Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “‘Don’t ask me,’ ses Henery Walker, with a shiver.

  “‘You don’t mean to say as ‘ow you’ve seen the tiger?” ses Bill Chambers.

  “Henery Walker didn’t answer ‘im. He got up and walked back’ards and for’ards, still with that frightened look in ‘is eyes, and once or twice ‘e give such a terrible start that ‘e frightened us ‘arf out of our wits. Then Bill Chambers took and forced ‘im into a chair and give ‘im two o’ gin and patted ‘im on the back, and at last Henery Walker got ‘is senses back agin and told us ‘ow the tiger ‘ad chased ‘im all round and round the trees in Plashett’s Wood until ‘e managed to climb up a tree and escape it. He said the tiger ‘ad kept ‘im there for over an hour, and then suddenly turned round and bolted off up the road to Wickham.

  “It was a merciful escape, and everybody said so except Sam Jones, and ‘e asked so many questions that at last Henery Walker asked ‘im outright if ‘e disbelieved ‘is word.

  “‘It’s all right, Sam,’ ses Bob Pretty, as ‘ad come in just after Henery Walker. ‘I see ‘im with the tiger after ‘im.’

  “‘Wot?’ ses Henery, staring at him.

  “‘I see it all, Henery,’ ses Bob Pretty, ‘and I see your pluck. It was all you could do to make up your mind to run from it. I believe if you’d ‘ad a fork in your ‘and you’d ‘ave made a fight for it.”

  “Everybody said ‘Bravo!’; but Henery Walker didn’t seem to like it at all. He sat still, looking at Bob Pretty, and at last ‘e ses, ‘Where was you?’ ‘e s,es.

  “‘Up another tree, Henery, where you couldn’t see me,’ ses Bob Pretty, smiling at ‘im.

  “Henery Walker, wot was drinking some beer, choked a bit, and then ‘e put the mug down and went straight off ‘ome without saying a word to anybody. I knew ‘e didn’t like Bob Pretty, but I couldn’t see why ‘e should be cross about ‘is speaking up for ‘im as ‘e had done, but Bob said as it was ‘is modesty, and ‘e thought more of ‘im for it.

  “After that things got worse than ever; the wimmen and children stayed indoors and kept the doors shut, and the men never knew when they went out to work whether they’d come ‘ome agin. They used to kiss their children afore they went out of a morning, and their wives too, some of ’em; even men who’d been married for years did. And several more of ’em see the tiger while they was at work, and came running ‘ome to tell about it.

  “The tiger ‘ad been making free with Claybury pigs and such-like for pretty near a week, and nothing ‘ad been done to try and catch it, and wot made Claybury men madder than anything else was folks at Wickham saying it was all a mistake, and the tiger ‘adn’t escaped at all. Even parson, who’d been away for a holiday, said so, and Henery Walker told ‘is wife that if she ever set foot inside the church agin ‘ed ask ‘is old mother to come and live with ’em.

  “It was all very well for parson to talk, but the very night he come back Henery Walker’s pig went, and at the same time George Kettle lost five or six ducks.

  “He was a quiet man, was George, but when ‘is temper was up ‘e didn’t care for anything. Afore he came to Claybury ‘e ‘ad been in the Militia, and that evening at the ‘Cauliflower’ ‘e turned up with a gun over ‘is shoulder and made a speech, and asked who was game to go with ‘im and hunt the tiger. Bill Chambers, who was still grieving after ‘is pig, said ‘e would, then another man offered, until at last there was seventeen of ’em. Some of ’em ‘ad scythes and some pitchforks, and one or two of ’em guns, and it was one o’ the finest sights I ever seed when George Kettle stood ’em in rows of four and marched ’em off.

  “They went straight up the road, then across Farmer Gill’s fields to get to Plashett’s wood, where they thought the tiger ‘ud most likely be, and the nearer they got to the wood the slower they walked. The sun ‘ad just gone down and the wood looked very quiet and dark, but John Biggs, the blacksmith, and George Kettle walked in first and the others follered, keeping so close together that Sam Jones ‘ad a few words over his shoulder with Bill Chambers about the way ‘e was carrying ‘is pitchfork.

