Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

“Wot about all that money I paid for the license?” demanded Mr. Kybird, in a threatening manner. “Wot are you going to do about it?”

  “You shall ‘ave it,” said the boarding-master, with sudden blandness, “and ‘Melia shall ‘ave ‘er five ‘undred.”

  “‘Ow?” inquired the other, staring.

  “It’s as easy as easy,” said Mr. Smith, who had been greatly galled by his friend’s manner. “I’ll leave it in my will. That’s the cheapest way o’ giving money I know of. And while I’m about it I’ll leave you a decent pair o’ trousers and a shirt with your own name on it.”

  While an ancient friendship was thus being dissolved, Mr. Adolphus Swann was on the way to his office. He could never remember such a pleasant air from the water and such a vivid enjoyment in the sight of the workaday world. He gazed with delight at the crowd of miscellaneous shipping in the harbour and the bustling figures on the quay, only pausing occasionally to answer anxious inquiries concerning his health from seafaring men in tarry trousers, who had waylaid him with great pains from a distance.

  He reached his office at last, and, having acknowledged the respectful greetings of Mr. Silk, passed into the private room, and celebrated his return to work by at once arranging with his partner for a substantial rise in the wages of that useful individual.

  “My conscience is troubling me,” he declared, as he hung up his hat and gazed round the room with much relish.

  “Silk is happy enough,” said Hardy. “It is the best thing that could have happened to him.”

  “I should like to raise everybody’s wages,” said the benevolent Mr. Swann, as he seated himself at his desk. “Everything is like a holiday to me after being cooped up in that bedroom; but the rest has done me a lot of good, so Blaikie says. And now what is going to happen to you?”

  Hardy shook his head.

  “Strike while the iron is hot,” said the ship-broker. “Go and see Captain Nugent before he has got used to the situation. And you can give him to understand, if you like (only be careful how you do it), that I have got something in view which may suit his son. If you fail in this affair after all I’ve done for you, I’ll enter the lists myself.”

  The advice was good, but unnecessary, Mr. Hardy having already fixed on that evening as a suitable opportunity to disclose to the captain the nature of the efforts he had been making on his behalf. The success which had attended them had put him into a highly optimistic mood, and he set off for Equator Lodge with the confident feeling that he had, to say the least of it, improved his footing there.

  Captain Nugent, called away from his labours in the garden, greeted his visitor in his customary short manner as he entered the room. “If you’ve come to tell me about this marriage, I’ve heard of it,” he said, bluntly. “Murchison told me this afternoon.”

  “He didn’t tell you how it was brought about, I suppose?” said Hardy.

  The captain shook his head. “I didn’t ask him,” he said, with affected indifference, and sat gazing out at the window as Hardy began his narration. Two or three times he thought he saw signs of appreciation in his listener’s face, but the mouth under the heavy moustache was firm and the eyes steady. Only when he related Swann’s interview with Nathan Smith and Kybird did the captain’s features relax. He gave a chuckling cough and, feeling for his handkerchief, blew his nose violently. Then, with a strange gleam in his eye, he turned to the young man opposite.

  “Very smart,” he said, shortly.

  “It was successful,” said the other, modestly.

  “Very,” said the captain, as he rose and confronted him. “I am much obliged, of course, for the trouble you have taken in the affairs of my family. And now I will remind you of our agreement.”

  “Agreement?” repeated the other.

  The captain nodded. “Your visits to me were to cease when this marriage happened, if I wished it,” he said, slowly.

  “That was the arrangement,” said the dumb-founded Hardy, “but I had hoped —— . Besides, it has all taken place much sooner than I had anticipated.”

  “That was the bargain,” said the captain, stiffly. “And now I’ll bid you good-day.”

  “I am sorry that my presence should be so distasteful to you,” said the mortified Hardy.

