Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “‘‘Ow much is there done?’ ses Ginger, at last, in a desprit voice.

  “Sam told ‘im, and Ginger lay still and called the tattooer all the names he could think of; which took ‘im some time.

  “‘It’s no good going on like that, Ginger,’ ses Sam. ‘Your chest is quite spiled at present, but if you on’y let ‘im finish it’ll be a perfeck picter.’

  “I take pride in it,’ ses the tattooer; ‘working on your skin, mate, is like painting on a bit o’ silk.’

  “Ginger gave in at last, and told the man to go on with the job and finish it, and ‘e even went so far as to do a little bit o’ tattooing ‘imself on Sam when he wasn’t looking. ‘E only made one mark, becos the needle broke off, and Sam made such a fuss that Ginger said any one would ha’ thought ‘e’d hurt ‘im.

  “It took three days to do Ginger altogether, and he was that sore ‘e could ‘ardly move or breathe and all the time ‘e was laying on ‘is bed of pain Sam and Peter Russet was round at the Blue Lion enjoying theirselves and picking up information. The second day was the worst, owing to the tattooer being the worse for licker. Drink affects different people in different ways, and Ginger said the way it affected that chap was to make ‘im think ‘e was sewing buttons on instead o’ tattooing.

  “‘Owever ‘e was done at last; his chest and ‘is arms and ‘is shoulders, and he nearly broke down when Sam borrowed a bit o ‘looking-glass and let ‘im see hisself. Then the tattooer rubbed in some stuff to make ‘is skin soft agin, and some more stuff to make the marks look a bit old.

  “Sam wanted to draw up an agreement, but Ginger Dick and Peter Russet wouldn’t ‘ear of it. They both said that that sort o’ thing wouldn’t look well in writing, not if anybody else happened to see it, that is; besides which Ginger said it was impossible for ‘im to say ‘ow much money he would ‘ave the handling of. Once the tattooing was done ‘e began to take a’most kindly to the plan, an’ being an orfin, so far as ‘e knew, he almost began to persuade hisself that the red-’aired landlady was ‘is mother.

  “They ‘ad a little call over in their room to see ‘ow Ginger was to do it, and to discover the weak p’ints. Sam worked up a squeaky voice, and pretended to be the landlady, and Peter pretended to be the good-looking barmaid.

  “They went all through it over and over agin, the only unpleasantness being caused by Peter Russet letting off a screech every time Ginger alluded to ‘is chest wot set ‘is teeth on edge, and old Sam as the landlady offering Ginger pots o’ beer which made ‘is mouth water.

  “‘We shall go round to-morrow for the last time,’ ses Sam, ‘as we told ‘er we’re sailing the day arter. Of course me an’ Peter, ‘aving made your fortin, drop out altogether, but I dessay we shall look in agin in about six months’ time, and then perhaps the landlady will interduce us to you.’

  “‘Meantime,’ ses Peter Russet, ‘you mustn’t forget that you’ve got to send us Post Office money-orders every week.’

  “Ginger said ‘e wouldn’t forget, and they shook ‘ands all round and ‘ad a drink together, and the next arternoon Sam and Peter went to the Blue Lion for a last visit.

  “It was quite early when they came back. Ginger was surprised to see ’em, and he said so, but ‘e was more surprised when ‘e heard their reasons.

  “It come over us all at once as we’d bin doing wrong,’ Sam ses, setting down with a sigh.

  “‘Come over us like a chill, it did,’ ses Peter.

  “‘Doing wrong?’ ses Ginger Dick, staring. ‘Wot are you talking about?’

  “‘Something the landlady said showed us as we was doin’ wrong,’ ses old Sam, very solemn; ‘it come over us in a flash.’

  “‘Like lightning,’ ses Peter.

  “‘All of a sudden we see wot a cruel, ‘ard thing it was to go and try and deceive a poor widder woman,’ ses Sam, in a ‘usky voice; ‘we both see it at once.’

  “Ginger Dick looks at ’em ‘ard, ‘e did, and then, ‘e ses, jeering like:

  “‘I ‘spose you don’t want any Post Office money-orders sent you, then?’ he ses.

  “‘No,’ says Sam and Peter, both together.

  “‘You may have ’em all,’ ses Sam; ‘but if you’ll be ruled by us, Ginger, you’ll give it up, same as wot we ‘ave — you’ll sleep the sweeter for it.’

  “‘Give it up!’ shouts Ginger, dancing up an’ down the room, ‘arter being tattooed all over? Why, you must be crazy, Sam — wot’s the matter with you?’

