Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  Mr. Kemp smiled and shook his head. “Promise?” said Bella.

  “Well, well,” said Mr. Kemp; “p’r’aps—”

  “He must go back,” shouted the alarmed Mr. Wright.

  “Let him speak for himself,” exclaimed Bella, indignantly.

  “Just another week then,” said Mr. Kemp. “It’s no good having money if I can’t please myself.”

  “A week!” shouted Mr. Wright, almost beside himself with rage and dismay. “A week! Another week! Why, you told me — —”

  “Oh, don’t listen to him,” said Mrs. Bradshaw. “Croaker! It’s his own business, ain’t it? And he knows best, don’t he? What’s it got to do with you?”

  She patted Mr. Kemp’s hand; Mr. Kemp patted back, and with his disengaged hand helped himself to a glass of beer — the fourth — and beamed in a friendly fashion upon the company.

  “George!” he said, suddenly.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Wright, in a harsh voice.

  “Did you think to bring my pocket-book along with you?”

  “No,” said Mr. Wright, sharply; “I didn’t.”

  “Tt-tt,” said the old man, with a gesture of annoyance. “Well, lend me a couple of pounds, then, or else run back and fetch my pocket-book,” he added, with a sly grin.

  Mr. Wright’s face worked with impotent fury. “What — what — do you — want it for?” he gasped.

  Mrs. Bradshaw’s “Well! Well!” seemed to sum up the general feeling; Mr. Kemp, shaking his head, eyed him with gentle reproach.

  “Me and Mrs. Bradshaw are going to gave another evening out,” he said, quietly. “I’ve only got a few more days, and I must make hay while the sun shines.”

  To Mr. Wright the room seemed to revolve slowly on its axis, but, regaining his self-possession by a supreme effort, he took out his purse and produced the amount. Mrs. Bradshaw, after a few feminine protestations, went upstairs to put her bonnet on.

  “And you can go and fetch a hansom-cab, George, while she’s a-doing of it,” said Mr. Kemp. “Pick out a good ‘orse — spotted-grey, if you can.”

  Mr. Wright arose and, departing with a suddenness that was almost startling, exploded harmlessly in front of the barber’s, next door but one. Then with lagging steps he went in search of the shabbiest cab and oldest horse he could find.

  “Thankee, my boy,” said Mr. Kemp, bluffly, as he helped Mrs. Bradshaw in and stood with his foot on the step. “By the way, you had better go back and lock my pocket-book up. I left it on the washstand, and there’s best part of a thousand pounds in it. You can take fifty for yourself to buy smokes with.”

  There was a murmur of admiration, and Mr. Wright, with a frantic attempt to keep up appearances, tried to thank him, but in vain. Long after the cab had rolled away he stood on the pavement trying to think out a position which was rapidly becoming unendurable. Still keeping up appearances, he had to pretend to go home to look after the pocket-book, leaving the jubilant Mr. Hills to improve the shining hour with Miss Bradshaw.

  Mr. Kemp, returning home at midnight — in a cab — found the young man waiting up for him, and, taking a seat on the edge of the table, listened unmoved to a word-picture of himself which seemed interminable. He was only moved to speech when Mr. Wright described him as a white-whiskered jezebel who was a disgrace to his sex, and then merely in the interests of natural science.

  “Don’t you worry,” he said, as the other paused from exhaustion. “It won’t be for long now.”

  “Long?” said Mr. Wright, panting. “First thing to-morrow morning you have a telegram calling you back — a telegram that must be minded. D’ye see?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Mr. Kemp, plainly. “I’m not going back, never no more — never! I’m going to stop here and court Mrs. Bradshaw.”

  Mr. Wright fought for breath. “You — you can’t!” he gasped.

  “I’m going to have a try,” said the old man. “I’m sick of going to sea, and it’ll be a nice comfortable home for my old age. You marry Bella, and I’ll marry her mother. Happy family!”

  Mr. Wright, trembling with rage, sat down to recover, and, regaining his composure after a time, pointed out almost calmly the various difficulties in the way.

  “I’ve thought it all out,” said Mr. Kemp, nodding. “She mustn’t know I’m not rich till after we’re married; then I ‘ave a letter from New Zealand saying I’ve lost all my money. It’s just as easy to have that letter as the one you spoke of.”