  “Distasteful, sir?” said the captain, sternly. “You have forced yourself on me for twice a week for some time past. You have insisted upon talking on every subject under the sun, whether I liked it or not. You have taken every opportunity of evading my wishes that you should not see my daughter, and you wonder that I object to you. For absolute brazenness you beat anything I have ever encountered.”

  “I am sorry,” said Hardy, again.

  “Good evening,” said the captain

  “Good evening.”

  Crestfallen and angry Hardy moved to the door, pausing with his hand on it as the captain spoke again.

  “One word more,” said the older man, gazing at him oddly as he stroked his grey beard; “if ever you try to come bothering me with your talk again I’ll forbid you the house.”

  “Forbid me the house?” repeated the astonished Hardy.

  “That’s what I said,” replied the other; “that’s plain English, isn’t it?”

  Hardy looked at him in bewilderment; then, as the captain’s meaning dawned upon him, he stepped forward impulsively and, seizing his hand, began to stammer out incoherent thanks.

  “You’d better clear before I alter my mind,” said Captain Nugent, roughly. “I’ve had more than enough of you. Try the garden, if you like.”

  He took up a paper from the table and resumed his seat, not without a grim smile at the promptitude with which the other obeyed his instructions.

  Miss Nugent, reclining in a deck-chair at the bottom of the garden, looked up as she heard Hardy’s footstep on the gravel. It was a surprising thing to see him walking down the garden; it was still more surprising to observe the brightness of his eye and the easy confidence of his bearing. It was evident that he was highly pleased with himself, and she was not satisfied until she had ascertained the reason. Then she sat silent, reflecting bitterly on the clumsy frankness of the male sex in general and fathers in particular. A recent conversation with the captain, in which she had put in a casual word or two in Hardy’s favour, was suddenly invested with a new significance.

  “I shall never be able to repay your father for his kindness,” said Hardy, meaningly, as he took a chair near her.

  “I expect he was pleased at this marriage,” said Miss Nugent, coldly. “How did it happen?”

  Mr. Hardy shifted uneasily in his chair. “There isn’t much to tell,” he said, reluctantly; “and you — you might not approve of the means by which the end was gained.”

  “Still, I want to hear about it,” said Miss Nugent.

  For the second time that evening Hardy told his story. It seemed more discreditable each time he told it, and he scanned the girl’s face anxiously as he proceeded, but, like her father, she sat still and made no comment until he had finished. Then she expressed a strong feeling of gratitude that the Nugent family had not been mixed up in it.

  “Why?” inquired Hardy, bluntly.

  “I don’t think it was a very nice thing to do,” said Miss Nugent, with a superior air.

  “It wouldn’t have been a very nice thing for you if your brother had married Miss Kybird,” said the indignant Jem. “And you said, if you remember, that you didn’t mind what I did.”

  “I don’t,” said Miss Nugent, noticing with pleasure that the confident air of a few minutes ago had quite disappeared.

  “You think I have been behaving badly?” pursued Hardy.

  “I would rather not say what I think,” replied Miss Nugent, loftily. “I have no doubt you meant well, and I should be sorry to hurt your feelings.”

  “Thank you,” said Hardy, and sat gloomily gazing about him. For some time neither of them spoke.

  “Where is Jack now?” inquired the girl, at last. “He is sta
ying with me for a few days,” said Hardy. “I sincerely hope that the association will not be injurious to him.”

  “Are you trying to be rude to me?” inquired Miss Nugent, raising her clear eyes to his.

  “I am sorry,” said Hardy, hastily. “You are quite right, of course. It was not a nice thing to do, but I would do a thousand times worse to please you.”

  Miss Nugent thanked him warmly; he seemed to understand her so well, she said.

  “I mean,” said Hardy, leaning forward and speaking with a vehemence which made the girl instinctively avert her head— “I mean that to please you would be the greatest happiness I could know. I love you.”

  Miss Nugent sat silent, and a strong sense of the monstrous unfairness of such a sudden attack possessed her. Such a declaration she felt ought to have been led up to by numerous delicate gradations of speech, each a little more daring than the last, but none so daring that they could not have been checked at any time by the exercise of a little firmness.

