Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “I heard of a man once who fell overboard,” said Captain Nibletts, softly, “and he turned up safe and sound twenty years arter.”

  “Married man?” enquired Miss Banks, softly.

  “He was,” said the captain, with the doggedness of a witness under cross-examination.

  Mrs. Church turned her eyes upwards. “Fancy the joyful meeting of husband and wife,” she said, sentimentally.

  “She died just two days afore he turned up,” said Captain Nibletts, simply.

  There was a frigid silence during which the three ladies, sinking for a time their differences, eyed him with every sign of strong disapprobation, Mrs. Banks giving vent to a sniff which disparaged the whole race of man.

  “As for men who fall overboard and get picked up and turn up months afterwards,” continued the faithful Nibletts, “why, every sailorman knows scores of ’em.”

  “I knowed seven,” said Captain Barber, with the exactness of untruth. “They didn’t seem to think much of it, didn’t seem to think it anything unusual, I mean.”

  “It ain’t,” said Nibletts, stoutly.

  The room relapsed into silence, and Captain Nibletts, finding Mrs. Church’s gaze somewhat trying got up to admire a beautiful oil painting on glass in a black frame which hung over the mantelpiece, and after a few encomiums on his host’s taste, bade him good-bye.

  “I’m coming with you,” said Barber, rising; “I’ve got some business to talk about.”

  “What, out again,” said Mrs. Church, tenderly, “after being on your poor feet all day?”

  Captain Barber murmured something inaudible in reply, and taking his hat from the sideboard went out with Nibletts, For a time they trudged along in silence until the latter, who wanted to go to his own home, ventured to ask where they were going.

  “All places are alike to me,” replied the old man, dismally. “I only want to get away, that’s all. She an’ Mrs. Banks are sure to have a turn and try and drag me into it.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back, and, pausing at a turn of the road, looked down upon the little quay below. Out in the river two or three small craft rode at anchor, while a bauble of cheerful voices from a distant boat only served to emphasise the stillness of the evening.

  “Looks quiet,” said Captain Nibletts, after watching him for some time.

  “I’m thinking of my nevy,” said Captain Barber, slowly. “I remember me an’ my sister bringing ‘im here when he was three year old, and I ‘ad to carry him all the way back. He put his arms round my neck, and I can smell peppermint-ball now.”

  Captain Nibletts, who did not quite follow him, attributed the outrage to a young couple who had just passed.

  “I’m all alone now,” continued Captain Barber, unheeding, “but I don’t want to marry. Why not? ‘Cos I’m too old, and because it’s like beginning where other people leave off.”

  “Well, make up your mind and tell her so,” said the other.

  “It wouldn’t do any good,” said Barber, dolefully.

  “Tell her to-night,” said Nibletts, “Come into the Thorn and have a glass, just so as to warm you up to it, and then get it over.”

  Captain Barber made no reply, but turning round led the way slowly back to the inn, and after acknowledging the respectful salutations of the crew of the schooner who were in the bar by ordering the landlady to fill their pots again, led the way into the parlour and began to charge himself for the interview.

  That he did not underestimate the difficulties of the ordeal was evident by the extent of his orders, and Captain Nibletts noted with satisfaction as the evening wore on that the old man’s spirits were improving considerably. Twice he sent out instructions to the bar to have the men’s mugs replenished, a proceeding which led to Mr. William Green being sent by the grateful crew to express their feelings in a neat little speech.

  “A very nice-spoken young fellow,” said Captain Barber, approvingly.

  He had some more whisky, and at the sounds of a step-dance on the brick floor of the adjoining taproom, took up his glass, and, followed by Nibletts, watched the proceedings from the doorway. Mr. William Green, who worshipped wealth and position, sidled up to him, and with much deference discussed the dancing.

  He made such a favourable impression that Cap-tain Barber, who was in a semi-maudlin mood, took him by the arm to the now deserted parlour, and ensconcing him in a corner, told him all his troubles and warned him of the pitfalls which beset the feet of good-looking bachelors. Mr. Green was sympathy itself, and for some time sat silently evolving various schemes for the deliverance of his patron.

