Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “I shall bring a breach o’ promise action agin ‘im for five thousand pounds,” said Mr. Kybird, with decision.

  “Talk sense,” said Nathan Smith, shortly.

  “Sense!” cried Mr. Kybird. “Is my gal to be played fast and loose with like that? Is my gal to be pitched over when ‘e likes? Is my gal—”

  “Wot’s the good o’ talking like that to me?” said the indignant Mr. Smith. “The best thing you can do is to get ‘er married to Teddy at once, afore ‘e knows of ‘is luck.”

  “And when’ll that be?” inquired his friend, in a calmer voice.

  “Any time,” said the boarding-master, shrugging his shoulders. “The old gentleman might go out to-night, or again ‘e might live on for a week or more. ‘E was so weak ‘e couldn’t ‘ardly sign ‘is name.”

  “I ‘ope ‘e ‘as signed it all right,” said Mr. Kybird, starting.

  “Safe as ‘ouses,” said his friend.

  “Well, why not wait till Teddy ‘as got the money?” suggested Mrs. Kybird, with a knowing shake of her head.

  “Becos,” said Mr. Smith, in a grating voice, “be-cos for one thing ‘e’d be a rich man then and could ‘ave ‘is pick. Teddy Silk on a pound or thereabouts a week and Teddy Silk with ten thousand pounds ‘ud be two different people. Besides that ‘e’d think she was marrying ‘im for ‘is money.”

  “If ‘e thought that,” said Mrs. Kybird, firmly, “I’d never forgive ‘im.”

  “My advice to you,” said Nathan Smith, shaking his forefinger impressively, “is to get ’em married on the quiet and as soon as possible. Once they’re tied up Teddy can’t ‘elp ‘imself.”

  “Why on the quiet?” demanded Mr. Kybird, sharply.

  The boarding-master uttered an impatient exclamation. “Becos if Mr. Swann got to ‘ear of it he’d guess I’d been blabbing, for one thing,” he said, sharply, “and for another, ‘e left it to ‘im partly to make up for ‘is disappointment — he’d been disappointed ‘imself in ‘is younger days, so ‘e told me.”

  “Suppose ‘e managed to get enough strength to alter ‘is will?”

  Mr. Kybird shivered. “It takes time to get married, though,” he objected.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Smith, ironically, “it does. Get round young Teddy, and then put the banns up. Take your time about it, and be sure and let Mr. Swann know. D’ye think ‘e wouldn’t understand wot it meant, and spoil it, to say nothing of Teddy seeing through it?

  “Well, wot’s to be done, then?” inquired the staring Mr. Kybird.

  “Send ’em up to London and ‘ave ’em married by special license,” said Mr. Smith, speaking rapidly— “to-morrow, if possible; if not, the day after. Go and pitch a tale to Teddy to-night, and make ‘im understand it’s to be done on the strict q.t.”

  “Special licenses cost money,” said Mr. Kybird. “I ‘ave ‘eard it’s a matter o’ thirty pounds or thereabouts.”

  Mr. Nathan Smith rose, and his eyes were almost expressive. He nodded good-night to the ladies and crossed to the door. Mrs. Kybird suddenly seized him by the coat and held him.

  “Don’t be in a ‘urry, Nat,” she pleaded. “We ain’t all as clever as you are.”

  “Talk about looking a gift-’orse in the mouth—” began the indignant Mr. Smith.

  “Sit down,” urged Mr. Kybird. “You can’t expect us to be as quick in seeing things as wot you are.”

  He pushed his partly mollified friend into his chair again, and taking a seat next him began to view the affair with enthusiasm. “‘Melia shall turn young Nugent off to-night,” he said, firmly.

  “That’s right,” said the other; “go and do a few more silly things like that and we shall be ‘appy. If you’d got a ‘ead instead of wot you ‘ave got, you wouldn’t talk of giving the show away like that. Nobody must know or guess about anything until young Teddy is married to ‘Melia and got the money.”

  “It seems something like deceitfulness,” said Miss Kybird, who had been listening to the plans for her future with admirable composure.

  “It’s for Teddy’s own sake,” said Nathan Smith. “Everybody knows ‘e’s half crazy after you.”

  “I don’t know that I don’t like ‘im best, even without the money,” said Miss Kybird, calmly. “Nobody could ‘ave been more attentive than ‘im. I believe that ‘e’d marry me if ‘e ‘ad a hundred thousand, but it looks better your way.”

