The Weaker Vessel

by W. W. Jacobs

marked that it brought on her cough again.

  "It's this house, I think," she said, with a resigned smile. "It neverdid agree with me.

  "Well, you've lived in it a good many years," said her husband,controlling himself with difficulty.

  "It's rather dark and small," said Mrs. Gribble. "Not but what it isgood enough for me. And I dare say it will last my time."

  "Nonsense!" said her husband, gruffly. "You want to get out a bitmore. You've got nothing to do now we are wasting all this money on aservant. Why don't you go out for little walks?"

  Mrs. Gribble went, after several promptings, and the fruit of one ofthem was handed by the postman to Mr. Gribble a few days afterwards.Half-choking with wrath and astonishment, he stood over his tremblingwife with the first draper's bill he had ever received.

  "One pound two shillings and threepence three-farthings!" he recited."It must be a mistake. It must be for somebody else."

  Mrs. Gribble, with her hand to her heart, tottered to the sofa and laythere with her eyes closed.

  "I had to get some dress material," she said, in a quavering voice."You want me to go out, and I'm so shabby I'm ashamed to be seen."

  Mr. Gribble made muffled noises in his throat; then, afraid to trusthimself, he went into the back-yard and, taking a seat on an upturnedbucket, sat with his head in his hands peering into the future.

  The dressmaker's bill and a bill for a new hat came after the nextmonthly payment; and a bill for shoes came a week later. Hoping muchfrom the well-known curative effects of fine feathers, he managed totreat the affair with dignified silence. The only time he allowed fullplay to his feelings Mrs. Gribble took to her bed for two days, and thedoctor had a heart-to-heart talk with him on the doorstep.

  It was a matter of great annoyance to him that his wife still continuedto attribute her ill-health to the smallness and darkness of the house;and the fact that there were only two of the houses in Charlton Groveleft caused a marked depression of spirits. It was clear that she wasfretting. The small servant went further, and said that she was fadingaway.

  They moved at the September quarter, and a slight, but temporary,improvement in Mrs. Gribble's health took place. Her cheeks flushed andher eyes sparkled over new curtains and new linoleum. The tiledhearths, and stained glass in the front door filled her with a deep andsolemn thankfulness. The only thing that disturbed her was the factthat Mr. Gribble, to avoid wasting money over necessaries, contrived tospend an unduly large portion on personal luxuries.

  "We ought to have some new things for the kitchen," she said one day.

  "No money," said Mr. Gribble, laconically.

  "And a mat for the bathroom."

  Mr. Gribble got up and went out.

  She had to go to him for everything. Two hundred a year and not a pennyshe could call her own! She consulted her heart, and that faithfulorgan responded with a bound that set her nerves quivering. If shecould only screw her courage to the sticking-point the question would besettled for once and all.

  White and trembling she sat at breakfast on the first of November,waiting for the postman, while the unconscious Mr. Gribble went on withhis meal. The double-knocks down the road came nearer and nearer, andMr. Gribble, wiping his mouth, sat upright with an air of alert andpleased interest. Rapid steps came to the front door, and a double bangfollowed.

  "Always punctual," said Mr. Gribble, good-humouredly.

  His wife made no reply, but, taking a blue-crossed envelope from themaid in her shaking fingers, looked round for a knife. Her gazeencountered Mr. Gribble's outstretched hand.

  "After you," he said sharply.

  Mrs. Gribble found the knife, and, hacking tremulously at the envelope,peeped inside it and, with her gaze fastened on the window, fumbled forher pocket. She was so pale and shook so much that the words died awayon her husband's lips.

  "You--you had better let me take care of that," he said, at last.

  "It is--all right," gasped his wife.

  She put her hand to her throat and, hardly able to believe in hervictory, sat struggling for breath. Before her, grim and upright, herhusband sat, a figure of helpless smouldering wrath.

  "You might lose it," he said, at last. "I sha'n't lose it," said hiswife.

  To avoid further argument, she arose and went slowly upstairs. Throughthe doorway Mr. Gribble saw her helping herself up by the banisters, herleft hand still at her throat. Then he heard her moving slowly about inthe bedroom overhead.

  He took out his pipe and filled it mechanically, and was just holding amatch to the tobacco when he paused and gazed with a puzzled air at theceiling. "Blamed if it don't sound like somebody dancing!" he growled.