Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  “It’ll ‘ardly pay me for my trouble,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s very dull over ‘ere all alone by myself. By the time you two have ‘ad your share, besides taking wot I owe you, there’ll be ‘ardly anything left.”

  “I’ll talk to you another time,” said Mr. Kidd, regarding him fixedly. “Wot you’ve got to do now is to come acrost the river with us.”

  “What for?” demanded Mr. Gibbs.

  “We’re going to break the joyful news to your old woman that you’re alive afore she starts spending money wot isn’t hers,” said Mr. Kidd. “And we want you to be close by in case she don’t believe us.

  “Well, do it gentle, mind,” said the fond husband. “We don’t want ‘er screaming, or anything o’ that sort. I know ‘er better than wot you do, and my advice to you is to go easy.”

  He walked along by the side of them, and, after some demur, consented, as a further disguise, to put on a pair of spectacles, for which Mr. Kidd’s wife’s mother had been hunting high and low since eight o’clock that morning.

  “You doddle about ‘ere for ten minutes,” said Mr. Kidd, as they reached the Monument, “and then foller on. When you pass a lamp-post ‘old your handkerchief up to your face. And wait for us at the corner of your road till we come for you.”

  He went off at a brisk pace with Mr. Brown, a pace moderated to one of almost funeral solemnity as they approached the residence of Mrs. Gibbs. To their relief she was alone, and after the usual amenities thanked them warmly for all they had done for her.

  “I’d do more than that for pore Joe,” said Mr. Brown.

  “They — they ‘aven’t found ‘im yet?” said the widow.

  Mr. Kidd shook his head. “My idea is they won’t find ‘im,” he said, slowly.

  “Went down on the ebb tide,” explained Mr. Brown; and spoilt Mr. Kidd’s opening.

  “Wherever he is ‘e’s better off,” said Mrs. Gibbs.

  “No more trouble about being out o’ work; no more worry; no more pain. We’ve all got to go some day.

  “Yes,” began Mr. Kidd; “but —

  “I’m sure I don’t wish ‘im back,” said Mrs. Gibbs; “that would be sinful.”

  “But ‘ow if he wanted to come back?” said Mr. Kidd, playing for an opening.

  “And ‘elp you spend that money,” said Mr. Brown, ignoring the scowls of his friend.

  Mrs. Gibbs looked bewildered. “Spend the money?” she began.

  “Suppose,” said Mr. Kidd, “suppose he wasn’t drownded after all? Only last night I dreamt he was alive.”

  “So did I,” said Mr. Brown.

  “He was smiling at me,” said Mr. Kidd, in a tender voice. “‘Bob,’ he ses, ‘go and tell my pore missis that I’m alive,’ he ses; ‘break it to ‘er gentle.’”

  “It’s the very words he said to me in my dream,” said Mr. Brown. “Bit strange, ain’t it?”

  “Very,” said Mrs. Gibbs.

  “I suppose,” said Mr. Kidd, after a pause, “I suppose you haven’t been dreaming about ‘im?”

  “No; I’m a teetotaller,” said the widow.

  The two gentlemen exchanged glances, and Mr. Kidd, ever of an impulsive nature, resolved to bring matters to a head.

  “Wot would you do if Joe was to come in ‘ere at this door?” he asked.

  “Scream the house down,” said the widow, promptly.

  “Scream — scream the ‘ouse down?” said the distressed Mr. Kidd.

  Mrs. Gibbs nodded. “I should go screaming, raving mad,” she said, with conviction.

  “But — but not if ‘e was alive!” said Mr. Kidd.

  “I don’t know what you’re driving at,” said Mrs. Gibbs. “Why don’t you speak out plain? Poor Joe is drownded, you know that; you saw it all, and yet you come talking to me about dreams and things.”

  Mr. Kidd bent over her and put his hand affectionately on her shoulder. “He escaped,” he said, in a thrilling whisper. “He’s alive and well.”

  “WHAT?” said Mrs. Gibbs, starting back.

  “True as I stand ‘ere,” said Mr. Kidd; “ain’t it, George?”

  “Truer,” said Mr. Brown, loyally.

  Mrs. Gibbs leaned back, gasping. “Alive!” she said. “But ‘ow? ‘Ow can he be?”

  “Don’t make such a noise,” said Mr. Kidd, earnestly. “Mind, if anybody else gets to ‘ear of it you’ll ‘ave to give that money back.”

  “I’d give more than that to get ‘im back,” said Mrs. Gibbs, wildly. “I believe you’re deceiving me.”