  “‘It ain’t fair play agin a woman,’ says old Sam, ‘three strong men agin one poor old woman; that’s wot we feel, Ginger.’

  “‘Well, I don’t feel like it,’ ses Ginger; ‘you please yourself, and I’ll please myself.’

  “‘E went off in a huff, an’ next morning ‘e was so disagreeable that Sam an’ Peter went and signed on board a steamer called the Penguin, which was to sail the day arter. They parted bad friends all round, and Ginger Dick gave Peter a nasty black eye, and Sam said that when Ginger came to see things in a proper way agin he’d be sorry for wot ‘e’d said. And ‘e said that ‘im and Peter never wanted to look on ‘is face agin.

  “Ginger Dick was a bit lonesome arter they’d gone, but ‘e thought it better to let a few days go by afore ‘e went and adopted the red-’aired landlady. He waited a week, and at last, unable to wait any longer, ‘e went out and ‘ad a shave and smartened hisself up, and went off to the Blue Lion.

  “It was about three o’clock when ‘e got there, and the little public-’ouse was empty except for two old men in the jug-and-bottle entrance. Ginger stopped outside a minute or two to try and stop ‘is trembling, and then ‘e walks into the private bar and raps on the counter.

  “‘Glass o’ bitter, ma’am, please,’ he ses to the old lady as she came out o’ the little parlour at the back o’ the bar.

  “The old lady drew the beer, and then stood with one ‘and holding the beer-pull and the other on the counter, looking at Ginger Dick in ‘is new blue jersey and cloth cap.

  “‘Lovely weather, ma’am,’ ses Ginger, putting his left arm on the counter and showing the sailor-boy dancing the hornpipe.

  “‘Very nice,’ ses the landlady, catching sight of ‘is wrist an’ staring at it. ‘I suppose you sailors like fine weather?’

  “‘Yes, ma’am,’ ses Ginger, putting his elbows on the counter so that the tattoo marks on both wrists was showing. ‘Fine weather an’ a fair wind suits us.’

  “‘It’s a ‘ard life, the sea,’ ses the old lady.

  “She kept wiping down the counter in front of ‘im over an’ over agin, an’ ‘e could see ‘er staring at ‘is wrists as though she could ‘ardly believe her eyes. Then she went back into the parlour, and Ginger ‘eard her whispering, and by and by she came out agin with the blue-eyed barmaid.

  “‘Have you been at sea long?’ ses the old lady.

  “‘Over twenty-three years, ma’am,’ ses Ginger, avoiding the barmaid’s eye wot was fixed on ‘is wrists, ‘and I’ve been shipwrecked four times; the fust time when I was a little nipper o’ fourteen.’

  “‘Pore thing,’ ses the landlady, shaking ‘er ‘ead. ‘I can feel for you; my boy went to sea at that age, and I’ve never seen ‘im since.’

  “‘I’m sorry to ‘ear it, ma’am,’ ses Ginger, very respectful-like. ‘I suppose I’ve lost my mother, so I can feel for you.’

  “‘Suppose you’ve lost your mother!’ ses the barmaid; ‘don’t you know whether you have?’

  “‘No,’ ses Ginger Dick, very sad. ‘When I was wrecked the fust time I was in a open boat for three weeks, and, wot with the exposure and ‘ardly any food, I got brain-fever and lost my memory.’

  “‘Pore thing,’ ses the landlady agin.

  “‘I might as well be a orfin,’ ses Ginger, looking down; ‘sometimes I seem to see a kind, ‘and-some face bending over me, and fancy it’s my mother’s, but I can’t remember ‘er name, or my name, or anythink about ‘er.’

  “�
�You remind me o’ my boy very much,’ ses the landlady, shaking ‘er ‘ead; ‘you’ve got the same coloured ‘air, and, wot’s extraordinary, you’ve got the same tattoo marks on your wrists. Sailor-boy dancing on one and a couple of dolphins on the other. And ‘e ‘ad a little scar on ‘is eyebrow, much the same as yours.’

  “‘Good ‘evins,’ ses Ginger Dick, starting back and looking as though ‘e was trying to remember something.

  “‘I s’pose they’re common among seafaring men?’ ses the landlady, going off to attend to a customer.

  “Ginger Dick would ha’ liked to ha’seen’er abit more excited, but ‘e ordered another glass o’ bitter from the barmaid, and tried to think ‘ow he was to bring out about the ship on his chest and the letters on ‘is back. The landlady served a couple o’ men, and by and by she came back and began talking agin.