  “If you would do anything to please me,” she said at length in a low voice, and without turning her head, “would you promise never to try and see me or speak to me again if I asked you?”

  “No,” said Hardy, promptly.

  Miss Nugent sat silent again. She knew that a good woman should be sorry for a man in such extremity, and should endeavour to spare his feelings by softening her refusal as much as possible, little as he might deserve such consideration. But man is impatient and jumps at conclusions. Before she was half-way through the first sentence he leaned forward and took her hand.

  “Oh, good-bye,” she said, turning to him, with a pleasant smile.

  “I am not going,” said Hardy, quietly; “I am never going,” he added, as he took her other hand.

  Captain Nugent, anxious for his supper, found them there still debating the point some two hours later. Kate Nugent, relieved at the appearance of her natural protector, clung to him with unusual warmth. Then, in a kindly, hospitable fashion, she placed her other arm in that of Hardy, and they walked in grave silence to the house.

  THE END

  DIALSTONE LANE

  This novel was published in 1904. It is in a similar vein to the author’s previous novels, in the sense that it is a romantic comedy populated by nautical characters and their families. This time the story turns on a retired sea captain, who comes to stay at an English country town. His exaggerated tales of high-sea adventure are taken a little too seriously by local inhabitants, however – particularly one yarn concerning a treasure map…

  Dialstone Lane was a favourite of Mark Twain, who recommends the novel in his Autobiography.

  Title page of the first American edition

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHAPTER XVII

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CHAPTER XIX

  CHAPTER XX

  CHAPTER XXI

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHAPTER XXIII

  Cover of the first edition

  CHAPTER I

  Mr. Edward Tredgold sat in the private office of Tredgold and Son, land and estate agents, gazing through the prim wire blinds at the peaceful High Street of Binchester. Tredgold senior, who believed in work for the young, had left early. Tredgold junior, glad at an opportunity of sharing his father’s views, had passed most of the work on to a clerk who had arrived in the world exactly three weeks after himself.

  “Binchester gets duller and duller,” said Mr. Tredgold to himself, wearily. “Two skittish octogenarians, one gloomy baby, one gloomier nursemaid, and three dogs in the last five minutes. If it wasn’t for the dogs — Halloa!”

  He put down his pen and, rising, looked over the top of the blind at a girl who was glancing from side to side of the road as though in search of an address.

  “A visitor,” continued Mr. Tredgold, critically. “Girls like that only visit Binchester, and then take the first train back, never to return.”

  The girl turned at that moment and, encountering the forehead and eyes, gazed at them until they sank slowly behind the protection of the blind.

  “She’s coming here,” said Mr. Tredgold, watching through the wire. “Wants to see our time-table, I expect.”

  He sat down at the table again, and taking up his pen took some papers from a pigeon-hole and eyed them with severe thoughtfulness.

  “A lady to see you, sir,” said a clerk, opening the door.

  Mr. Tredgold rose and placed a chair.

  “I have called for the key of the cottage in Dialstone Lane,” said the girl, still standing. “My uncle, Captain Bowers, has not arrived yet, and I am told that you are the landlord.”

  Mr. Tredgold bowed. “The next train is due at six,” he observed, with a glance at the time-table hanging on the wall; “I expect he’ll come by that. He was here on Monday seeing the last of the furniture in. Are you Miss Drewitt?”

  “Yes,” said the girl. “If you’ll kindly give me the key, I can go in and wait for him.”

  Mr. Tredgold took it from a drawer. “If you will allow me, I will go down with you,” he said, slowly; “the lock is rather awkward for anybody who doesn’t understand it.”

  The girl murmured something about not troubling him.

  “It’s no trouble,” said Mr. Tredgold, taking up his hat. “It is our duty to do all we can for the comfort of our tenants. That lock—”

  He held the door open and followed her into the street, pointing out various objects of interest as they went along.