  “And I’m to find you money to play the rich uncle with till you’re married, I suppose,” said Mr. Wright, in a grating voice, “and then lose Bella when Mrs. Bradshaw finds you’ve lost your money?”

  Mr. Kemp scratched his ear. “That’s your lookout,” he said, at last.

  “Now, look here,” said Mr. Wright, with great determination. “Either you go and tell them that you’ve been telegraphed for — cabled is the proper word — or I tell them the truth.”

  “That’ll settle you then,” said Mr. Kemp.

  “No more than the other would,” retorted the young man, “and it’ll come cheaper. One thing I’ll take my oath of, and that is I won’t give you another farthing; but if you do as I tell you I’ll give you a quid for luck. Now, think it over.”

  Mr. Kemp thought it over, and after a vain attempt to raise the promised reward to five pounds, finally compounded for two, and went off to bed after a few stormy words on selfishness and ingratitude. He declined to speak to his host at breakfast next morning, and accompanied him in the evening with the air of a martyr going to the stake. He listened in stony silence to the young man’s instructions, and only spoke when the latter refused to pay the two pounds in advance.

  The news, communicated in halting accents by Mr. Kemp, was received with flattering dismay. Mrs. Bradshaw refused to believe her ears, and it was only after the information had been repeated and confirmed by Mr. Wright that she understood.

  “I must go,” said Mr. Kemp. “I’ve spent over eleven pounds cabling to-day; but it’s all no good.”

  “But you’re coming back?” said Mr. Hills.

  “O’ course I am,” was the reply. “George is the only relation I’ve got, and I’ve got to look after him, I suppose. After all, blood is thicker than water.”

  “Hear, hear!” said Mrs. Bradshaw, piously.

  “And there’s you and Bella,” continued Mr. Kemp; “two of the best that ever breathed.”

  The ladies looked down.

  “And Charlie Hills; I don’t know — I don’t know when I’ve took such a fancy to anybody as I have to ‘im. If I was a young gal — a single young gal — he’s — the other half,” he said, slowly, as he paused— “just the one I should fancy. He’s a good-’arted, good-looking — —”

  “Draw it mild,” interrupted the blushing Mr. Hills as Mr. Wright bestowed a ferocious glance upon the speaker.

  “Clever, lively young fellow,” concluded Mr. Kemp. “George!”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Wright.

  “I’m going now. I’ve got to catch the train for Southampton, but I don’t want you to come with me. I prefer to be alone. You stay here and cheer them up. Oh, and before I forget it, lend me a couple o’ pounds out o’ that fifty I gave you last night. I’ve given all my small change away.”

  He looked up and met Mr. Wright’s eye; the latter, too affected to speak, took out the money and passed it over.

  “We never know what may happen to us,” said the old man, solemnly, as he rose and buttoned his coat. “I’m an old man and I like to have things ship-shape. I’ve spent nearly the whole day with my lawyer, and if anything ‘appens to my old carcass it won’t make any difference. I have left half my money to George; half of all I have is to be his.”

  In the midst of an awed silence he went round and shook hands.

  “The other half,” with his hand on the door— “the other half and my best gold watch and chain I have left to my dear young pal, Charlie Hills. Good-bye, Georgie!”

 
MANNERS MAKYTH MAN

  The night-watchman appeared to be out of sorts. His movements were even slower than usual, and, when he sat, the soap-box seemed to be unable to give satisfaction. His face bore an expression of deep melancholy, but a smouldering gleam in his eye betokened feelings deeply moved.

  “Play-acting I don’t hold with,” he burst out, with sudden ferocity. “Never did. I don’t say I ain’t been to a theayter once or twice in my life, but I always come away with the idea that anybody could act if they liked to try. It’s a kid’s game, a silly kid’s game, dressing up and pretending to be somebody else.”

  He cut off a piece of tobacco and, stowing it in his left cheek, sat chewing, with his lack-lustre eyes fixed on the wharves across the river. The offensive antics of a lighterman in mid-stream, who nearly fell overboard in his efforts to attract his attention, he ignored.