  “‘I like sailors,’ she ses; ‘one thing is, my boy was a sailor; and another thing is, they’ve got such feelin’ ‘earts. There was two of ’em in ‘ere the other day, who’d been in ‘ere once or twice, and one of ’em was that kind ‘earted I thought he would ha’ ‘ad a fit at something I told him.’

  “‘Ho,’ ses Ginger, pricking up his ears, ‘wot for?’

  “‘I was just talking to ‘im about my boy, same as I might be to you,’ ses the old lady, ‘and I was just telling ‘im about the poor child losing ‘is finger — —’

  “‘Losing ‘is wot?’ ses Ginger, turning pale and staggering back.

  “‘Finger,’ ses the landlady. ‘E was only ten years old at the time, and I’d sent ‘im out to — Wot’s the matter? Ain’t you well?’

  “Ginger didn’t answer ‘er a word, he couldn’t. ‘E went on going backwards until ‘e got to the door, and then ‘e suddenly fell through it into the street, and tried to think.

  “Then ‘e remembered Sam and Peter, and when ‘e thought of them safe and sound aboard the Penguin he nearly broke down altogether, as ‘e thought how lonesome he was.

  “All ‘e wanted was ‘is arms round both their necks same as they was the night afore they ‘ad ‘im tattooed.”

  TO HAVE AND TO HOLD

  The old man sat outside the Cauliflower Inn, looking crossly up the road. He was fond of conversation, but the pedestrian who had stopped to drink a mug of ale beneath the shade of the doors was not happy in his choice of subjects. He would only talk of the pernicious effects of beer on the constitutions of the aged, and he listened with ill-concealed impatience to various points which the baffled ancient opposite urged in its favour.

  Conversation languished; the traveller rapped on the table and had his mug refilled. He nodded courteously to his companion and drank.

  “Seems to me,” said the latter, sharply, “you like it for all your talk.”

  The other shook his head gently, and, leaning back, bestowed a covert wink upon the signboard. He then explained that it was the dream of his life to give up beer.

  “You’re another Job Brown,” said the old man, irritably, “that’s wot you are; another Job Brown. I’ve seen your kind afore.”

  He shifted farther along the seat, and, taking up his long clay pipe from the table, struck a match and smoked the few whiffs which remained. Then he heard the traveller order a pint of ale with gin in it and a paper of tobacco. His dull eyes glistened, but he made a feeble attempt to express surprise when these luxuries were placed before him.

  “Wot I said just now about you being like Job Brown was only in joke like,” he said, anxiously, as he tasted the brew. “If Job ‘ad been like you he’d ha’ been a better man.”

  The philanthropist bowed. He also manifested a little curiosity concerning one to whom he had, for however short a time, suggested a resemblance.

  “He was one o’ the ‘ardest drinkers in these parts,” began the old man, slowly, filling his pipe.

  The traveller thanked him.

  “Wot I meant was” — said the old man, hastily— “that all the time ‘e was drinking ‘e was talking agin beer same as you was just now, and he used to try all sorts o’ ways and plans of becoming a teetotaler. He used to sit up ‘ere of a night drinking ‘is ‘ardest and talking all the time of ways and means by which ‘e could give it up. He used to talk about hisself as if ‘e was somebody else ‘e was trying to do good to.

  The chaps about ‘ere got sick of ‘is talk. They was poor men mostly, same as they are now, and they could only drink a little ale now and then; an’ while they was doing of it they ‘ad to sit and listen to Job Brown, who made lots o’ money dealing, drinking pint arter pint o’ gin and beer and calling it pison, an’ saying they was killing theirselves.

  “Sometimes ‘e used to get pitiful over it, and sit shaking ‘is ‘ead at ’em for drowning theirselves in beer, as he called it, when they ought to be giving the money to their wives and families. He sat down and cried one night over Bill Chambers’s wife’s toes being out of ‘er boots. Bill sat struck all of a ‘eap, and it might ‘ave passed off, only Henery White spoke up for ‘im, and said that he scarcely ever ‘ad a pint but wot somebody else paid for it. There was unpleasantness all round then, and in the row somebody knocked one o’ Henery’s teeth out.

  “And that wasn’t the only unpleasantness, and at last some of the chaps put their ‘eads together and agreed among theirselves to try and help Job Brown to give up the drink. They kep’ it secret from Job, but the next time ‘e came in and ordered a pint Joe Gubbins— ‘aving won the toss — drank it by mistake, and went straight off ‘ome as ‘ard as ‘e could, smacking ‘is lips.