  Captain Nibletts returning to the parlour a little later found them in close consultation. A ray of hope illuminated the somewhat heavy features of the old man, and, catching sight of the captain, he beckoned him to his side.

  “Me an’ this young man have thought of something,” he said, in a voice rendered husky with excitement.

  Nibletts waited.

  “He’s goin’ to call at my place,” continued the other, “and tell Mrs. Church that I’ve been took unwell at the Cauliflower at Mapleden, and want to see her, and he’s to bring her there at once. Arter they’ve started I go in and get to bed, and earthquakes wouldn’t wake me, let alone a knock at the door. D’ye see?”

  “What good’s that goin’ to do?” enquired the astonished listener.

  “Next day,” said Barber, in thrilling tones, as he placed his forefinger on the other’s arm, “I refuse to believe her story. Green, here, denies of it too, and sez ‘e saw her at the gate and asked her to go for a walk with him.”

  Captain Nibletts fingered his beard. “It don’t seem to be the sort of trick to play on a woman,” he expostulated, “an’ it’s four miles to Mapleden. What’s she goin’ to do?”

  “That’s ‘er lookout,” observed Captain Barber, with much composure, “all I know is she won’t wake me. I daresay she’ll come on to your place. Wimmen wot sets their caps at men wot don’t want ’em set at ’em must put up with the consequences.”

  “You give me half an hour, sir,” said Mr. Green, impressively, “and then you can come on as soon as you like. You’ll find the coast clear by then.”

  He bit off the end of the cigar presented by Captain Barber, and, thanking him effusively as he struck a match for him, quitted the inn. The two captains waited restlessly for the time specified, and then, finishing their drinks, went outside, and, standing in the light which streamed from the windows and doorway of the Thorn, gazed at the dark road beyond.

  “It looks all right,” said Barber, shaking hands. “Good-night.”

  “Good luck,” said Nibletts.

  The other, not without a little trepidation, walked towards his house, and opening the door, after a little difficulty, stood safely inside. The house was quiet and in darkness, except for the lamp which stood on the parlour-table, and after a moment’s survey he proceeded to shut up for the night.

  As a rule he was careless about such matters, but to-night no gaoler saw to his bolts and bars more carefully than he did. He returned to the parlour, having made all secure, and lighting his pipe for a few final whiffs before retiring, winked at himself solemnly in the glass. Then fearful that the housekeeper might return sooner than was expected, he blew out the lamp and smoked in the dark.

  He knocked out his pipe at last, and walked slowly and ponderously upstairs. He grinned again as he passed the door of the housekeeper’s room, and then, with a catch in his breath, clutched heavily at the banister as a soft female voice bade him “Good-night.”

  Captain Barber, surprised beyond all measure, was unable to speak.

  “I thought you’d got lost again,” said the voice, playfully. “Good-night.”

  “Good-night,” rejoined the other, in hollow tones. “Mrs. Banks stay long?” he enquired, pausing at his door.

  “She went just about half an hour before you came in,” replied the housekeeper. “Elizabeth went soon after you did, but her mother stop
ped on. She went very suddenly when she did go, and was very mysterious about it. Not that I want to know her business.”

  “Mysterious?” faltered the captain.

  “Some young man came to the door,” continued the innocent woman, “and they were talking in a low voice. I don’t know who it was, because Mrs. Banks let me see quite plainly that she didn’t want me to know. Then she just called out ‘Goodnight,’ and went off as fast as you please.”

  Captain Barber supported himself for a moment by the handle of his door, and then in a dazed way blundered into his room. He was a good-hearted man in a way, and pushing open the little casement he thrust out his head and sighed with genuine feeling as he thought of his poor old friend plodding slowly to Mapleden. Incidentally he felt a little bit sorry for Mr. William Green.

  He was awaked next morning after a somewhat restless night by the sounds of an unwonted noise downstairs, and lay in amazement listening to a hum of excited voices below. Knuckles rapped on his door and the voice of Mrs. Church, much agitated, requested him to rise and attire himself.