  “Every now and then somebody ‘ud say, ‘Wot’s that!’ and they’d all stop and crowd together and think the time ‘ad come, but it ‘adn’t, and then they’d go on agin, trembling, until they’d walked all round the wood without seeing anything but one or two rabbits. John Biggs and George Kettle wanted for to stay there till it was dark, but the others wouldn’t ‘ear of it for fear of frightening their wives, and just as it was getting dark they all come tramp, tramp, back to the ‘Cauliflower’ agin.

  “Smith stood ’em ‘arf a pint apiece, and they was all outside ‘ere fancying theirselves a bit for wot they’d done when we see old man Parsley coming along on two sticks as fast as ‘e could come.

  “‘Are you brave lads a-looking for the tiger?’ he asks.

  “‘Yes,’ ses John Biggs.

  “‘Then ‘urry up, for the sake of mercy,’ ses old Mr. Parsley, putting ‘is ‘and on the table and going off into a fit of coughing; ‘it’s just gone into Bob Pretty’s cottage. I was passing and saw it.’

  “George Kettle snatches up ‘is gun and shouts out to ‘is men to come along. Some of ’em was for ‘anging back at first, some because they didn’t like the tiger and some because they didn’t like Bob Pretty, but John Biggs drove ’em in front of ‘im like a flock o’ sheep and then they gave a cheer and ran after George Kettle, full pelt up the road.

  “A few wimmen and children was at their doors as they passed, but they took fright and went indoors screaming. There was a lamp in Bob Pretty’s front room, but the door was closed and the ‘ouse was silent as the grave.

  “George Kettle and the men with the guns went first, then came the pitchforks, and last of all the scythes. Just as George Kettle put ‘is ‘and on the door he ‘eard something moving inside, and the next moment the door opened and there stood Bob Pretty.

  “‘What the dickens!’ ‘e ses, starting back as ‘e see the guns and pitchforks pointing at ‘im.

  “‘‘Ave you killed it, Bob?’ ses George Kettle.

  “‘Killed wot?’ ses Bob Pretty. ‘Be careful o’ them guns. Take your fingers off the triggers.’

  “‘The tiger’s in your ‘ouse, Bob,’ ses George Kettle, in a whisper. ‘‘Ave you on’y just come in?’

  “‘Look ‘ere,’ ses Bob Pretty. ‘I don’t want any o’ your games. You go and play ’em somewhere else.’

  “‘It ain’t a game,’ ses John Biggs; ‘the tiger’s in your ‘ouse and we’re going to kill it. Now, then, lads.’

  “They all went in in a ‘eap, pushing Bob Pretty in front of ’em, till the room was full. Only one man with a scythe got in, and they wouldn’t ‘ave let ‘im in if they’d known. It a’most made ’em forget the tiger for the time.

  “George Kettle opened the door wot led into the kitchen, and then ‘e sprang back with such a shout that the man with the scythe tried to escape, taking Henery Walker along with ‘im. George Kettle tried to speak, but couldn’t. All ‘e could do was to point with ‘is finger at Bob Pretty’s kitchen — and Bob Pretty’s kitchen was for all the world like a pork-butcher’s shop. There was joints o’ pork ‘anging from the ceiling, two brine tubs as full as they could be, and quite a string of fowls and ducks all ready for market.

  “‘Wot d’ye mean by coming into my ‘ouse?’ ses Bob Pretty, blustering. ‘If you don’t clear out pretty quick, I’ll make you.’

  “Nobody answered ‘im; they was all examining ‘ands o’ pork and fowls and such-like.

  “‘There’s the tiger,’ ses Henery Walker, pointing at Bob Pretty; ‘that’s wot old man Parsley meant.’

  “‘Somebody go and fetch Policeman White,’ ses a voice.

  “‘I wish they would,’ ses Bob Pretty. ‘I’ll ‘ave the law on you all for breaking into my ‘ouse like this, see if I don’t.’

  “‘Where’d you get all this pork from?’ ses the blacksmith.

  “‘And them ducks and hins?�
�� ses George Kettle.

  “‘That’s my bisness,’ ses Bob Pretty, staring ’em full in the face. ‘I just ‘ad a excellent oppertunity offered me of going into the pork and poultry line and I took it. Now, all them as doesn’t want to buy any pork or fowls go out o’ my house.’

  “‘You’re a thief, Bob Pretty!’ says Henery Walker. ‘You stole it all.’

  “‘Take care wot you’re saying, Henery,’ ses Bob Pretty, ‘else I’ll make you prove your words.’

  “‘You stole my pig,’ ses Herbert Smith.