  “True as I stand ‘ere,” asseverated the other. “He’s only a minute or two off, and if it wasn’t for you screaming I’d go out and fetch ‘im in.”

  “I won’t scream,” said Mrs. Gibbs, “not if I know it’s flesh and blood. Oh, where is he? Why don’t you bring ‘im in? Let me go to ‘im.”

  “All right,” said Mr. Kidd, with a satisfied smile at Mr. Brown; “all in good time. I’ll go and fetch ‘im now; but, mind, if you scream you’ll spoil everything.”

  He bustled cheerfully out of the room and downstairs, and Mrs. Gibbs, motioning Mr. Brown to silence, stood by the door with parted lips, waiting. Three or four minutes elapsed.

  “‘Ere they come,” said Mr. Brown, as footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Now, no screaming, mind!”

  Mrs. Gibbs drew back, and, to the gratification of all concerned, did not utter a sound as Mr. Kidd, followed by her husband, entered the room. She stood looking expectantly towards the doorway.

  “Where is he?” she gasped.

  “Eh?” said Mr. Kidd, in a startled voice. “Why here. Don’t you know ‘im?”

  “It’s me, Susan,” said Mr. Gibbs, in a low voice.

  “Oh, I might ‘ave known it was a joke,” cried Mrs. Gibbs, in a faint voice, as she tottered to a chair. “Oh,’ow cruel of you to tell me my pore Joe was alive! Oh, ‘ow could you?”

  “Lor’ lumme,” said the incensed Mr. Kidd, pushing Mr. Gibbs forward. “Here he is. Same as you saw ‘im last, except for ‘is whiskers. Don’t make that sobbing noise; people’ll be coming in.”

  “Oh! Oh! Oh! Take ‘im away,” cried Mrs. Gibbs. “Go and play your tricks with somebody else’s broken ‘art.”

  “But it’s your husband,” said Mr. Brown.

  “Take ‘im away,” wailed Mrs. Gibbs.

  Mr. Kidd, grinding his teeth, tried to think. “‘Ave you got any marks on your body, Joe?” he inquired.

  “I ain’t got a mark on me,” said Mr. Gibbs with a satisfied air, “or a blemish. My skin is as whi—”

  “That’s enough about your skin,” interrupted Mr. Kidd, rudely.

  “If you ain’t all of you gone before I count ten,” said Mrs. Gibbs, in a suppressed voice, “I’ll scream. ‘Ow dare you come into a respectable woman’s place and talk about your skins? Are you going? One! Two! Three! Four! Five!”

  Her voice rose with each numeral; and Mr. Gibbs himself led the way downstairs, and, followed by his friends, slipped nimbly round the corner.

  “It’s a wonder she didn’t rouse the whole ‘ouse,” he said, wiping his brow on his sleeve; “and where should we ha’ been then? I thought at the time it was a mistake you making me ‘ave my whiskers off, but I let you know best. She’s never seen me without ’em. I ‘ad a remarkable strong growth when I was quite a boy. While other boys was—”

  “Shut-up!” vociferated Mr. Kidd.

  “Sha’n’t!” said Mr. Gibbs, defiantly. “I’ve ‘ad enough of being away from my comfortable little ‘ome and my wife; and I’m going to let ’em start growing agin this very night. She’ll never reckernize me without ’em, that’s certain.”

  “He’s right, Bob,” said Mr. Brown, with conviction.

  “D’ye mean to tell me we’ve got to wait till ‘is blasted whiskers grow?” cried Mr. Kidd, almost dancing with fury. “And go on keeping ‘im in idleness till they do?”

  “You’ll get it all back out o’ my share,” said Mr. Gibbs, with dignity. “But you can
please yourself. If you like to call it quits now, I don’t mind.”

  Mr. Brown took his seething friend aside, and conferred with him in low but earnest tones. Mr. Gibbs, with an indifferent air, stood by whistling softly.

  “‘Ow long will they take to grow?” inquired Mr. Kidd, turning to him with a growl.

  Mr. Gibbs shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t say,” he replied; “but I should think two or three weeks would be enough for ‘er to reckernize me by. If she don’t, we must wait another week or so, that’s all.”

  “Well, there won’t be much o’ your share left, mind that,” said Mr. Kidd, glowering at him.

  “I can’t help it,” said Mr. Gibbs. “You needn’t keep reminding me of it.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence; and for the next fortnight Mr. Gibbs’s friends paid nightly visits to note the change in his appearance, and grumble at its slowness.