  He was out of bed at that and looking from the window. A small group of children stood in the road outside the house, while Joe and the cook with their arms on the fence were staring hard at his parlour window, occasionally varying the proceedings by a little conversation with the people next door, who were standing in their front garden. In a state of considerable agitation he hurriedly dressed himself and went downstairs.

  His sitting-room was full. Mrs. Banks, looking very tired, was sitting in the arm-chair taking smelling-salts at intervals, and staring fiercely at Mr. William Green, who was huddled in a corner smiling sheepishly behind Captain Nibletts and Ben.

  “What’s all this?” demanded Captain Barber, in a trembling voice, as his eye met Mr. Green’s.

  Several of Mrs. Banks’s relatives began speaking at once, assisted by some of the neighbours. The substance of their remarks was that a man. whose polite tongue hid the falseness of his heart, had lured Mrs. Banks for a four-mile walk to Mapleden late the preceding night under the pretence that Captain Barber, who was evidently hale and hearty, was lying ill at the Cauliflower. They demanded his immediate dismissal from the ship and his exemplary punishment by the law.

  “What ‘ave you got to say to this?” demanded Captain Barber of the villain, in tones of righteous indignation tempered by fear.

  “It isn’t true, sir,” said Mr. Green, respectfully. “I didn’t say anything of the kind.”

  “Wot did you say, then?” enquired Captain Barber, in a voice which the company thought far too mild for the occasion.

  “She was standing at the door as I passed,” said Mr. Green, nervously, “and I asked her to go for a walk with me.”

  “Lawk-a-mussy me!” screamed the horrified Mrs. Banks.

  “We went for a nice little stroll,” continued the graceless Mr. Green, “and then I s’pose she found it was later than she thought, and she began to make a fuss.”

  “Me, at my time o’ life?” demanded the indignant Mrs. Banks of the audience.

  “You did make a fuss,” said Mr. Green.

  “O’ course I made a fuss when I found out how I had been deceived. You were here when he came, Mrs. Church, weren’t you?”

  “I would rather not say anything about it,” said the housekeeper, freezingly.

  “I insist upon your speaking,” said the old lady, getting very red in the face.

  “Well, I don’t know much about it,” said the housekeeper, looking round appealingly. “I heard you speaking to somebody at the door in a low voice.”

  “It wasn’t a low voice,” interrupted Mrs. Banks, sharply.

  “Well, I couldn’t hear what you were saying, and then when you went outside and I asked you whether you were going home you said ‘yes,’ didn’t you?”

  “Are you sure she said she was going home?” said Mrs. Banks’s brother-in-law, in an awful voice, as the old lady sank back in her chair.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Church, with a fine show of reluctance.

  There was a dead silence, during which they all heard the smelling-salts drop.

  “If this man said Captain Barber was ill at Mapleden, why didn’t you tell me?” continued Mrs. Church, in a mildly aggrieved voice. “I think if anybody ought to have known, it should have been me.”

  “It’s all a fuss about nothing,” said Mr. Green, brazenly. “She stayed out a bit too late, and then wanted to put it all on to me.”

  A good Samaritan picked up the smelling-salts and held them to the victim’s nose, while her scandalized relatives discussed the situation in hurried whispers. The brother-in-law eyed her with bewildered disapproval, and in the disjointed accents peculiar to surprise was heard to make use of the words “friskiness” and “gallivanting” and “old enough to know better.”

  Her relatives’ remarks, however, caused Mrs. Banks comparatively little pain. Her attention was fully taken up by the housekeeper, in whose satisfied smile she saw a perfect recognition of the reasons for her action of the previous evening. She got up from her chair, and with a stateliness which her brother-in-law thought somewhat misplaced, took her daughter’s arm, and slowly left the room, her departure being the signal for a general breakup. By twos and threes the company drifted slowly up the road in her wake, while Captain Barber, going in the other direction, accompanied Captain Nibletts and party as far as the schooner, in order that he might have the opportunity of saying a few well-chosen words to Mr. Green on the subject of precipitancy.

  “If it ‘adn’t been for me tipping ‘im the wink, so as to let him know what line ‘e was to go on when I came down, where should I ‘ave been?” he demanded of Captain Nibletts.