  “Better all round,” said Nathan Smith, with at approving nod. “Now, Dan’l, ‘op round to Teddy and whistle ‘im back, and mind ‘e’s to keep it a dead secret on account o’ trouble with young Nugent. D’ye twig?”

  The admiring Mr. Kybird said that he was a wonder, and, in the discussion on ways and means which followed, sat listening with growing respect to the managing abilities both of his friend and his wife. Difficulties were only mentioned for the purpose of being satisfactorily solved, and he noticed with keen appreciation that the prospect of a ten thousand pound son-in-law was already adding to that lady’s dignity. She sniffed haughtily as she spoke of “that Nugent lot”; and the manner in which she promised Mr. Smith that he should not lose by his services would have graced a duchess.

  “I didn’t expect to lose by it,” said the boarding-master, pointedly. “Come over and ‘ave a glass at the Chequers, Dan, and then you can go along and see Teddy.”

  CHAPTER XXIII

  The summer evening was well advanced when Mr. Kybird and his old friend parted. The former gentleman was in almost a sentimental mood, and the boarding-master, satisfied that his pupil was in a particularly appropriate frame of mind for the object of his visit, renewed his instructions about binding Mr. Silk to secrecy, and departed on business of his own.

  Mr. Kybird walked slowly towards Fullalove Alley with his head sunk in meditation. He was anxious to find Mr. Silk alone, as otherwise the difficulty of his errand would be considerably increased, Mrs. Silk’s intelligence being by no means obscured by any ungovernable affection for the Kybird family. If she was at home she would have to invent some pretext for luring Teddy into the privacy of the open air.

  The lamp was lit in the front room by the time he reached the house, and the shadows of geraniums which had won through several winters formed a straggling pattern on the holland blind. Mr. Kybird, first making an unsuccessful attempt to peep round the edges of this decoration, tapped gently on the door, and in response to a command to “Come in,” turned the handle and looked into the room. To his relief, he saw that Mr. Silk was alone.

  “Good evening, Teddy,” he said, with a genial smile, as he entered slowly and closed the door behind him. “I ‘ope I see you well?”

  “I’m quite well,” returned Mr. Silk, gazing at him with unconcealed surprise.

  “I’m glad to ‘ear it,” said Mr. Kybird, in a somewhat reproachful voice, “for your sake; for every-body’s sake, though, p’r’aps, I did expect to find you looking a little bit down. Ah! it’s the wimmen that ‘ave the ‘arts after all.”

  Mr. Silk coughed. “What d’ye mean?” he inquired, somewhat puzzled.

  “I came to see you, Teddy, on a very delikit business,” said Mr. Kybird, taking a seat and gazing diffidently at his hat as he swung it between his hands; “though, as man to man, I’m on’y doing of my dooty. But if you don’t want to ‘ear wot I’ve got to say, say so, and Dan’l Kybird’ll darken your door no more.”

  “How can I know whether I want to ‘ear it or not when I don’t know wot it is?” said Mr. Silk, judiciously.

  Mr. Kybird sat biting his thumb-nail, then he looked up suddenly. “‘Melia,” he said, with an outburst of desperate frankness, “‘Melia is crying ‘er eyes out.”

  Mr. Silk, with a smothered exclamation, started up from his chair and regarded him eagerly.

  “If she knew I’d been ‘ere,” pursued Mr. Kybird, “she’d I don’t know wot she wouldn’t do. That’s ‘er pride; but I’ve got my pride too; the pride of a father’s ‘art.”

  “What — what’s she crying abo
ut?” inquired Mr. Silk, in an unsteady voice.

  “She’s been looking poorly for some time,” continued the veracious Mr. Kybird, “and crying. When I tell you that part o’ the wedding-dress wot she was making ‘ad to be taken away from ‘er because o’ the tears she dropped on it, you may ‘ave some idea of wot things are like. She’s never forgot you, Teddy, and it was on’y your quick temper that day that made ‘er take on with young Nugent. She’s got a temper, too, but she give ‘er love once, and, being my daughter, she couldn’t give it agin.”

  He stole a glance at his listener. Mr. Silk, very pale and upright, was standing on the hearthrug, shaking all over with nervous excitement. Twice he tried to speak and failed.

  “That’s ‘ow it is, Teddy,” sighed Mr. Kybird, rising as though to depart. “I’ve done my dooty. It was a ‘ard thing to do, but I’ve done it.”