  “He ‘ad the best of it, the other chaps ‘aving to ‘old Job down in ‘is chair, and trying their ‘ardest to explain that Joe Gubbins was only doing him a kindness. He seemed to understand at last, and arter a long time ‘e said as ‘e could see Joe meant to do ‘im a kindness, but ‘e’d better not do any more.

  “He kept a very tight ‘old o’ the next pint, and as ‘e set down at the table he looked round nasty like and asked ’em whether there was any more as would like to do ‘im a kindness, and Henery White said there was, and he went straight off ‘ome arter fust dropping a handful o’ sawdust into Job’s mug.

  “I’m an old man, an’ I’ve seen a good many rows in my time, but I’ve never seen anything like the one that ‘appened then. It was no good talking to Job, not a bit, he being that unreasonable that even when ‘is own words was repeated to ‘im he wouldn’t listen. He behaved like a madman, an’ the langwidge ‘e used was that fearful and that wicked that Smith the landlord said ‘e wouldn’t ‘ave it in ‘is house.

  “Arter that you’d ha’ thought that Job Brown would ‘ave left off ‘is talk about being teetotaler, but he didn’t. He said they was quite right in trying to do ‘im a kindness, but he didn’t like the way they did it. He said there was a right way and a wrong way of doing everything, and they’d chose the wrong.

  “It was all very well for ‘im to talk, but the chaps said ‘e might drink hisself to death for all they cared. And instead of seeing ‘im safe ‘ome as they used to when ‘e was worse than usual he ‘ad to look arter hisself and get ‘ome as best he could.

  “It was through that at last ‘e came to offer five pounds reward to anybody as could ‘elp ‘im to become a teetotaler. He went off ‘ome one night as usual, and arter stopping a few seconds in the parlour to pull hisself together, crept quietly upstairs for fear of waking ‘is wife. He saw by the crack under the door that she’d left a candle burning, so he pulled hisself together agin and then turned the ‘andle and went in and began to try an’ take off ‘is coat.

  “He ‘appened to give a ‘alf-look towards the bed as ‘e did so, and then ‘e started back and rubbed ‘is eyes and told ‘imself he’d be better in a minute. Then ‘e looked agin, for ‘is wife was nowhere to be seen, and in the bed all fast and sound asleep and snoring their ‘ardest was little Dick Weed the tailor and Mrs. Weed and the baby.

  “Job Brown rubbed ‘is eyes again, and then ‘e drew hisself up to ‘is
full height, and putting one ‘and on the chest o’ drawers to steady hisself stood there staring at ’em and getting madder and madder every second. Then ‘e gave a nasty cough, and Dick and Mrs. Weed an’ the baby all woke up and stared at ‘im as though they could ‘ardly believe their eyesight.

  “‘Wot do you want?’ ses Dick Weed, starting up.

  “‘Get up,’ ses Job, ‘ardly able to speak. I’m surprised at you. Get up out o’ my bed direckly.’

  “‘Your bed?’ screams little Dick; ‘you’re the worse for licker, Job Brown. Can’t you see you’ve come into the wrong house?’

  “‘Eh?’ ses Job, staring. ‘Wrong ‘ouse? Well, where’s mine, then?’

  “‘Next door but one, same as it always was,’ ses Dick. ‘Will you go?’

  “‘A’ right,’ ses Job, staring. ‘Well, goo’-night, Dick. Goo’-night, Mrs. Weed. Goo’-night, baby.’

  “‘Good-night,’ ses Mrs. Weed from under the bedclothes.

  “‘Goo’-night, baby,’ ses Job, again.

  “‘It can’t talk yet,’ ses Dick. ‘Will you go?

  “‘Can’t talk — why not?’ ses Job.

  “Dick didn’t answer ‘im.

  “‘Well, goo’-night, Dick,’ he ses agin.

  “‘Good-night,’ ses Dick from between ‘is teeth.

  “‘Goo’-night, Mrs. Weed,’ ses Job.

  “Mrs. Weed forced herself to say ‘good-night’ agin.

  “‘Goo’-night, baby,’ ses Job.

  “‘Look ‘ere,’ ses Dick, raving, ‘are you goin’ to stay ‘ere all night, Job Brown?’

  “Job didn’t answer ‘im, but began to go downstairs, saying ‘goo’-night’ as ‘e went, and he’d got pretty near to the bottom when he suddenly wondered wot ‘e was going downstairs for instead of up, and lading gently at ‘is foolishness for making sich a mistake ‘e went upstairs agin. His surprise when ‘e see Dick Weed and Mrs. Weed and the baby all in ‘is bed pretty near took ‘is breath away.

  “‘Wot are you doing in my bed?’ he ses.