  And that astonished mariner, with a helpless shake of his head, gave it up.

  CHAPTER XV.

  The Blue Posts, Chelsea, is an old-time public-house pleasantly situated by the river, with an extensive connection amongst gentlemen’s servants, ‘busmen, and other skilled judges of good beer, the subtle and delicate perfume of which liquor pervades the place from cellar to basement, and has more than once taken the policeman on duty to the back door, under the impression that something wanted looking into.

  To some men imprisonment in such a place would have been little short of ecstasy. In the heat of summer they would have sat in the cool cellar amid barrels of honest beer; in winter, they would have led the conversation cosily seated around the taproom fire. For exercise, profitable employment at the beer-engine in the bar; for intellectual exercise, the study of practical chemistry in the cellar.

  To Captain Fred Flower none of these things appealed. He had visited the cellar certainly — in search of subterranean exits; he had sat in the tap-room — close to the open window; but his rabid desire to get away from the place and never see it again could not have been surpassed by the most bitter teetotaler that ever breathed.

  His greatest trouble was with Porson, whose limpet-like qualities were a source of never-failing concern to the unfortunate mariner. Did he ascend to the drawing-room and gaze yearningly from the windows at the broad stream of Father Thames and the craft dropping down on the ebb-tide to the sea, Uncle Porson, sallow of face and unclean of collar, was there to talk beery romance of the ocean. Did he retire to the small yard at the rear of the premises and gaze from the back door at the passing life of a Chelsea by-street, Uncle Porson was looking over his shoulder, pointing out milkmen with histories, and cabmen with a past.

  The second week of his stay was drawing to a close before he fully realised the horror of his position. His foot, which had been giving him considerable trouble, was getting much better, though it was by no means well enough to give him a chance in a foot-race with Mr. Porson or Charles, and as the family at the Blue Posts realised the improvement, the attentions of his personal attendants were redoubled. The key of his bed-room door was turned every night after he had retired, a discovery he had made the first night after carefully dressing for flight and spendi
ng an hour over the composition of a farewell note to Miss Tipping. There was no chance of reaching the roof from his bed-room window, and the pavement below offered him his choice between a wedding and a funeral.

  And amid all this the fiction was maintained of preserving him from his lawless foes and his own inconvenient devotion to duty. A struggle for escape was not to be thought of, as the full measure of his deceitfulness would transpire in the event of failure, and the wedding drew nearer day by day, while his active brain was still casting about in vain for any means of escape.

  “Next Tuesday,” said Mrs. Tipping to her stepdaughter, as they sat in the much decorated drawing-room one afternoon, “you’ll be Mrs. Robinson.”

  Miss Tipping, who was sitting next to the skipper, looked at him languishingly, and put her head on his shoulder.

  “I can hardly believe it,” she said, coyly.

  Flower, who was in the same predicament, patted her head tenderly, as being easier than replying.

  “And I must say,” said Mrs. Tipping, regarding the pair, “I’m a plain woman, and I speak my mind, that if it was me, I should want to know more about him first.”

  “I’m quite satisfied, mar,” said Miss Tipping, without raising her head.

  “There’s your relations to be satisfied, Matilda,” said Uncle Porson, in an important voice.

  Miss Tipping raised her head and favoured the interrupter with a baleful stare, whereupon Mr. Porson, scratching his neck feebly, glanced at Mrs. Tipping for support.

  “Our relations needn’t come to see us,” said his niece, at length. “He’s marrying me, not my relations.”

  “He’s making me his uncle, at any rate,” said Mr. Porson, with a sudden access of dignity.

  “You don’t mind, Fred, do you?” asked Miss Tipping, anxiously.

  “I’d put up with more than that for your sake,” said Flower. “I needn’t tell people.”

  “That’s all very fine,” said Mrs. Tipping, taking up the cudgels for the speechless and glaring victim of these pleasantries, “but there’s no mystery about your uncle; everybody knows him. He doesn’t disappear just as he is going to get married, and be brought back in a cab months afterwards. He isn’t full of secrets he mustn’t tell people who ought to know.”