shook ’ands; immediately arter which Bill knocked Ginger head +over ’eels. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus61"></a> +<img src="images/061.jpg" width="567" height="516" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“Time!” was called, and the landlord o’ the Jolly Pilots, who was nursing +Ginger on ’is knee, said that it was nothing at all, and that bleeding at the +nose was a sign of ’ealth. But as it happened Ginger was that mad ’e didn’t +want any encouragement, he on’y wanted to kill Bill Lumm. +</p> + +<p> +He got two or three taps in the next round which made his ’ead ring, and then +he got ’ome on the mark and follered it up by a left-’anded punch on Bill’s jaw +that surprised ’em both—Bill because he didn’t think Ginger could hit so ’ard, +and Ginger because ’e didn’t think that prize-fighters ’ad any feelings. +</p> + +<p> +They clinched and fell that round, and the landlord patted Ginger on the back +and said that if he ever ’ad a son he ’oped he’d grow up like ’im. +</p> + +<p> +Ginger was surprised at the way ’e was getting on, and so was old Sam and Peter +Russet, and when Ginger knocked Bill down in the sixth round Sam went as pale +as death. Ginger was getting marked all over, but he stuck, to ’is man, and the +two dock policemen, wot ’ad put their money on Bill Lumm, began to talk of +their dooty, and say as ’ow the fight ought to be stopped. +</p> + +<p> +At the tenth round Bill couldn’t see out of ’is eyes, and kept wasting ’is +strength on the empty air, and once on the referee. Ginger watched ’is +opportunity, and at last, with a terrific smash on the point o’ Bill’s jaw, +knocked ’im down and then looked round for the landlord’s knee. +</p> + +<p> +Bill made a game try to get up when “Time!” was called, but couldn’t; and the +referee, who was ’olding a ’andkerchief to ’is nose, gave the fight to Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +It was the proudest moment o’ Ginger Dick’s life. He sat there like a king, +smiling ’orribly, and Sam’s voice as he paid ’is losings sounded to ’im like +music, in spite o’ the words the old man see fit to use. It was so ’ard to get +Peter Russet’s money that it a’most looked as though there was going to be +another prize-fight, but ’e paid up at last and went off, arter fust telling +Ginger part of wot he thought of ’im. +</p> + +<p> +There was a lot o’ quarrelling, but the bets was all settled at last, and the +landlord o’ the Jolly Pilots, who was in ’igh feather with the money he’d won, +gave Ginger the five pounds he’d promised and took him ’ome in a cab. +</p> + +<p> +“You done well, my lad,” he ses. “No, don’t smile. It looks as though your +’ead’s coming off.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ope you’ll tell Miss Tucker ’ow I fought,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“I will, my lad,” ses the landlord; “but you’d better not see ’er for some +time, for both your sakes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking of ’aving a day or two in bed,” ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +“Best thing you can do,” ses the landlord; “and mind, don’t you ever fight Bill +Lumm agin. Keep out of ’is way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why? I beat ’im once, an’ I can beat ’im agin,” ses Ginger, offended. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Beat ’im?</i>” ses the landlord. He took ’is cigar out of ’is mouth as +though ’e was going to speak, and then put it back agin and looked out of the +window. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, beat ’im,” ses Ginger’. “You was there and saw it.” +</p> + +<p> +“He lost the fight a-purpose,” ses the landlord, whispering. “Miss Tucker found +out that you wasn’t a prize-fighter—leastways, I did for ’er—and she told Bill +that, if ’e loved ’er so much that he’d ’ave ’is sinful pride took down by +letting you beat ’im, she’d think diff’rent of ’im. Why, ’e could ’ave settled +you in a minute if he’d liked. He was on’y playing with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger stared at ’im as if ’e couldn’t believe ’is eyes. “Playing?” he ses, +feeling ’is face very gently with the tips of his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” ses the landlord; “and if he ever hits you agin you’ll know I’m speaking +the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger sat back all of a heap and tried to think. “Is Miss Tucker going to keep +company with ’im agin, then?” he ses, in a faint voice. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses the landlord; “you can make your mind easy on that point.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, if I walk out with ’er I shall ’ave to fight Bill all over agin,” +ses Ginger. +</p> + +<p> +The landlord turned to ’im and patted ’im on the shoulder. “Don’t you take up +your troubles afore they come, my lad,” he ses, kindly; “and mind and keep wot +I’ve told you dark, for all our sakes.” +</p> + +<p> +He put ’im down at the door of ’is lodgings and, arter shaking ’ands with ’im, +gave the landlady a shilling and told ’er to get some beefsteak and put on ’is +face, and went home. Ginger went straight off to bed, and the way he carried on +when the landlady fried the steak afore bringing it up showed ’ow upset he was. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus62"></a> +<img src="images/062.jpg" width="558" height="691" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +It was over a week afore he felt ’e could risk letting Miss Tucker see ’im, and +then at seven o’clock one evening he felt ’e couldn’t wait any longer, and +arter spending an hour cleaning ’imself he started out for the Jolly Pilots. +</p> + +<p> +He felt so ’appy at the idea o’ seeing her agin that ’e forgot all about Bill +Lumm, and it gave ’im quite a shock when ’e saw ’im standing outside the +Pilots. Bill took his ’ands out of ’is pockets when he saw ’im and came toward +’im. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no good to-night, mate,” he ses; and to Ginger’s great surprise shook +’ands with ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“No good?” ses Ginger, staring. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ses Bill; “he’s in the little back-parlour, like a whelk in ’is shell; +but we’ll ’ave ’im sooner or later.” +</p> + +<p> +“Him? Who?” ses Ginger, more puzzled than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” ses Bill; “why, Webson, the landlord. You don’t mean to tell me you +ain’t heard about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Heard wot?” ses Ginger. “I haven’t ’eard anything. I’ve been indoors with a +bad cold all the week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Webson and Julia Tucker was married at eleven o’clock yesterday morning,” ses +Bill Lumm, in a hoarse voice. “When I think of the way I’ve been done, and wot +I’ve suffered, I feel ’arf crazy. He won a ’undered pounds through me, and then +got the gal I let myself be disgraced for. I ’ad an idea some time ago that +he’d got ’is eye on her.” +</p> + +<p> +Ginger Dick didn’t answer ’im a word. He staggered back and braced ’imself up +agin the wall for a bit, and arter staring at Bill Lumm in a wild way for +pretty near three minutes he crawled back to ’is lodgings and went straight to +bed agin. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a> +ODD CHARGES +</h2> + +<p> +Seated at his ease in the warm tap-room of the Cauliflower, the stranger had +been eating and drinking for some time, apparently unconscious of the presence +of the withered ancient who, huddled up in that corner of the settle which was +nearer to the fire, fidgeted restlessly with an empty mug and blew with +pathetic insistence through a churchwarden pipe which had long been cold. The +stranger finished his meal with a sigh of content and then, rising from his +chair, crossed over to the settle and, placing his mug on the time-worn table +before him, began to fill his pipe. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus63"></a> +<img src="images/063.jpg" width="562" height="459" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +The old man took a spill from the table and, holding it with trembling fingers +to the blaze, gave him a light. The other thanked him, and then, leaning back +in his corner of the settle, watched the smoke of his pipe through half-closed +eyes, and assented drowsily to the old man’s remarks upon the weather. +</p> + +<p> +“Bad time o’ the year for going about,” said the latter, “though I s’pose if +you can eat and drink as much as you want it don’t matter. I s’pose you +mightn’t be a conjurer from London, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +The traveller shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I was ’oping you might be,” said the old man. The other manifested no +curiosity. +</p> + +<p> +“If you ’ad been,” said the old man, with a sigh, “I should ha’ asked you to +ha’ done something useful. Gin’rally speaking, conjurers do things that are no +use to anyone; wot I should like to see a conjurer do would be to make this +’ere empty mug full o’ beer and this empty pipe full o’ shag tobacco. That’s +wot I should ha’ made bold to ask you to do if you’d been one.” +</p> + +<p> +The traveller sighed, and, taking his short briar pipe from his mouth by the +bowl, rapped three times upon the table with it. In a very short time a mug of +ale and a paper cylinder of shag appeared on the table before the old man. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot put me in mind o’ your being a conjurer,” said the latter, filling his +pipe after a satisfying draught from the mug, “is that you’re uncommon like one +that come to Claybury some time back and give a performance in this very room +where we’re now a-sitting. So far as looks go, you might be his brother.” +</p> + +<p> +The traveller said that he never had a brother. +</p> + +<p> +We didn’t know ’e was a conjurer at fust, said the old man. He ’ad come down +for Wickham Fair and, being a day or two before ’and, ’e was going to different +villages round about to give performances. He came into the bar ’ere and +ordered a mug o’ beer, and while ’e was a-drinking of it stood talking about +the weather. Then ’e asked Bill Chambers to excuse ’im for taking the liberty, +and, putting his ’and to Bill’s mug, took out a live frog. Bill was a very +partikler man about wot ’e drunk, and I thought he’d ha’ had a fit. He went on +at Smith, the landlord, something shocking, and at last, for the sake o’ peace +and quietness, Smith gave ’im another pint to make up for it. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus64"></a> +<img src="images/064.jpg" width="576" height="567" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“It must ha’ been asleep in the mug,” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +Bill said that ’e thought ’e knew who must ha’ been asleep, and was just going +to take a drink, when the conjurer asked ’im to excuse ’im agin. Bill put down +the mug in a ’urry, and the conjurer put his ’and to the mug and took out a +dead mouse. It would ha’ been a ’ard thing to say which was the most upset, +Bill Chambers or Smith, the landlord, and Bill, who was in a terrible state, +asked why it was everything seemed to get into <i>his</i> mug. +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps you’re fond o’ dumb animals, sir,” ses the conjurer. “Do you ’appen to +notice your coat-pocket is all of a wriggle?” +</p> + +<p> +He put his ’and to Bill’s pocket and took out a little green snake; then he put +his ’and to Bill’s trouser-pocket and took out a frog, while pore Bill’s eyes +looked as if they was coming out o’ their sockets. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep still,” ses the conjurer; “there’s a lot more to come yet.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill Chambers gave a ’owl that was dreadful to listen to, and then ’e pushed +the conjurer away and started undressing ’imself as fast as he could move ’is +fingers. I believe he’d ha’ taken off ’is shirt if it ’ad ’ad pockets in it, +and then ’e stuck ’is feet close together and ’e kept jumping into the air, and +coming down on to ’is own clothes in his hobnailed boots. +</p> + +<p> +“He <i>ain’t</i> fond o’ dumb animals, then,” ses the conjurer. Then he put his +’and on his ’art and bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen all,” he ses. “’Aving given you this specimen of wot I can do, I beg +to give notice that with the landlord’s kind permission I shall give my +celebrated conjuring entertainment in the tap-room this evening at seven +o’clock; ad—mission, three-pence each.” +</p> + +<p> +They didn’t understand ’im at fust, but at last they see wot ’e meant, and +arter explaining to Bill, who was still giving little jumps, they led ’im up +into a corner and coaxed ’im into dressing ’imself agin. He wanted to fight the +conjurer, but ’e was that tired ’e could scarcely stand, and by-and-by Smith, +who ’ad said ’e wouldn’t ’ave anything to do with it, gave way and said he’d +risk it. +</p> + +<p> +The tap-room was crowded that night, but we all ’ad to pay threepence +each—coining money, I call it. Some o’ the things wot he done was very clever, +but a’most from the fust start-off there was unpleasantness. When he asked +somebody to lend ’im a pocket-’andkercher to turn into a white rabbit, Henery +Walker rushed up and lent ’im ’is, but instead of a white rabbit it turned into +a black one with two white spots on it, and arter Henery Walker ’ad sat for +some time puzzling over it ’e got up and went off ’ome without saying +good-night to a soul. +</p> + +<p> +Then the conjurer borrowed Sam Jones’s hat, and arter looking into it for some +time ’e was that surprised and astonished that Sam Jones lost ’is temper and +asked ’im whether he ’adn’t seen a hat afore. +</p> + +<p> +“Not like this,” ses the conjurer. And ’e pulled out a woman’s dress and jacket +and a pair o’ boots. Then ’e took out a pound or two o’ taters and some crusts +o’ bread and other things, and at last ’e gave it back to Sam Jones and shook +’is head at ’im, and told ’im if he wasn’t very careful he’d spoil the shape of +it. +</p> + +<p> +Then ’e asked somebody to lend ’im a watch, and, arter he ’ad promised to take +the greatest care of it, Dicky Weed, the tailor, lent ’im a gold watch wot ’ad +been left ’im by ’is great-aunt when she died. Dicky Weed thought a great deal +o’ that watch, and when the conjurer took a flat-iron and began to smash it up +into little bits it took three men to hold ’im down in ’is seat. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the most difficult trick o’ the lot,” ses the conjurer, picking off a +wheel wot ’ad stuck to the flat-iron. “Sometimes I can do it and sometimes I +can’t. Last time I tried it it was a failure, and it cost me eighteenpence and +a pint o’ beer afore the gentleman the watch ’ad belonged to was satisfied. I +gave ’im the bits, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t give me my watch back safe and sound,” ses Dicky Weed, in a +trembling voice, “it’ll cost you twenty pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow much?” ses the conjurer, with a start. “Well, I wish you’d told me that +afore you lent it to me. Eighteenpence is my price.” +</p> + +<p> +He stirred the broken bits up with ’is finger and shook his ’ead. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never tried one o’ these old-fashioned watches afore,” he ses. “’Owever, +if I fail, gentlemen, it’ll be the fust and only trick I’ve failed in +to-night. You can’t expect everything to turn out right, but if I do fail this +time, gentlemen, I’ll try it agin if anybody else’ll lend me another watch.” +</p> + +<p> +Dicky Weed tried to speak but couldn’t, and ’e sat there, with ’is face pale, +staring at the pieces of ’is watch on the conjurer’s table. Then the conjurer +took a big pistol with a trumpet-shaped barrel out of ’is box, and arter +putting in a charge o’ powder picked up the pieces o’ watch and rammed them in +arter it. We could hear the broken bits grating agin the ramrod, and arter he +’ad loaded it ’e walked round and handed it to us to look at. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right,” he ses to Dicky Weed; “it’s going to be a success; I could +tell in the loading.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked back to the other end of the room and held up the pistol. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall now fire this pistol,” ’e ses, “and in so doing mend the watch. The +explosion of the powder makes the bits o’ glass join together agin; in flying +through the air the wheels go round and round collecting all the other parts, +and the watch as good as new and ticking away its ’ardest will be found in the +coat-pocket o’ the gentleman I shoot at.” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed the pistol fust at one and then at another, as if ’e couldn’t make +up ’is mind, and none of ’em seemed to ’ave much liking for it. Peter Gubbins +told ’im not to shoot at ’im because he ’ad a ’ole in his pocket, and Bill +Chambers, when it pointed at ’im, up and told ’im to let somebody else ’ave a +turn. The only one that didn’t flinch was Bob Pretty, the biggest poacher and +the greatest rascal in Claybury. He’d been making fun o’ the tricks all along, +saying out loud that he’d seen ’em all afore—and done better. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” he ses; “I ain’t afraid of you; you can’t shoot straight.” +</p> + +<p> +The conjurer pointed the pistol at ’im. Then ’e pulled the trigger and the +pistol went off bang, and the same moment o’ time Bob Pretty jumped up with a +’orrible scream, and holding his ’ands over ’is eyes danced about as though +he’d gone mad. +</p> + +<p> +Everybody started up at once and got round ’im, and asked ’im wot was the +matter; but Bob didn’t answer ’em. He kept on making a dreadful noise, and at +last ’e broke out of the room and, holding ’is ’andkercher to ’is face, ran off +’ome as ’ard as he could run. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve done it now, mate,” ses Bill Chambers to the conjurer. “I thought you +wouldn’t be satisfied till you’d done some ’arm. You’ve been and blinded pore +Bob Pretty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” ses the conjurer. “He’s frightened, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Frightened!” ses Peter Gubbins. “Why, you fired Dicky Weed’s watch straight +into ’is face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rubbish,” ses the conjurer; “it dropped into ’is pocket, and he’ll find it +there when ’e comes to ’is senses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me that Bob Pretty ’as gone off with my watch in ’is +pocket?” screams Dicky Weed. +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” ses the other. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better get ’old of Bob afore ’e finds it out, Dicky,” ses Bill Chambers. +</p> + +<p> +Dicky Weed didn’t answer ’im; he was already running along to Bob Pretty’s as +fast as ’is legs would take ’im, with most of us follering behind to see wot +’appened. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus65"></a> +<img src="images/065.jpg" width="586" height="612" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +The door was fastened when we got to it, but Dicky Weed banged away at it as +’ard as he could bang, and at last the bedroom winder went up and Mrs. Pretty +stuck her ’ead out. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>H’sh!</i>” she ses, in a whisper. “Go away.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see Bob,” ses Dicky Weed. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t see ’im,” ses Mrs. Pretty. “I’m getting ’im to bed. He’s been shot, +pore dear. Can’t you ’ear ’im groaning?” +</p> + +<p> +We ’adn’t up to then, but a’most direckly arter she ’ad spoke you could ha’ +heard Bob’s groans a mile away. Dreadful, they was. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there, pore dear,” ses Mrs. Pretty. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I come in and ’elp you get ’im to bed?” ses Dicky Weed, ’arf crying. +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you, Mr. Weed,” ses Mrs. Pretty. “It’s very kind of you to offer, +but ’e wouldn’t like any hands but mine to touch ’im. I’ll send in and let you +know ’ow he is fust thing in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try and get ’old of the coat, Dicky,” ses Bill Chambers, in a whisper. “Offer +to mend it for ’im. It’s sure to want it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be no ’elp to you,” ses Dicky Weed, “but I noticed a +rent in Bob’s coat and, as ’e’s likely to be laid up a bit, it ud be a good +opportunity for me to mend it for ’im. I won’t charge ’im nothing. If you drop +it down I’ll do it now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thankee,” ses Mrs. Pretty; “if you just wait a moment I’ll clear the pockets +out and drop it down to you.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned back into the bedroom, and Dicky Weed ground ’is teeth together and +told Bill Chambers that the next time he took ’is advice he’d remember it. He +stood there trembling all over with temper, and when Mrs. Pretty came to the +winder agin and dropped the coat on his ’ead and said that Bob felt his +kindness very much, and he ’oped Dicky ud make a good job of it, because it was +’is favrite coat, he couldn’t speak. He stood there shaking all over till Mrs. +Pretty ’ad shut the winder down agin, and then ’e turned to the conjurer, as +’ad come up with the rest of us, and asked ’im wot he was going to do about it +now. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you he’s got the watch,” ses the conjurer, pointing up at the winder. +“It went into ’is pocket. I saw it go. He was no more shot than you were. If ’e +was, why doesn’t he send for the doctor?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t ’elp that,” ses Dicky Weed. “I want my watch or else twenty pounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll talk it over in a day or two,” ses the conjurer. “I’m giving my +celebrated entertainment at Wickham Fair on Monday, but I’ll come back ’ere to +the Cauliflower the Saturday before and give another entertainment, and then +we’ll see wot’s to be done. I can’t run away, because in any case I can’t +afford to miss the fair.” +</p> + +<p> +Dicky Weed gave way at last and went off ’ome to bed and told ’is wife about +it, and listening to ’er advice he got up at six o’clock in the morning and +went round to see ’ow Bob Pretty was. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Pretty was up when ’e got there, and arter calling up the stairs to Bob +told Dicky Weed to go upstairs. Bob Pretty was sitting up in bed with ’is face +covered in bandages, and he seemed quite pleased to see ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“It ain’t everybody that ud get up at six o’clock to see ’ow I’m getting on,” +he ses. “You’ve got a feeling ’art, Dicky.” +</p> + +<p> +Dicky Weed coughed and looked round, wondering whether the watch was in the +room, and, if so, where it was hidden. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I’m ’ere I may as well tidy up the room for you a bit,” he ses, getting +up. “I don’t like sitting idle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thankee, mate,” ses Bob; and ’e lay still and watched Dicky Weed out of the +corner of the eye that wasn’t covered with the bandages. +</p> + +<p> +I don’t suppose that room ’ad ever been tidied up so thoroughly since the +Prettys ’ad lived there, but Dicky Weed couldn’t see anything o’ the watch, and +wot made ’im more angry than anything else was Mrs. Pretty setting down in a +chair with ’er ’ands folded in her lap and pointing out places that he ’adn’t +done. +</p> + +<p> +“You leave ’im alone,” ses Bob. “<i>He knows wot ’e’s arter</i>. Wot did you do +with those little bits o’ watch you found when you was bandaging me up, +missis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t ask me,” ses Mrs. Pretty. “I was in such a state I don’t know wot I was +doing ’ardly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they must be about somewhere,” ses Bob. “You ’ave a look for ’em, Dicky, +and if you find ’em, keep ’em. They belong to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Dicky Weed tried to be civil and thank ’im, and then he went off ’ome and +talked it over with ’is wife agin. People couldn’t make up their minds whether +Bob Pretty ’ad found the watch in ’is pocket and was shamming, or whether ’e +was really shot, but they was all quite certain that, whichever way it was, +Dicky Weed would never see ’is watch agin. +</p> + +<p> +On the Saturday evening