  “I’m afraid you’ll find Binchester very quiet,” he remarked.

  “I like quiet,” said his companion.

  Mr. Tredgold glanced at her shrewdly, and, pausing only at the jubilee horse-trough to point out beauties which might easily escape any but a trained observation, walked on in silence until they reached their destination.

  Except in the matter of window-blinds, Dialstone Lane had not changed for generations, and Mr. Tredgold noted with pleasure the interest of his companion as she gazed at the crumbling roofs, the red-brick doorsteps, and the tiny lattice windows of the cottages. At the last house, a cottage larger than the rest, one side of which bordered the old churchyard, Mr. Tredgold paused and, inserting his key in the lock, turned it with thoughtless ease.

  “The lock seems all right; I need not have bothered you,” said Miss Drewitt, regarding him gravely.

  “Ah, it seems easy,” said Mr. Tredgold, shaking his head, “but it wants knack.”

  The girl closed the door smartly, and, turning the key, opened it again without any difficulty. To satisfy herself — on more points than one — she repeated the performance.

  “You’ve got the knack,” said Mr. Tredgold, meeting her gaze with great calmness. “It’s extraordinary what a lot of character there is in locks; they let some people open them without any trouble, while others may fumble at them till they’re tired.”

  The girl pushed the door open and stood just inside the room.

  “Thank you,” she said, and gave him a little bow of dismissal.

  A vein of obstinacy in Mr. Tredgold’s disposition, which its owner mistook for firmness, asserted itself. It was plain that the girl had estimated his services at their true value and was quite willing to apprise him of the fact. He tried the lock again, and with more bitterness than the occasion seemed to warrant said that somebody had been oiling it.

  “I promised Captain Bowers to come in this afternoon and see that a few odd things had been done,” he added. “May I come in now?”

  The girl withdrew into the room, and, seating herself in a large arm-chair by the
fireplace, watched his inspection of door-knobs and window-fastenings with an air of grave amusement, which he found somewhat trying.

  “Captain Bowers had the walls panelled and these lockers made to make the room look as much like a ship’s cabin as possible,” he said, pausing in his labours. “He was quite pleased to find the staircase opening out of the room — he calls it the companion-ladder. And he calls the kitchen the pantry, which led to a lot of confusion with the workmen. Did he tell you of the crow’s-nest in the garden?”

  “No,” said the girl.

  “It’s a fine piece of work,” said Mr. Tredgold.

  He opened the door leading into the kitchen and stepped out into the garden. Miss Drewitt, after a moment’s hesitation, followed, and after one delighted glance at the trim old garden gazed curiously at a mast with a barrel fixed near the top, which stood at the end.

  “There’s a fine view from up there,” said Mr. Tredgold. “With the captain’s glass one can see the sea distinctly. I spent nearly all last Friday afternoon up there, keeping an eye on things. Do you like the garden? Do you think these old creepers ought to be torn down from the house?”

  “Certainly not,” said Miss Drewitt, with emphasis.

  “Just what I said,” remarked Mr. Tredgold.

  “Captain Bowers wanted to have them pulled down, but I dissuaded him. I advised him to consult you first.”

  “I don’t suppose he really intended to,” said the girl.

  “He did,” said the other, grimly; “said they were untidy. How do you like the way the house is furnished?”

  The girl gazed at him for a few moments before replying. “I like it very much,” she said, coldly.

  “That’s right,” said Mr. Tredgold, with an air of relief. “You see, I advised the captain what to buy. I went with him to Tollminster and helped him choose. Your room gave me the most anxiety, I think.”

  “My room?” said the girl, starting.

  “It’s a dream in the best shades of pink and green,” said Mr. Tredgold, modestly. “Pink on the walls, and carpets and hangings green; three or four bits of old furniture — the captain objected, but I stood firm; and for pictures I had two or three little things out of an art journal framed.”