  “‘Oh, ‘ave I?’ ses Bob, reaching down a ‘and o’ pork. ‘Is that your pig?’ he ses.

  “‘It’s just about the size o’ my pore pig,’ ses Herbert Smith.

  “‘Very usual size, I call it,’ ses Bob Pretty; ‘and them ducks and hins very usual-looking hins and ducks, I call ’em, except that they don’t grow ’em so fat in these parts. It’s a fine thing when a man’s doing a honest bisness to ‘ave these charges brought agin ‘im. Dis’eartening, I call it. I don’t mind telling you that the tiger got in at my back winder the other night and took arf a pound o’ sausage, but you don’t ‘ear me complaining and going about calling other people thieves.’

  “‘Tiger be hanged,’ ses Henery Walker, who was almost certain that a loin o’ pork on the table was off ‘is pig; ‘you’re the only tiger in these parts.’

  “Why, Henery,’ ses Bob Pretty, ‘wot are you a-thinkin’ of? Where’s your memory? Why, it’s on’y two or three days ago you see it and ‘ad to get up a tree out of its way.’

  “He smiled and shook ‘is ‘ead at ‘im, but Henery Walker on’y kept opening and shutting ‘is mouth, and at last ‘e went outside without saying a word.

  “‘And Sam Jones see it, too,’ ses Bob Pretty; ‘didn’t you, Sam?’

  “Sam didn’t answer ‘im.

  “‘And Charlie Hall and Jack Minns and a lot more,’ ses Bob; ‘besides, I see it myself. I can believe my own eyes, I s’pose?’

  “‘We’ll have the law on you,’ ses Sam Jones.

  “‘As you like,’ ses Bob Pretty; ‘but I tell you plain, I’ve got all the bills for this properly made out, upstairs. And there’s pretty near a dozen of you as’ll ‘ave to go in the box and swear as you saw the tiger. Now, can I sell any of you a bit o’ pork afore you go? It’s delicious eating, and as soon as you taste it you’ll know it wasn’t grown in Claybury. Or a pair o’ ducks wot ‘ave come from two ‘undered miles off, and yet look as fresh as if they was on’y killed last night.’

  “George Kettle, whose ducks ‘ad gone the night afore, went into the front room and walked up and down fighting for ‘is breath, but it was all no good; nobody ever got the better o’ Bob Pretty. None of ’em could swear to their property, and even when it became known a month later that Bob Pretty and the tramp knew each other, nothing was done. But nobody ever ‘eard any more of the tiger from that day to this.”

  A MIXED PROPOSAL

  Major Brill, late of the Fenshire Volununteers, stood in front of the small piece of glass in the hatstand, and with a firm and experienced hand gave his new silk hat a slight tilt over the right eye. Then he took his cane and a new pair of gloves, and with a military but squeaky tread, passed out into the road. It was a glorious day in early autumn, and the soft English landscape was looking its best, but despite the fact that there was nothing more alarming in sight than a few cows on the hillside a mile away, the Major paused at his gate, and his face took on an appearance of the greatest courage and resolution before proceeding. The road was dusty and quiet, except for the children playing at cottage doors, and so hot that the Major, heedless of the fact that he could not replace the hat at exactly the same angle, stood in the shade of a tree while he removed it and mopped his heated brow.

  He proceeded on his way more leisurely, overtaking, despite his lack of speed, another man who was walking still more slowly in the shade of the hedge.

  “Fine day, Halibut,” he said, briskly; “fine day.”

  “Beautiful,” said the other, making no attempt to keep pace with him.

  “Country wants rain, though,” cried the Major over his shoulder.

  Halibut assented, and walking slowly on, wondered vaguely what gaudy color it was that had attracted his eye. It dawned on him at length that it must be the Major’s tie, and he suddenly quickened his pace, by no means reassured as the man of war also quickened his.

  “Halloa, Brill!” he cried. “Half a moment.”

  The Major stopped and waited for his friend; Halibut eyed the tie uneasily — it was fearfully and wonderfully made — but said nothing.

  “Well?” said the Major, somewhat sharply.

  “Oh — I was going to ask you, Brill — Confound it! I’ve forgotten what I was going to say now. I daresay I shall soon think of it. You’re not in a hurry?”

  “Well, I am, rather,” said Brill. “Fact is — Is my hat on straight, Halibut?”

