by W. W. Jacobs
Produced by David Widger
SHIP'S COMPANY
By W.W. Jacobs
"Can I 'ave it took off while I eat my bloater, mother?"]
FINE FEATHERS
Mr. Jobson awoke with a Sundayish feeling, probably due to the fact thatit was Bank Holiday. He had been aware, in a dim fashion, of the risingof Mrs. Jobson some time before, and in a semi-conscious condition hadtaken over a large slice of unoccupied territory. He stretched himselfand yawned, and then, by an effort of will, threw off the clothes andspringing out of bed reached for his trousers.
He was an orderly man, and had hung them every night for over twentyyears on the brass knob on his side of the bed. He had hung them therethe night before, and now they had absconded with a pair of red bracesjust entering their teens. Instead, on a chair at the foot of the bedwas a collection of garments that made him shudder. With tremblingfingers he turned over a black tailcoat, a white waistcoat, and a pair oflight check trousers. A white shirt, a collar, and tie kept themcompany, and, greatest outrage of all, a tall silk hat stood on its ownband-box beside the chair. Mr. Jobson, fingering his bristly chin,stood: regarding the collection with a wan smile.
"So that's their little game, is it?" he muttered. "Want to make a toffof me. Where's my clothes got to, I wonder?"
A hasty search satisfied him that they were not in the room, and, pausingonly to drape himself in the counterpane, he made his way into the next.He passed on to the others, and then, with a growing sense of alarm,stole softly downstairs and making his way to the shop continued thesearch. With the shutters up the place was almost in darkness, and inspite of his utmost care apples and potatoes rolled on to the floor andtravelled across it in a succession of bumps. Then a sudden turn broughtthe scales clattering down.
"Good gracious, Alf!" said a voice. "Whatever are you a-doing of?"
Mr. Jobson turned and eyed his wife, who was standing at the door.
"I'm looking for my clothes, mother," he replied, briefly.
"Clothes!" said Mrs. Jobson, with an obvious attempt at unconcernedspeech. "Clothes! Why, they're on the chair."
"I mean clothes fit for a Christian to wear--fit for a greengrocer towear," said Mr. Jobson, raising his voice.
"It was a little surprise for you, dear," said his wife. "Me and Bertand Gladys and Dorothy 'ave all been saving up for it for ever so long."
"It's very kind of you all," said Mr. Jobson, feebly--"very, but--"
"They've all been doing without things themselves to do it," interjectedhis wife. "As for Gladys, I'm sure nobody knows what she's given up."
"Well, if nobody knows, it don't matter," said Mr. Jobson. "As I wassaying, it's very kind of you all, but I can't wear 'em. Where's myothers?"
Mrs. Jobson hesitated.
"Where's my others?" repeated her husband.
"They're being took care of," replied his wife, with spirit. "AuntEmma's minding 'em for you--and you know what she is. H'sh! Alf! Alf!I'm surprised at you!"
Mr. Jobson coughed. "It's the collar, mother," he said at last. "Iain't wore a collar for over twenty years; not since we was walking outtogether. And then I didn't like it."
"More shame for you," said his wife. "I'm sure there's no otherrespectable tradesman goes about with a handkerchief knotted round hisneck."
"P'r'aps their skins ain't as tender as what mine is," urged Mr. Jobson;"and besides, fancy me in a top-'at! Why, I shall be the laughing-stockof the place."
"Nonsense!" said his wife. "It's only the lower classes what wouldlaugh, and nobody minds what they think."
Mr. Jobson sighed. "Well, I shall 'ave to go back to bed again, then,"he said, ruefully. "So long, mother. Hope you have a pleasant time atthe Palace."
He took a reef in the counterpane and with a fair amount of dignity,considering his appearance, stalked upstairs again and stood gloomilyconsidering affairs in his bedroom. Ever since Gladys and Dorothy hadbeen big enough to be objects of interest to the young men of theneighbourhood the clothes nuisance had been rampant. He peeped throughthe window-blind at the bright sunshine outside, and then looked back atthe tumbled bed. A murmur of voices downstairs apprised him that theconspirators were awaiting the result.