  “We’ll try and pull it off to-morrow night,” said Mr. Kidd, at the end of that period. “I’m fair sick o’ lending you money.”

  Mr. Gibbs shook his head and spoke sagely about not spoiling the ship for a ha’porth o’ tar; but Mr. Kidd was obdurate.

  “There’s enough for ‘er to reckernize you by,” he said, sternly, “and we don’t want other people to. Meet us at the Monument at eight o’clock to-morrow night, and we’ll get it over.”

  “Give your orders,” said Mr. Gibbs, in a nasty voice.

  “Keep your ‘at well over your eyes,” commanded Mr. Kidd, sternly. “Put them spectacles on wot I lent you, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you tied your face up in a piece o’ red flannel.”

  “I know wot I’m going to do without you telling me,” said Mr. Gibbs, nodding. “I’ll bet you pots round that you don’t either of you reckernize me tomorrow night.”

  The bet was taken at once, and from eight o’clock until ten minutes to nine the following night Messrs. Kidd and Brown did their best to win it. Then did Mr. Kidd, turning to Mr. Brown in perplexity, inquire with many redundant words what it all meant.

  “He must ‘ave gone on by ‘imself,” said Mr. Brown. “We’d better go and see.”

  In a state of some disorder they hurried back to Wapping, and, mounting the stairs to Mrs. Gibbs’s room, found the door fast. To their fervent and repeated knocking there was no answer.

  “Ah, you won’t make her ‘ear,” said a woman, thrusting an untidy head over the balusters on the next landing. “She’s gone.”

  “Gone!” exclaimed both gentlemen. “Where?”

  “Canada,” said the woman. “She went off this morning.”

  Mr. Kidd leaned up against the wall for support; Mr. Brown stood open-mouthed and voiceless.

  “It was a surprise to me,” said the woman, “but she told me this morning she’s been getting ready on the quiet for the last fortnight. Good spirits she was in, too; laughing like anything.”

  “Laughing!” repeated Mr. Kidd, in a terrible voice.

  The woman nodded. “And when I spoke about it and reminded ‘er that she ‘ad only just lost ‘er pore husband, I thought she would ha’ burst,” she said, severely. “She sat down on that stair and laughed till the tears ran dowwn ‘er face like water.”

  Mr. Brown turned a bewildered face upon his partner. “Laughing!” he said, slowly. “Wot ‘ad she got to laugh at?”

  “Two born-fools,” replied Mr. Kidd.

  GOOD INTENTIONS

  “Jealousy; that’s wot it is,” said the night-watchman, trying to sneer— “pure jealousy.” He had left his broom for a hurried half-pint at the “Bull’s Head” — left it leaning in a negligent attitude against the warehouse-wall; now, lashed to the top of the crane at the jetty end, it pointed its soiled bristles towards the evening sky and defied capture.

  “And I know who it is, and why ‘e’s done it,” he continued. “Fust and last, I don’t suppose I was talking to the gal for more than ten minutes, and ‘arf of that was about the weather.

  “I don’t suppose anybody ‘as suffered more from jealousy than wot I ‘ave: Other people’s jealousy, I mean. Ever since I was married the missis has been setting traps for me, and asking people to keep an eye on me. I blacked one of the eyes once — like a fool — and the chap it belonged to made up a tale about me that I ain’t lived down yet.

  “Years ago, when I was out with the missis one evening, I saved a gal’s life for her. She slipped as she was getting off a bus, and I caught ‘er just in time. Fine strapping gal she was, and afore I could get my balance we ‘ad danced round and round ‘arfway acrost the road with our arms round each other’s necks, and my missis watching us from the pavement. When we were safe, she said the gal ‘adn’t slipped at all; and, as soon as the gal ‘ad got ‘er breath, I’m blest if she didn’t say so too.

  “You can’t argufy with jealous people, and you can’t shame ’em. When I told my missis once that I should never dream of being jealous of her, instead of up and thanking me for it, she spoilt the best frying-pan we ever had. When the widder-woman next-door but two and me ‘ad rheumatics at the same time, she went and asked the doctor whether it was catching.

  “The worse trouble o’ that kind I ever got into was all through trying to do somebody else a kindness. I went out o’ my way to do it; I wasted the whole evening for the sake of other people, and got into such trouble over it that even now it gives me the cold shivers to think of.