  The other assuring him that it was, the Major paused in his career, and gripping the brim with both hands, deliberately tilted it over the right eye again.

  “You were saying—” said Halibut, regarding this manoeuvre with secret disapproval.

  “Yes,” murmured the Major, “I was saying. Well, I don’t mind telling an old friend like you, Halibut, though it is a profound secret. Makes me rather particular about my dress just now. Women notice these things. I’m — sha’nt get much sympathy from a confirmed old bachelor like you — but I’m on my way to put a very momentous question.”

  “The devil you are!” said the other, blankly.

  “Sir!” said the astonished Major.

  “Not Mrs. Riddel?” said Halibut.

  “Certainly, sir,” said the Major, stiffly. “Why not?”

  “Only that I am going on the same errand,” said the confirmed bachelor, with desperate calmness.

  The Major looked at him, and for the first time noticed an unusual neatness and dressiness in his friend’s attire. His collar was higher than usual; his tie, of the whitest and finest silk, bore a pin he never remembered to have seen before; and for the first time since he had known him, the Major, with a strange sinking at the heart, saw that he wore spats.

  “This is extraordinary,” he said, briefly. “Well, good-day, Halibut. Can’t stop.”

  “Good-day,” said the other.

  The Major quickened his pace and shot ahead, and keeping in the shade of the hedge, ground his teeth as the civilian on the other side of the road slowly, but surely, gained on him.

  It became exciting. The Major was handicapped by his upright bearing and short military stride; the other, a simple child of the city, bent forward, swinging his arms and taking immense strides. At a by-lane they picked up three small boys, who, trotting in their rear, made it evident by their remarks that they considered themselves the privileged spectators of a foot-race. The Major could stand it no longer, and with a cut of his cane at the foremost boy, softly called a halt.

  “Well,” said Halibut, stopping.

  The man’s manner was suspicious, not to say offensive, and the other had much ado to speak him fair.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said, trying to smile. “We can’t walk in and propose in a duet. One of us must go to-day and the other to-morrow.”

  “Certainly,” said Halibut; “that’ll be the best plan.”

  “So childish,” said the Major, with a careless laugh, “two fellows walking in hot and tired and proposing to her.”

  “Absurd,” replied Halibut, and both men eyed each other carefully.

  “So, if I’m unsuccessful, old chap,” said the Major, in a voice which he strove to render natural and easy, “I will come straight back to your place and let you know, so as not to keep you in suspense.”

  “You’re very good,” said Halibut, with some emotion; “but I think I’ll take to-day, because I have every reason to believe that I have got one of my bilious attacks coming on to-morrow.”

  “Pooh! fancy, my dear fe
llow,” said the Major, heartily; “I never saw you look better in my life.”

  “That’s one of the chief signs,” replied Halibut, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I must go to-day.”

  “I really cannot waive my right on account of your bilious attack,” said the Major haughtily.

  “Your right?” said Halibut, with spirit.

  “My right!” repeated the other. “I should have been there before you if you had not stopped me in the first place.”

  “But I started first,” said Halibut.

  “Prove it,” exclaimed the Major, warmly.

  The other shrugged his shoulders.

  “I shall certainly not give way,” he said, calmly. “This is a matter in which my whole future is concerned. It seems very odd, not to say inconvenient, that you should have chosen the same day as myself, Brill, for such an errand — very odd.”

  “It’s quite an accident,” asseverated the Major; “as a matter of fact, Halibut, I nearly went yesterday. That alone gives me, I think, some claim to precedence.”

  “Just so,” said Halibut, slowly; “it constitutes an excellent claim.”

  The Major regarded him with moistening eyes. This was generous and noble. His opinion of Halibut rose. “And now you have been so frank with me,” said the latter, “it is only fair that you should know I started out with the same intention three days ago and found her out. So far as claims go, I think mine leads.”

  “Pure matter of opinion,” said the disgusted Major; “it really seems as though we want an arbitrator. Well, we’ll have to make our call together, I suppose, but I’ll take care not to give you any opportunity, Halibut, so don’t cherish any delusions on that point. Even you wouldn’t have the hardihood to propose before a third party, I should think; but if you do, I give you fair warning that I shall begin, too.”

  “This is most unseemly,” said Halibut. “We’d better both go home and leave it for another day.”

  “When do you propose going, then?” asked the Major.

  “Really, I haven’t made up my mind,” replied the other.