by W. W. Jacobs
shan't come to no harm," said hisdaughter.
Mr. Jobson shook his head at her, and after eating his breakfast withgreat care, wiped his mouth on his handkerchief and went into the shop.
"I suppose it's all right," said Mrs. Jobson, looking after him, "buthe's taking it very serious--very."
"He washed his hands five times yesterday morning," said Dorothy, who hadjust come in from the shop to her breakfast; "and kept customers waitingwhile he did it, too."
"It's the cold-tub business I can't get over," said her mother. "I'msure it's more trouble to empty them than what it is to fill them.There's quite enough work in the 'ouse as it is."
"Too much," said Bert, with unwonted consideration.
"I wish he'd leave me alone," said Gladys. "My food don't do me no goodwhen he's watching every mouthful I eat."
Of murmurings such as these Mr. Jobson heard nothing, and in view of thegreat improvement in his dress and manners, a strong resolution waspassed to avoid the faintest appearance of discontent. Even when,satisfied with his own appearance, he set to work to improve that of Mrs.Jobson, that admirable woman made no complaint. Hitherto the brightnessof her attire and the size of her hats had been held to atone for herlack of figure and the roomy comfort of her boots, but Mr. Jobson,infected with new ideas, refused to listen to such sophistry. He wentshopping with Dorothy; and the Sunday after, when Mrs. Jobson went for anairing with him, she walked in boots with heels two inches high and toesthat ended in a point. A waist that had disappeared some years beforewas recaptured and placed in durance vile; and a hat which called for anew style of hair-dressing completed the effect.
"You look splendid, ma!" said Gladys, as she watched their departure."Splendid!"
"I don't feel splendid," sighed Mrs. Jobson to her husband. "These 'ereboots feel red-'ot."
"Your usual size," said Mr. Jobson, looking across the road.
"And the clothes seem just a teeny-weeny bit tight, p'r'aps," continuedhis wife.
Mr. Jobson regarded her critically. "P'r'aps they might have been letout a quarter of an inch," he: said, thoughtfully. "They're the best fityou've 'ad for a long time, mother. I only 'ope the gals'll 'ave suchgood figgers."
His wife smiled faintly, but, with little breath for conversation, walkedon for some time in silence. A growing redness of face testified to herdistress.
"I--I feel awful," she said at last, pressing her hand to her side."Awful."
"You'll soon get used to it," said Mr. Jobson, gently. "Look at me! Ifelt like you do at first, and now I wouldn't go back to old clothes--andcomfort--for anything. You'll get to love them boots.
"If I could only take 'em off I should love 'em better," said his wife,panting; "and I can't breathe properly--I can't breathe."
"You look ripping, mother," said her husband, simply.
His wife essayed another smile, but failed. She set her lips togetherand plodded on, Mr. Jobson chatting cheerily and taking no notice of thefact that she kept lurching against him. Two miles from home she stoppedand eyed him fixedly.
"If I don't get these boots off, Alf, I shall be a 'elpless cripple forthe rest of my days," she murmured. "My ankle's gone over three times."
"But you can't take 'em off here," said Mr. Jobson, hastily. "Think 'owit would look."
"I must 'ave a cab or something," said his wife, hysterically. "If Idon't get 'em off soon I shall scream."
She leaned against the iron palings of a house for support, while Mr.Jobson, standing on the kerb, looked up and down the road for a cab. Afour-wheeler appeared just in time to prevent the scandal--of Mrs. Jobsonremoving her boots in the street.
"Thank goodness," she gasped, as she climbed in. "Never mind aboutuntying 'em, Alf; cut the laces and get 'em off quick."
They drove home with the boots standing side by side on the seat in frontof them. Mr. Jobson got out first and knocked at the door, and as soonas it opened Mrs. Jobson pattered across the intervening space with theboots dangling from her hand. She had nearly reached the door when Mr.Foley, who had a diabolical habit of always being on hand when he wasleast wanted, appeared suddenly from the offside of the cab.
"Been paddlin'?" he inquired.
Mrs. Jobson, safe in her doorway, drew herself up and, holding the bootsbehind her, surveyed him with a stare of high-bred disdain.
"Been paddlin'?" he inquired
"I see you going down the road in 'em," said the unabashed Mr. Foley,"and I says to myself, I says, 'Pride'll bear a pinch, but she's goingtoo far. If she thinks that she can squeedge those little tootsywootsiesof 'ers into them boo--'"
The door slammed violently and left him exchanging grins with Mr. Jobson.
"How's the 'at?" he inquired.
Mr. Jobson winked. "Bet you a level 'arf-dollar I ain't wearing it nextSunday," he said, in a hoarse whisper.
Mr. Foley edged away.
"Not good enough," he said, shaking his head. "I've had a good many betswith you first and last, Alf, but I can't remember as I ever won one yet.So long."