  “Cap’n Tarbell was the man I tried to do a good turn to; a man what used to be master of a ketch called the Lizzie and Annie, trading between ‘ere and Shoremouth. ‘Artful Jack’ he used to be called, and if ever a man deserved the name, he did. A widder-man of about fifty, and as silly as a boy of fifteen. He ‘ad been talking of getting married agin for over ten years, and, thinking it was only talk, I didn’t give ‘im any good advice. Then he told me one night that ‘e was keeping company with a woman named Lamb, who lived at a place near Shoremouth. When I asked ‘im what she looked like, he said that she had a good ‘art, and, knowing wot that meant, I wasn’t at all surprised when he told me some time arter that ‘e had been a silly fool.

  “‘Well, if she’s got a good ‘art,’ I ses, ‘p’r’aps she’ll let you go.’

  “‘Talk sense,’ he ses. ‘It ain’t good enough for that. Why, she worships the ground I tread on. She thinks there is nobody like me in the whole wide world.’

  “‘Let’s ‘ope she’ll think so arter you’re married,’ I ses, trying to cheer him up.

  “‘I’m not going to get married,’ he ses. ‘Leastways, not to ‘er. But ‘ow to get out of it without breaking her ‘art and being had up for breach o’ promise I can’t think. And if the other one got to ‘ear of it, I should lose her too.’

  “‘Other one?’ I ses, ‘wot other one?’

  “Cap’n Tarbell shook his ‘ead and smiled like a silly gal.

  “‘She fell in love with me on top of a bus in the Mile End Road,’ he ses. ‘Love at fust sight it was. She’s a widder lady with a nice little ‘ouse at Bow, and plenty to live on-her ‘usband having been a builder. I don’t know what to do. You see, if I married both of ’em it’s sure to be found out sooner or later.’

  “‘You’ll be found out as it is,’ I ses, ‘if you ain’t careful. I’m surprised at you.’

  “‘Yes,’ he ses, getting up and walking backwards and forwards; ‘especially as Mrs. Plimmer is always talking about coming down to see the ship. One thing is, the crew won’t give me away; they’ve been with me too long for that. P’r’aps you could give me a little advice, Bill.’

  “I did. I talked to that man for an hour and a’arf, and when I ‘ad finished he said he didn’t want that kind of advice at all. Wot ‘e wanted was for me to tell ‘im ‘ow to get rid of Miss Lamb and marry Mrs. Plimmer without anybody being offended or having their feelings hurt.

  “Mrs. Plimmer came down to the ship the very next evening. Fine-looking woman she was, and, wot with ‘er watch and chain and di’mond rings and brooches and such-lik
e, I should think she must ‘ave ‘ad five or six pounds’ worth of jewell’ry on ‘er. She gave me a very pleasant smile, and I gave ‘er one back, and we stood chatting there like old friends till at last she tore ‘erself away and went on board the ship.

  “She came off by and by hanging on Cap’n Tarbell’s arm. The cap’n was dressed up in ‘is Sunday clothes, with one of the cleanest collars on I ‘ave ever seen in my life, and smoking a cigar that smelt like an escape of gas. He came back alone at ha’past eleven that night, and ‘e told me that if it wasn’t for the other one down Shoremouth way he should be the ‘appiest man on earth.

  “‘Mrs. Plimmer’s only got one fault,’ he ses, shaking his ‘cad, ‘and that’s jealousy. If she got to know of Laura Lamb, it would be all U.P. It makes me go cold all over when I think of it. The only thing is to get married as quick as I can; then she can’t help ‘erself.’

  “‘It wouldn’t prevent the other one making a fuss, though,’ I ses.

  “‘No,’ he ses, very thoughtfully, ‘it wouldn’t. I shall ‘ave to do something there, but wot, I don’t know.’

  “He climbed on board like a man with a load on his mind, and arter a look at the sky went below and forgot both ‘is troubles in sleep.

  “Mrs. Plimmer came down to the wharf every time the ship was up, arter that. Sometimes she’d spend the evening aboard, and sometimes they’d go off and spend it somewhere else. She ‘ad a fancy for the cabin, I think, and the cap’n told me that she ‘ad said when they were married she was going to sail with ‘im sometimes.

  “‘But it ain’t for six months yet,’ he ses, ‘and a lot o’ things might ‘appen to the other one in that time, with luck.’

  “It was just about a month arter that that ‘e came to me one evening trembling all over. I ‘ad just come on dooty, and afore I could ask ‘im wot was the matter he ‘ad got me in the ‘Bull’s Head’ and stood me three ‘arf-pints, one arter the other.