this ’ere Cauliflower public-’ouse was crowded, +everybody being anxious to see the watch trick done over agin. We had ’eard +that it ’ad been done all right at Cudford and Monksham; but Bob Pretty said as +’ow he’d believe it when ’e saw it, and not afore. +</p> + +<p> +He was one o’ the fust to turn up that night, because ’e said ’e wanted to know +wot the conjurer was going to pay him for all ’is pain and suffering and having +things said about ’is character. He came in leaning on a stick, with ’is face +still bandaged, and sat right up close to the conjurer’s table, and watched him +as ’ard as he could as ’e went through ’is tricks. +</p> + +<p> +“And now,” ses the conjurer, at last, “I come to my celebrated watch trick. +Some of you as wos ’ere last Tuesday when I did it will remember that the man I +fired the pistol at pretended that ’e’d been shot and run off ’ome with it in +’is pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a liar!” ses Bob Pretty, standing up. “Very good,” ses the conjurer; +“you take that bandage off and show us all where you’re hurt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall do nothing o’ the kind,” ses Bob. I don’t take my orders from you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take the bandage off,” ses the conjurer, “and if there’s any shot marks I’ll +give you a couple o’ sovereigns.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid of the air getting to it,” ses Bob Pretty. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t want to be afraid o’ that, Bob,” ses John Biggs, the blacksmith, +coming up behind and putting ’is great arms round ’im. “Take off that rag, +somebody; I’ve got hold of ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty started to struggle at fust, but then, seeing it was no good, kept +quite quiet while they took off the bandages. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>There!</i> look at ’im,” ses the conjurer, pointing. “Not a mark on ’is +face, not one.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Wot!</i>” ses Bob Pretty. “Do you mean to say there’s no marks?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” ses the conjurer. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank goodness,” ses Bob Pretty, clasping his ’ands. “Thank goodness! I was +afraid I was disfigured for life. Lend me a bit o’ looking-glass, somebody. I +can ’ardly believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You stole Dicky Weed’s watch,” ses John Biggs. “I ’ad my suspicions of you all +along. You’re a thief, Bob Pretty. That’s wot you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Prove it,” ses Bob Pretty. “You ’eard wot the conjurer said the other night, +that the last time he tried ’e failed, and ’ad to give eighteenpence to the man +wot the watch ’ad belonged to.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was by way of a joke like,” ses the conjurer to John Biggs. “I can always +do it. I’m going to do it now. Will somebody ’ave the kindness to lend me a +watch?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked all round the room, but nobody offered—except other men’s watches, +wot wouldn’t lend ’em. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come,” he ses; “ain’t none of you got any trust in me? It’ll be as safe +as if it was in your pocket. I want to prove to you that this man is a thief.” +</p> + +<p> +He asked ’em agin, and at last John Biggs took out ’is silver watch and offered +it to ’im on the understanding that ’e was on no account to fire it into Bob +Pretty’s pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Not likely,” ses the conjurer. “Now, everybody take a good look at this watch, +so as to make sure there’s no deceiving.” +</p> + +<p> +He ’anded it round, and arter everybody ’ad taken a look at it ’e took it up to +the table and laid it down. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me ’ave a look at it,” ses Bob Pretty, going up to the table. “I’m not +going to ’ave my good name took away for nothing if I can ’elp it.” +</p> + +<p> +He took it up and looked at it, and arter ’olding it to ’is ear put it down +agin. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the flat-iron it’s going to be smashed with?” he ses. +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” ses the conjurer, looking at ’im nasty like; “p’r’aps you’d like to +examine it.” +</p> + +<p> +Bob Pretty took it and looked at it. “Yes, mates,” he ses, “it’s a ordinary +flat-iron. You couldn’t ’ave anything better for smashing a watch with.” +</p> + +<p> +He ’eld it up in the air and, afore anybody could move, brought it down bang on +the face o’ the watch. The conjurer sprang at ’im and caught at ’is arm, but it +was too late, and in a terrible state o’ mind ’e turned round to John Biggs. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus66"></a> +<img src="images/066.jpg" width="564" height="606" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“He’s smashed your watch,” he ses; “he’s smashed your watch.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” ses John Biggs, “it ’ad got to be smashed, ’adn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but not by ’im,” ses the conjurer, dancing about. “I wash my ’ands of it +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look ’ere,” ses John Biggs; “don’t you talk to me about washing your ’ands of +it. You finish your trick and give me my watch back agin same as it was afore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not now he’s been interfering with it,” ses the conjurer. “He’d better do the +trick now as he’s so clever.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d sooner ’ave you do it,” ses John Biggs. “Wot did you let ’im interfere +for?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Ow was I to know wot ’e was going to do?” ses the conjurer. “You must settle +it between you now. I’ll ’ave nothing more to do with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, John Biggs,” ses Bob Pretty; “if ’e won’t do it, I will. If it can +be done, I don’t s’pose it matters who does it. I don’t think anybody could +smash up a watch better than that.” +</p> + +<p> +John Biggs looked at it, and then ’e asked the conjurer once more to do the +trick, but ’e wouldn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be done now,” he ses; “and I warn you that if that pistol is fired I +won’t be responsible for what’ll ’appen.” +</p> + +<p> +“George Kettle shall load the pistol and fire it if ’e won’t,” ses Bob Pretty. +“’Aving been in the Militia, there couldn’t be a better man for the job.” +</p> + +<p> +George Kettle walked up to the table as red as fire at being praised like that +afore people and started loading the pistol. He seemed to be more awkward about +it than the conjurer ’ad been the last time, and he ’ad to roll the watch-cases +up with the flat-iron afore ’e could get ’em in. But ’e loaded it at last and +stood waiting. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t shoot at me, George Kettle,” ses Bob. “I’ve been called a thief once, +and I don’t want to be agin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Put that pistol down, you fool, afore you do mischief,” ses the conjurer. +</p> + +<p> +“Who shall I shoot at?” ses George Kettle, raising the pistol. +</p> + +<p> +“Better fire at the conjurer, I think,” ses Bob Pretty; “and if things ’appen +as he says they will ’appen, the watch ought to be found in ’is coat-pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he?” ses George, looking round. +</p> + +<p> +Bill Chambers laid ’old of ’im just as he was going through the door to fetch +the landlord, and the scream ’e gave as he came back and George Kettle pointed +the pistol at ’im was awful. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus67"></a> +<img src="images/067.jpg" width="581" height="595" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“It’s no worse for you than it was for me,” ses Bob. +</p> + +<p> +“Put it down,” screams the conjurer; “put it down. You’ll kill ’arf the men in +the room if it goes off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be careful where you aim, George,” ses Sam Jones. “P’r’aps he’d better ’ave a +chair all by hisself in the middle of the room.” +</p> + +<p> +It was all very well for Sam Jones to talk, but the conjurer wouldn’t sit on a +chair by ’imself. He wouldn’t sit on it at all. He seemed to be all legs and +arms, and the way ’e struggled it took four or five men to ’old ’im. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you keep still?” ses John Biggs. “George Kettle’ll shoot it in your +pocket all right. He’s the best shot in Claybury.” +</p> + +<p> +“Help! Murder!” says the conjurer, struggling. “He’ll kill me. Nobody can do +the trick but me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you say you won’t do it,” ses John Biggs. +</p> + +<p> +“Not now,” ses the conjurer; “I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m not going to ’ave my watch lost through want of trying,” ses John +Biggs. “Tie ’im to the chair, mates.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, then,” ses the conjurer, very pale. “Don’t tie me; I’ll sit still +all right if you like, but you’d better bring the chair outside in case of +accidents. Bring it in the front.” +</p> + +<p> +George Kettle said it was all nonsense, but the conjurer said the trick was +always better done in the open air, and at last they gave way and took ’im and +the chair outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” ses the conjurer, as ’e sat down, “all of you go and stand near the man +woe’s going to shoot. When I say ‘Three,’ fire. Why! there’s the watch on the +ground there!” +</p> + +<p> +He pointed with ’is finger, and as they all looked down he jumped up out o’ +that chair and set off on the road to Wickham as ’ard as ’e could run. It was +so sudden that nobody knew wot ’ad ’appened for a moment, and then George +Kettle, wot ’ad been looking with the rest, turned round and pulled the +trigger. +</p> + +<p> +There was a bang that pretty nigh deafened us, and the back o’ the chair was +blown nearly out. By the time we’d got our senses agin the conjurer was a’most +out o’ sight, and Bob Pretty was explaining to John Biggs wot a good job it was +’is watch ’adn’t been a gold one. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s wot comes o’ trusting a foreigner afore a man wot you’ve known all your +life,” he ses, shaking his ’ead. “I ’ope the next man wot tries to take my good +name away won’t get off so easy. I felt all along the trick couldn’t be done; +it stands to reason it couldn’t. I done my best, too.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a> +ADMIRAL PETERS +</h2> + +<p> +Mr. George Burton, naval pensioner, sat at the door of his lodgings gazing in +placid content at the sea. It was early summer, and the air was heavy with the +scent of flowers; Mr. Burton’s pipe was cold and empty, and his pouch upstairs. +He shook his head gently as he realised this, and, yielding to the drowsy quiet +of his surroundings, laid aside the useless pipe and fell into a doze. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus68"></a> +<img src="images/068.jpg" width="567" height="430" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +He was awakened half an hour later by the sound of footsteps. A tall, strongly +built man was approaching from the direction of the town, and Mr. Burton, as he +gazed at him sleepily, began to wonder where he had seen him before. Even when +the stranger stopped and stood smiling down at him his memory proved unequal to +the occasion, and he sat staring at the handsome, shaven face, with its little +fringe of grey whisker, waiting for enlightenment. +</p> + +<p> +“George, my buck,” said the stranger, giving him a hearty slap on the shoulder, +“how goes it?” +</p> + +<p> +“D—— <i>Bless</i> my eyes, I mean,” said Mr. Burton, correcting himself, “if it +ain’t Joe Stiles. I didn’t know you without your beard.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me,” said the other. “It’s quite by accident I heard where you were +living, George; I offered to go and sling my hammock with old Dingle for a week +or two, and he told me. Nice quiet little place, Seacombe. Ah, you were lucky +to get your pension, George.” +</p> + +<p> +“I deserved it,” said Mr. Burton, sharply, as he fancied he detected something +ambiguous in his friend’s remark. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you did,” said Mr. Stiles; “so did I, but I didn’t get it. Well, +it’s a poor heart that never rejoices. What about that drink you were speaking +of, George?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hardly ever touch anything now,” replied his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking about myself,” said Mr. Stiles. “I can’t bear the stuff, but +the doctor says I must have it. You know what doctors are, George!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton did not deign to reply, but led the way indoors. +</p> + +<p> +“Very comfortable quarters, George,” remarked Mr. Stiles, gazing round the room +approvingly; “ship-shape and tidy. I’m glad I met old Dingle. Why, I might +never ha’ seen you again; and us such pals, too.” +</p> + +<p> +His host grunted, and from the back of a small cupboard, produced a bottle of +whisky and a glass, and set them on the table. After a momentary hesitation he +found another glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Our noble selves,” said Mr. Stiles, with a tinge of reproach in his tones, +“and may we never forget old friendships.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton drank the toast. “I hardly know what it’s like now, Joe,” he said, +slowly. “You wouldn’t believe how soon you can lose the taste for it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles said he would take his word for it. “You’ve got some nice little +public-houses about here, too,” he remarked. “There’s one I passed called the +Cock and Flowerpot; nice cosy little place it would be to spend the evening +in.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never go there,” said Mr. Burton, hastily. “I—a friend o’ mine here doesn’t +approve o’ public-’ouses.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with him?” inquired his friend, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s—it’s a ’er,” said Mr. Burton, in some confusion. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles threw himself back in his chair and eyed him with amazement. Then, +recovering his presence of mind, he reached out his hand for the bottle. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll drink her health,” he said, in a deep voice. “What’s her name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Dutton,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles, with one hand on his heart, toasted her feelingly; then, filling up +again, he drank to the “happy couple.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s very strict about drink,” said Mr. Burton, eyeing these proceedings with +some severity. +</p> + +<p> +“Any—dibs?” inquired Mr. Stiles, slapping a pocket which failed to ring in +response. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s comfortable,” replied the other, awkwardly. “Got a little stationer’s +shop in the town; steady, old-fashioned business. She’s chapel, and very +strict.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what you want,” remarked Mr. Stiles, placing his glass on the table. +“What d’ye say to a stroll?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton assented, and, having replaced the black bottle in the cupboard, led +the way along the cliffs toward the town some half-mile distant, Mr. Stiles +beguiling the way by narrating his adventures since they had last met. A +certain swagger and richness of deportment were explained by his statement that +he had been on the stage. +</p> + +<p> +“Only walking on,” he said, with a shake of his head. “The only speaking part I +ever had was a cough. You ought to ha’ heard that cough, George!