  “Do you mean,” said Mr. Silk, recovering his voice at last, “do you mean that Amelia would marry me after all?”

  “Do I mean?” repeated Mr. Kybird, naturally indignant that his very plain speaking should be deemed capable of any misconstruction. “Am I speaking to a stock or a stone, Teddy?”

  Mr. Silk took a deep breath, and buttoned up his coat, as though preparing to meet Mr. Nugent there and then in deadly encounter for the person of Miss Kybird. The colour was back in his cheeks by this time, and his eyes were unusually bright. He took a step towards Mr. Kybird and, pressing his hand warmly, pushed him back into his seat again.

  “There’s ‘er pride to consider, Teddy,” said the latter gentleman, with the whisper of a conspirator.

  “She can’t stand being talked about all over the town and pointed at.”

  “Let me see anybody a-pointing at ‘er,” said the truculent Mr. Silk; “let me see ’em, that’s all.”

  “That’s the way to talk, Teddy,” said Mr. Kybird, gazing at him with admiration.

  “Talk!” said the heroic Mr. Silk. “I’ll do more than talk.” He clenched his fists and paced boldly up and down the hearthrug.

  “You leave things to me,” said Mr. Kybird, with a confidential wink. “I’ll see that it’s all right. All I ask of you is to keep it a dead secret; even your mother mustn’t know.”

  “I’ll be as secret as the grave,” said the overjoyed Mr. Silk.

  “There’s lots o’ things to be taken into consideration,” said Mr. Kybird, truthfully; “it might be as well for you to be married immediate.”

  “Immediate?” said the astonished Mr. Silk.

  “She ‘asn’t got the nerve to send young Nugent about ‘is business,” explained Mr. Kybird; “she feels sorry for ‘im, pore fellow; but ‘e’s got a loving and affectionate ‘art, and she can’t bear ‘im making love to ‘er. You can understand what it is, can’t you?”

  “I can imagine it,” said Mr. Silk, gloomily, and he flushed crimson as the possibilities suggested by the remark occurred to him.

  “I’ve been thinking it over for some time,” resumed Mr. Kybird; “twisting it and turning it all ways, and the only thing I can see for it is for you to be married on the strict q.t. Of course, if you don’t like—”

  “Like!” repeated the transported Mr. Silk.

  “I’ll go and be married now, if you like.”

  Mr. Kybird shook his head at such haste, and then softening a little observed that it did him credit. He proceeded to improve the occasion by anecdotes of his own courting some thirty years before, and was in the middle of a thrilling account of the manner in which he had bearded the whose of his future wife’s family, when a quick step outside, which paused at the door, brought him to a sudden halt.

  “Mother,” announced Mr. Silk, in a whisper.

  Mr. Kybird nodded, and the heroic appearance of visage which had accompanied his tale gave way to an expression of some uneasiness. He coughed behind his hand, and sat gazing before him as Mrs. Silk entered the room and gave vent to an exclamation of astonishment as she saw the visitor. She gazed sharply from him to her son. Mr. Kybird’s expression was now normal, but despite his utmost efforts Mr. Silk could not entirely banish the smile which trembled on his lips.

  “Me and Teddy,” said Mr. Kybird, turning to her with a little bob, which served him for a bow, “‘ave just been having a little talk about old times.”

  “He was just passing,” said Mr. Silk.

  “Just passing, and thought I’d look in,” said Mr. Kybird, with a careless little laugh; “the door was open a bit.”

  “Wide open,” corroborated Mr. Silk.

  “So I just came in to say ‘‘Ow d’ye do?’” said Mr. Kybird.

  Mrs. Silk’s sharp, white face turned from one to the other. “Ave you said it?” she inquired, blandly.

  “I ‘ave,” said Mr. Kybird, restraining Mr. Silk’s evident intention of hot speech by a warning glance; “and now I’ll just toddle off ‘ome.”

  “I’ll go a bit o’ the way with you,” said Edward Silk. “I feel as if a bit of a walk would do me good.”

  Left alone, the astonished Mrs. Silk took the visitor’s vacated chair and, with wrinkled brow, sat putting two and two together until the sum got beyond her powers of calculation. Mr. Kybird’s affability and Teddy’s cheerfulness were alike incomprehensible. She mended a hole in her pocket and darned a pair of socks, and at last, anxious for advice, or at least a confidant, resolved to see Mr. Wilks.