He dressed at last and stood like a lamb--a redfaced, bull-necked lamb--while Mrs. Jobson fastened his collar for him.
"Bert wanted to get a taller one," she remarked, "but I said this woulddo to begin with."
"Wanted it to come over my mouth, I s'pose," said the unfortunate Mr.Jobson. "Well, 'ave it your own way. Don't mind about me. What withthe trousers and the collar, I couldn't pick up a sovereign if I saw onein front of me."
"If you see one I'll pick it up for you," said his wife, taking up thehat and moving towards the door. "Come along!"
Mr. Jobson, with his arms standing out stiffly from his sides and hishead painfully erect, followed her downstairs, and a sudden hush as heentered the kitchen testified to the effect produced by his appearance.It was followed by a hum of admiration that sent the blood flying to hishead.
"Why he couldn't have done it before I don't know," said the dutifulGladys. "Why, there ain't a man in the street looks a quarter as smart."
"Fits him like a glove!" said Dorothy, walking round him.
"Just the right length," said Bert, scrutinizing the coat.
"And he stands as straight as a soldier," said Gladys, clasping her handsgleefully.
"Collar," said Mr. Jobson, briefly. "Can I 'ave it took off while I eatmy bloater, mother?"
"Don't be silly, Alf," said his wife. "Gladys, pour your father out anice, strong, Pot cup o' tea, and don't forget that the train starts atha' past ten."
"It'll start all right when it sees me," observed Mr. Jobson, squintingdown at his trousers.
Mother and children, delighted with the success of their scheme, laughedapplause, and Mr. Jobson somewhat gratified at the success of his retort,sat down and attacked his breakfast. A short clay pipe, smoked as adigestive, was impounded by the watchful Mrs. Jobson the moment he hadfinished it.
"He'd smoke it along the street if I didn't," she declared.
"And why not?" demanded her husband--always do."
"Not in a top-'at," said Mrs. Jobson, shaking her head at him.
"Or a tail-coat," said Dorothy.
"One would spoil the other," said Gladys.
"I wish something would spoil the hat," said Mr. Jobson, wistfully."It's no good; I must smoke, mother."
Mrs. Jobson smiled, and, going to the cupboard, produced, with a smile oftriumph, an envelope containing seven dangerous-looking cigars. Mr.Jobson whistled, and taking one up examined it carefully.
"What do they call 'em, mother?" he inquired. "The 'Cut and Try AgainSmokes'?"
Mrs. Jobson smiled vaguely. "Me and the girls are going upstairs to getready now," she said. "Keep your eye on him, Bert!"
Father and son grinned at each other, and, to pass the time, took a cigarapiece. They had just finished them when a swish and rustle of skirtssounded from the stairs, and Mrs. Jobson and the girls, beautifullyattired, entered the room and stood buttoning their gloves. A strongsmell of scent fought with the aroma of the cigars.
"You get round me like, so as to hide me a bit," entreated Mr. Jobson, asthey quitted the house. "I don't mind so much when we get out of ourstreet."
Mrs. Jobson laughed his fears to scorn.
"Well, cross the road, then," said Mr. Jobson, urgently. "There's BillFoley standing at his door."
His wife sniffed. "Let him stand," she said, haughtily.
Mr. Foley failed to avail himself of the permission. He regarded Mr.Jobson with dilated eyeballs, and, as the party approached, sank slowlyinto a sitting position on his doorste
p, and as the door opened behindhim rolled slowly over onto his back and presented an enormous pair ofhobnailed soles to the gaze of an interested world.
"I told you 'ow it would be," said the blushing Mr. Jobson. "You knowwhat Bill's like as well as I do."
His wife tossed her head and they all quickened their pace. The voice ofthe ingenious Mr. Foley calling piteously for his mother pursued