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton politely voiced his regrets and watched him anxiously. Mr. Stiles, +shaking his head over a somewhat unsuccessful career, was making a bee-line for +the Cock and Flowerpot. +</p> + +<p> +“Just for a small soda,” he explained, and, once inside, changed his mind and +had whisky instead. Mr. Burton, sacrificing principle to friendship, had one +with him. The bar more than fulfilled Mr. Stiles’s ideas as to its cosiness, +and within the space of ten minutes he was on excellent terms with the regular +clients. Into the little, old-world bar, with its loud-ticking clock, its +Windsor-chairs, and its cracked jug full of roses, he brought a breath of the +bustle of the great city and tales of the great cities beyond the seas. +Refreshment was forced upon him, and Mr. Burton, pleased at his friend’s +success, shared mildly in his reception. It was nine o’clock before they +departed, and then they only left to please the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +“Nice lot o’ chaps,” said Mr. Stiles, as he stumbled out into the sweet, cool +air. “Catch hold—o’ my—arm, George. Brace me—up a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton complied, and his friend, reassured as to his footing, burst into +song. In a stentorian voice he sang the latest song from comic opera, and then +with an adjuration to Mr. Burton to see what he was about, and not to let him +trip, he began, in a lumbering fashion, to dance. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton, still propping him up, trod a measure with fewer steps, and cast +uneasy glances up the lonely road. On their left the sea broke quietly on the +beach below; on their right were one or two scattered cottages, at the doors of +which an occasional figure appeared to gaze in mute astonishment at the +proceedings. +</p> + +<p> +“Dance, George,” said Mr. Stiles, who found his friend rather an encumbrance. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Hs’h! Stop!</i>” cried the frantic Mr. Burton, as he caught sight of a +woman’s figure bidding farewell in a lighted doorway. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles replied with a stentorian roar, and Mr. Burton, clinging +despairingly to his jigging friend lest a worse thing should happen, cast an +imploring glance at Mrs. Dutton as they danced by. The evening was still light +enough for him to see her face, and he piloted the corybantic Mr. Stiles the +rest of the way home in a mood which accorded but ill with his steps. +</p> + +<p> +His manner at breakfast next morning was so offensive that Mr. Stiles, who had +risen fresh as a daisy and been out to inhale the air on the cliffs, was +somewhat offended. +</p> + +<p> +“You go down and see her,” he said, anxiously. “Don’t lose a moment; and +explain to her that it was the sea-air acting on an old sunstroke.” +</p> + +<p> +“She ain’t a fool,” said Mr. Burton, gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +He finished his breakfast in silence, and, leaving the repentant Mr. Stiles +sitting in the doorway with a pipe, went down to the widow’s to make the best +explanation he could think of on the way. Mrs. Dutton’s fresh-coloured face +changed as he entered the shop, and her still good eyes regarded him with +scornful interrogation. +</p> + +<p> +“I—saw you last night,” began Mr. Burton, timidly. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw you, too,” said Mrs. Dutton. “I couldn’t believe my eyesight at first.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was an old shipmate of mine,” said Mr. Burton. “He hadn’t seen me for +years, and I suppose the sight of me upset ’im.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” replied the widow; “that and the Cock and Flowerpot, too. I heard +about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would go,” said the unfortunate. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> needn’t have gone,” was the reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I ’ad to,” said Mr. Burton, with a gulp; “he—he’s an old officer o’ mine, and +it wouldn’t ha’ been discipline for me to refuse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Officer?” repeated Mrs. Dutton. +</p> + +<p> +“My old admiral,” said Mr. Burton, with a gulp that nearly choked him. “You’ve +heard me speak of Admiral Peters?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Admiral?</i>” gasped the astonished widow. “What, a-carrying on like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a reg’lar old sea-dog,” said Mr. Burton. “He’s staying with me, but of +course ’e don’t want it known who he is. I couldn’t refuse to ’ave a drink with +’im. I was under orders, so to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I suppose not,” said Mrs. Dutton, softening. “Fancy him staying with you!” +</p> + +<p> +“He just run down for the night, but I expect he’ll be going ’ome in an hour or +two,” said Mr. Burton, who saw an excellent reason now for hastening his +guest’s departure. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dutton’s face fell. “Dear me,” she murmured, “I should have liked to have +seen him; you have told me so much about him. If he doesn’t go quite so soon, +and you would like to bring him here when you come to-night, I’m sure I should +be very pleased.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll mention it to ’im,” said Mr. Burton, marvelling at the change in her +manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you say once that he was uncle to Lord Buckfast?” inquired Mrs. Dutton, +casually. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Burton, with unnecessary doggedness; “I did.” +</p> + +<p> +“The idea of an admiral staying with you!” said Mrs. Dutton. +</p> + +<p> +“Reg’lar old sea-dog,” said Mr. Burton again; “and, besides, he don’t want it +known. It’s a secret between us three, Mrs. Dutton.” +</p> + +<p> +“To be sure,” said the widow. “You can tell the admiral that I shall not +mention it to a soul,” she added, mincingly. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton thanked her and withdrew, lest Mr. Stiles should follow him up +before apprised of his sudden promotion. He found that gentleman, however, +still sitting at the front door, smoking serenely. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll stay with you for a week or two,” said Mr. Stiles, briskly, as soon as +the other had told his story. “It’ll do you a world o’ good to be seen on +friendly terms with an admiral, and I’ll put in a good word for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton shook his head. “No, she might find out,” he said, slowly. “I think +that the best thing is for you to go home after dinner, Joe, and just give ’er +a look in on the way, p’r’aps. You could say a lot o’ things about me in ’arf +an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, George,” said Mr. Stiles, beaming on him kindly; “when I put my hand to +the plough I don’t draw back. It’s a good speaking part, too, an admiral’s. I +wonder whether I might use old Peters’s language.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” said Mr. Burton, in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know how particular she is.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles sighed, and said that he would do the best he could without it. He +spent most of the day on the beach smoking, and when evening came shaved +himself with extreme care and brushed his serge suit with great perseverance in +preparation for his visit. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton performed the ceremony of introduction with some awkwardness; Mr. +Stiles was affecting a stateliness of manner which was not without distinction; +and Mrs. Dutton, in a black silk dress and the cameo brooch which had belonged +to her mother, was no less important. Mr. Burton had an odd feeling of +inferiority. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus69"></a> +<img src="images/069.jpg" width="489" height="447" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“It’s a very small place to ask you to, Admiral Peters,” said the widow, +offering him a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s comfortable, ma’am,” said Mr. Stiles, looking round approvingly. “Ah, you +should see some of the palaces I’ve been in abroad; all show and no comfort. +Not a decent chair in the place. And, as for the antimacassars——” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you making a long stay, Admiral Peters?” inquired the delighted widow. +</p> + +<p> +“It depends,” was the reply. “My intention was just to pay a flying visit to my +honest old friend Burton here—best man in my squadron—but he is so hospitable, +he’s been pressing me to stay for a few weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the admiral says he <i>must</i> get back to-morrow morning,” interposed +Mr. Burton, firmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Unless I have a letter at breakfast-time, Burton,” said Mr. Stiles, serenely. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton favoured him with a mutinous scowl. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I do hope you will,” said Mrs. Dutton. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a feeling that I shall,” said Mr. Stiles, crossing glances with his +friend. “The only thing is my people; they want me to join them at Lord +Tufton’s place.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dutton trembled with delight at being in the company of a man with such +friends. “What a change shore-life must be to you after the perils of the sea!” +she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said Mr. Stiles. “True! True!” +</p> + +<p> +“The dreadful fighting,” said Mrs. Dutton, closing her eyes and shuddering. +</p> + +<p> +“You get used to it,” said the hero, simply. “Hottest time I had I think was at +the bombardment of Alexandria. I stood alone. All the men who hadn’t been shot +down had fled, and the shells were bursting round me like—like fireworks.” +</p> + +<p> +The widow clasped her hands and shuddered again. +</p> + +<p> +“I was standing just behind ’im, waiting any orders he might give,” said Mr. +Burton. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you?” said Mr. Stiles, sharply—“were you? I don’t remember it, Burton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Mr. Burton, with a faint laugh, “I was just behind you, sir. If you +remember, sir, I said to you that it was pretty hot work.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles affected to consider. “No, Burton,” he said, bluffly—“no; so far as +my memory goes I was the only man there.” +</p> + +<p> +“A bit of a shell knocked my cap off, sir,” persisted Mr. Burton, making +laudable efforts to keep his temper. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll do, my man,” said the other, sharply; “not another word. You forget +yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the widow and began to chat about “his people” again to divert her +attention from Mr. Burton, who seemed likely to cause unpleasantness by either +bursting a blood-vessel or falling into a fit. +</p> + +<p> +“My people have heard of Burton,” he said, with a slight glance to see how that +injured gentleman was progressing. “He has often shared my dangers. We have +been in many tight places together. Do you remember those two nights when we +were hidden in the chimney at the palace of the Sultan of Zanzibar, Burton?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should think I do,” said Mr. Burton, recovering somewhat. +</p> + +<p> +“Stuck so tight we could hardly breathe,” continued the other. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never forget it as long as I live,” said Mr. Burton, who thought that +the other was trying to make amends for his recent indiscretion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, do tell me about it, Admiral Peters,” cried Mrs. Dutton. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely Burton has told you that?” said Mr. Stiles. +</p> + +<p> +“Never breathed a word of it,” said the widow, gazing somewhat reproachfully at +the discomfited Mr. Burton. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, tell it now, Burton,” said Mr. Stiles. +</p> + +<p> +“You tell it better than I do, sir,” said the other. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no,” said Mr. Stiles, whose powers of invention were not always to be +relied upon. “You tell it; it’s your story.” +</p> + +<p> +The widow looked from one to the other. “It’s your story, sir,” said Mr. +Burton. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I won’t tell it,” said Mr. Stiles. “It wouldn’t be fair to you, Burton. +I’d forgotten that when I spoke. Of course, you were young at the time, +still——” +</p> + +<p> +“I done nothing that I’m ashamed of, sir,” said Mr. Burton, trembling with +passion. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s very hard if I’m not to hear it,” said Mrs. Dutton, with her most +fascinating air. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles gave her a significant glance, and screwing up his lips nodded in +the direction of Mr. Burton. +</p> + +<p> +“At any rate, you were in the chimney with me, sir,” said that unfortunate. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” said the other, severely. “But what was I there for, my man?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton could not tell him; he could only stare at him in a frenzy of +passion and dismay. +</p> + +<p> +“What <i>were</i> you there for, Admiral Peters?” inquired Mrs. Dutton. +</p> + +<p> +“I was there, ma’am,” said the unspeakable Mr. Stiles, slowly—“I was there to +save the life of Burton. I never deserted my men—never. Whatever scrapes they +got into I always did my best to get them out. News was brought to me that +Burton was suffocating in the chimney of the Sultan’s favourite wife, and I——” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Sultan’s favourite wife!</i>” gasped Mrs. Dutton, staring hard at Mr. +Burton, who had collapsed in his chair and was regarding the ingenious Mr. +Stiles with open-mouthed stupefaction. “Good gracious! I—I never heard of such +a thing. I <i>am</i> surprised!” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Mr. Burton, thickly. “I—I——” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you escape, Admiral Peters?” inquired the widow, turning from the +flighty Burton in indignation. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles shook his head. “To tell you that would be to bring the French +Consul into it,” he said, gently. “I oughtn’t to have mentioned the subject at +all. Burton had the good sense not to.” +</p> + +<p> +The widow murmured acquiescence, and stole a look at the prosaic figure of the +latter gentleman which was full of scornful curiosity. With some diffidence she +invited the admiral to stay to supper, and was obviously delighted when he +accepted. +</p> + +<p> +In the character of admiral Mr. Stiles enjoyed himself amazingly, his one +regret being that no discriminating theatrical manager was present to witness +his performance. His dignity increased as the evening wore on, and from +good-natured patronage of the unfortunate Burton he progressed gradually until +he was shouting at him. Once, when he had occasion to ask Mr. Burton if he +intended to contradict him, his appearance was so terrible that his hostess +turned pale and trembled with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton adopted the air for his own use as soon as they were clear of Mrs. +Dutton’s doorstep, and in good round terms demanded of Mr. Stiles what he meant +by it. +</p> + +<p> +“It was a difficult part to play, George,” responded his friend. “We ought to +have rehearsed it a bit. I did the best I could.” +</p> + +<p> +“Best you could?” stormed Mr. Burton. “Telling lies and ordering me about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had to play the part without any preparation, George,” said the other, +firmly. “You got yourself into the difficulty by saying that I was the admiral +in the first place. I’ll do better next time we go.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton, with a nasty scowl, said that there was not going to be any next +time, but Mr. Stiles smiled as one having superior information. Deaf first to +hints and then to requests to seek his pleasure elsewhere, he stayed on, and +Mr. Burton was soon brought to realise the difficulties which beset the path of +the untruthful. +</p> + +<p> +The very next visit introduced a fresh complication, it being evident to the +most indifferent spectator that Mr. Stiles and the widow were getting on very +friendly terms. Glances of unmistakable tenderness passed between them, and on +the occasion of the third visit Mr. Burton sat an amazed and scandalised +spectator of a flirtation of the most pronounced description. A despairing +attempt on his part to lead the conversation into safer and, to his mind, more +becoming channels only increased his discomfiture. Neither of them took any +notice of it, and a minute later Mr. Stiles called the widow a “saucy little +baggage,” and said that she reminded him of the Duchess of Marford. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus70"></a> +<img src="images/070.jpg" width="508" height="391" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +“I <i>used</i> to think she was the most charming woman in England,” he said, +meaningly. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Dutton simpered and looked down; Mr. Stiles moved his chair a little +closer to her, and then glanced thoughtfully at his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Burton,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir,” snapped the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Run back and fetch my pipe for me,” said Mr. Stiles. “I left it on the +mantelpiece.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton hesitated, and, the widow happening to look away, shook his fist at +his superior officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Look sharp,” said Mr. Stiles, in a peremptory voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry, sir,” said Mr. Burton, whose wits were being sharpened by +misfortune, “but I broke it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Broke it?” repeated the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Burton. “I knocked it on the floor and trod on it by +accident; smashed it to powder.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles rated him roundly for his carelessness, and asked him whether he +knew that it was a present from the Italian Ambassador. +</p> + +<p> +“Burton was always a clumsy man,” he said, turning to the widow. “He had the +name for it when he was on the <i>Destruction</i> with me; ‘Bungling Burton’ +they called him.” +</p> + +<p> +He divided the rest of the evening between flirting and recounting various +anecdotes of Mr. Burton, none of which were at all flattering either to his +intelligence or to his sobriety, and the victim, after one or two futile +attempts at contradiction, sat in helpless wrath as he saw the infatuation of +the widow. They were barely clear of the house before his pent-up emotions fell +in an avalanche of words on the faithless Mr. Stiles. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help being good-looking,” said the latter, with a smirk. +</p> + +<p> +“Your good looks wouldn’t hurt anybody,” said Mr. Burton, in a grating voice; +“it’s the admiral business that fetches her. It’s turned ’er head.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles smiled. “She’ll say ‘snap’ to my ‘snip’ any time,” he remarked. “And +remember, George, there’ll always be a knife and fork laid for you when you +like to come.” +</p> + +<p> +“I dessay,” retorted Mr. Burton, with a dreadful sneer. “Only as it happens I’m +going to tell ’er the truth about you first thing to-morrow morning. If I can’t +have ’er you sha’n’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll spoil your chance, too,” said Mr. Stiles. “She’d never forgive you for +fooling her like that. It seems a pity neither of us should get her.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a sarpent,” exclaimed Mr. Burton, savagely—“a sarpent that I’ve warmed +in my bosom and——” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no call to be indelicate, George,” said Mr. Stiles, reprovingly, as he +paused at the door of the house. “Let’s sit down and talk it over quietly.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton followed him into the room and, taking a chair, waited. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s evident she’s struck with me,” said Mr. Stiles, slowly; “it’s also +evident that if you tell her the truth it might spoil my chances. I don’t say +it would, but it might. That being so, I’m agreeable to going back without +seeing her again by the six-forty train to-morrow morning if it’s made worth my +while.” +</p> + +<p> +“Made worth your while?” repeated the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said the unblushing Mr. Stiles. “She’s not a bad-looking woman—for +her age—and it’s a snug little business.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Burton, suppressing his choler, affected to ponder. “If ’arf a sovereign—” +he said, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Half a fiddlestick!” said the other, impatiently. “I want ten pounds. You’ve +just drawn your pension, and, besides, you’ve been a saving man all your life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten pounds?” gasped the other. “D’ye think I’ve got a gold-mine in the back +garden?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles leaned back in his chair and crossed his feet. “I don’t go for a +penny less,” he said, firmly. “Ten pounds and my ticket back. If you call me +any more o’ those names I’ll make it twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what am I to explain to Mrs. Dutton?” demanded Mr. Burton, after a quarter +of an hour’s altercation. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything you like,” said his generous friend. “Tell her I’m engaged to my +cousin, and our marriage keeps being put off and off on account of my eccentric +behaviour. And you can say that that was caused by a splinter of a shell +striking my head. Tell any lies you like; I shall never turn up again to +contradict them. If she tries to find out things about the admiral, remind her +that she promised to keep his visit here secret.” +</p> + +<p> +For over an hour Mr. Burton sat weighing the advantages and disadvantages of +this proposal, and then—Mr. Stiles refusing to seal the bargain without—shook +hands upon it and went off to bed in a state of mind hovering between homicide +and lunacy. +</p> + +<p> +He was up in good time next morning, and, returning the shortest possible +answers to the remarks of Mr. Stiles, who was in excellent feather, went with +him to the railway station to be certain of his departure. +</p> + +<p> +It was a delightful morning, cool and bright, and, despite his misfortunes. Mr. +Burton’s spirits began to rise as he thought of his approaching deliverance. +Gloom again overtook him at the booking-office, where the unconscionable Mr. +Stiles insisted firmly upon a first-class ticket. +</p> + +<p> +“Who ever heard of an admiral riding third?” he demanded, indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“But they don’t know you’re an admiral,” urged Mr. Burton, trying to humour +him. +</p> + +<p> +“No; but I feel like one,” said Mr. Stiles, slapping his pocket. “I’ve always +felt curious to see what it feels like travelling first-class; besides, you can +tell Mrs. Dutton.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could tell ’er that in any case,” returned Mr. Burton. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles looked shocked, and, time pressing, Mr. Burton, breathing so hard +that it impeded his utterance, purchased a first-class ticket and conducted him +to the carriage. Mr. Stiles took a seat by the window and lolling back put his +foot up on the cushions opposite. A large bell rang and the carriage-doors were +slammed. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye, George,” said the traveller, putting his head to the window. “I’ve +enjoyed my visit very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good riddance,” said Mr. Burton, savagely. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus71"></a> +<img src="images/071.jpg" width="458" height="733" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Stiles shook his head. “I’m letting you off easy,” he said, slowly. “If it +hadn’t ha’ been for one little thing I’d have had the widow myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“What little thing?” demanded the other, as the train began to glide slowly +out. +</p> + +<p> +“My wife,” said Mr. Stiles, as a huge smile spread slowly over his face. +“Good-bye, George, and don’t forget to give my love when you go round.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ODD CRAFT ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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