  She opened the door and looked across the alley, and saw with some satisfaction that his blind was illuminated. She closed the door behind her sharply, and then stood gasping on the doorstep. So simultaneous were the two happenings that it actually appeared as though the closing of the door had blown Mr. Wilks’s lamp out. It was a night of surprises, but after a moment’s hesitation she stepped over and tried his door. It was fast, and there was no answer to her knuckling. She knocked louder and listened. A door slammed violently at the back of the house, a distant clatter of what sounded like saucepans came from beyond, and above it all a tremulous but harsh voice bellowed industriously through an interminable chant. By the time the third verse was reached Mr. Wilks’s neighbours on both sides were beating madly upon their walls and blood-curdling threats strained through the plaster.

  She stayed no longer, but regaining her own door sat down again to await the return of her son. Mr. Silk was long in coming, and she tried in vain to occupy herself with various small jobs as she speculated in vain on the meaning of the events of the night. She got up and stood by the open door, and as she waited the clock in the church-tower, which rose over the roofs hard by, slowly boomed out the hour of eleven. As the echoes of the last stroke died away the figure of Mr. Silk turned into the alley.

  “You must ‘ave ‘ad quite a nice walk,” said his mother, as she drew back into the room and noted the brightness of his eye.

  “Yes,” was the reply.

  “I s’pose ‘e’s been and asked you to the wedding?” said the sarcastic Mrs. Silk.

  Her son started and, turning his back on her, wound up the clock. “Yes, ‘e has,” he said, with a, sly grin.

  Mrs. Silk’s eyes snapped. “Well, of all the impudence,” she said, breathlessly.

  “Well, ‘e has,” said her son, hugging himself over the joke. “And, what’s more, I’m going.”

  He composed his face sufficiently to bid her “good-night,” and, turning a deaf ear to her remonstrances and inquiries, took up a candle and were off whistling.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  The idea in the mind of Mr. James Hardy when he concocted his infamous plot was that Jack Nugent would be summarily dismissed on some pretext by Miss Kybird, and that steps would at once be taken by her family to publish her banns together with those of Mr. Silk. In thinking thus he had made no allowance for the workings and fears of such a capable mind as Nathan Smith’s, and as days passed and nothing happened he became a prey to despair.

  He watched Mr. Silk keenly, but that gentleman went about his work in his usual quiet and gloomy fashion, and, after a day’s l
eave for the purpose of arranging the affairs of a sick aunt in Camberwell, came back only a little less gloomy than before. It was also clear that Mr. Swann’s complaisance was nearly at an end, and a letter, couched in vigorous, not to say regrettable, terms for a moribund man, expressed such a desire for fresh air and exercise that Hardy was prepared to see him at any moment.

  It was the more unfortunate as he thought that he had of late detected a slight softening in Captain Nugent’s manner towards him. On two occasions the captain, who was out when he called, had made no comment to find upon his return that the visitor was being entertained by his daughter, going so far, indeed, as to permit the conversation to gain vastly in interest by that young person remaining in the room. In face of this improvement he thought with dismay of having to confess failure in a scheme which apart from success was inexcusable.

  The captain had also unbent in another direction, and Mr. Wilks, to his great satisfaction, was allowed to renew his visits to Equator Lodge and assist his old master in the garden. Here at least the steward was safe from the designs of Mrs. Silk and the innuendoes of Fullalove Alley.

  It was at this time, too, that the widow stood in most need of his advice, the behaviour of Edward Silk being of a nature to cause misgivings in any mother’s heart. A strange restlessness possessed him, varied with occasional outbursts of hilarity and good nature. Dark hints emanated from him at these times concerning a surprise in store for her at no distant date, hints which were at once explained away in a most unsatisfactory manner when she became too pressing in her inquiries. He haunted the High Street, and when the suspicious Mrs. Silk spoke of Amelia he only laughed and waxed humorous over such unlikely subjects as broken hearts and broken vows.

  It was a week after Mr. Kybird’s visit to the alley that he went, as usual, for a stroll up and down the High Street. The evening was deepening, and some of the shops had already lit up, as Mr. Silk, with his face against the window-pane, tried in vain to penetrate the obscurity of Mr. Kybird’s shop. He could just make out a dim figure behind the counter, which he believed to be Amelia, when a match was struck and a gas jet threw a sudden light in the shop and revealed Mr. Jack Nugent standing behind the counter with his hand on the lady’s shoulder.