  “I might ha’ known it, too,” he said, after a long silence. “If I’d only stopped to think, instead o’ being in such a hurry to do good to others, I should ha’ been all right, and the pack o’ monkey-faced swabs on the Lizzie and Annie wot calls themselves sailor-men would ‘ave had to ‘ave got something else to laugh about. They’ve told it in every pub for ‘arf a mile round, and last night, when I went into the Town of Margate to get a drink, three chaps climbed over the partition to ‘ave a look at me.

  “It all began with young Ted Sawyer, the mate o’ the Lizzie and Annie. He calls himself a mate, but if it wasn’t for ‘aving the skipper for a brother-in-law ‘e’d be called something else, very quick. Two or three times we’ve ‘ad words over one thing and another, and the last time I called ‘im something that I can see now was a mistake. It was one o’ these ‘ere clever things that a man don’t forget, let alone a lop-sided monkey like ‘im.

  “That was when they was up time afore last, and when they made fast ‘ere last week I could see as he ‘adn’t forgotten it. For one thing he pretended not to see me, and, arter I ‘ad told him wot I’d do to him if ‘e ran into me agin, he said ‘e thought I was a sack o’ potatoes taking a airing on a pair of legs wot somebody ‘ad throwed away. Nasty tongue ‘e’s got; not clever, but nasty.

  “Arter that I took no notice of ‘im, and, o’ course, that annoyed ‘im more than anything. All I could do I done, and ‘e was ringing the gate-bell that night from five minutes to twelve till ha’-past afore I heard it. Many a night-watchman gets a name for going to sleep when ‘e’s only getting a bit of ‘is own back.

  “We stood there talking for over ‘arf-an-hour arter I ‘ad let’im in. Leastways, he did. And whenever I see as he was getting tired I just said, ‘H’sh!’ and ‘e’d start agin as fresh as ever. He tumbled to it at last, and went aboard shaking ‘is little fist at me and telling me wot he’d do to me if it wasn’t for the lor.

  “I kept by the gate as soon as I came on dooty next evening, just to give ‘im a little smile as ‘e went out. There is nothing more aggravating than a smile when it is properly done; but there was no signs o’ my lord, and, arter practising it on a carman by mistake, I ‘ad to go inside for a bit and wait till he ‘ad gorn.

  “The coast was clear by the time I went back, and I ‘ad just stepped outside with my back up agin the gate-post to ‘ave a pipe, when I see a boy coming along with a bag. Good-looking lad of about fifteen ‘e was, nicely dressed in a serge suit, and he no sooner gets up to me than ‘e puts down the bag and looks up at me with a timid sort o’ little smile.

  “‘Good evening, cap’n,’ he ses.

  “He wasn’t the fust that has made that mistake; older people than ‘im have done it.

  “‘Good evening, my lad,’ I ses.

  “‘I s’pose,’ he ses, in a trembling voice, ‘I suppose you ain’t looking out for a cabin-boy, sir?’

  “‘Cabin-boy?’ I ses. ‘No, I ain’t.’

  “‘I’ve run away from ‘ome to go to sea,’ he ses, and I’m afraid of being pursued. Can I come inside?’

  “Afore I could say ‘No’ he ‘ad come, bag and all; and afore I could say anything else he ‘ad nipped into the office and stood there with his ‘and on his chest panting.

  “‘I know I can trust you,’ he ses; ‘I can see it by your face.”

  “‘Wot ‘ave you run away from ‘ome for?’ I ses. ‘Have they been ill-treating of you?’

  “‘Ill-treating me?’ he ses, with a laugh. ‘Not much. Why, I expect my father is running about all over the place offering rewards for me. He wouldn’t lose me for a thousand pounds.’

  “I pricked up my ears at that; I don’t deny it. Anybody would. Besides, I knew it would be doing him a kindness to hand ‘im back to ‘is father. And then I did a bit o’ thinking to see ‘ow it was to be done.

  “‘Sit down,’ I ses, putting three or four ledgers on the floor behind one of the desks. ‘Sit down, and let’s talk it over.’

  “We talked away for ever so long, but, do all I would, I couldn’t persuade ‘im. His ‘ead was stuffed full of coral islands and smugglers and pirates and foreign ports. He said ‘e wanted to see the world, and flying-fish.

  “‘I love the blue billers,’ he ses; ‘the heaving blue billers is wot I want.’

  “I tried to explain to ‘im who would be doing the heaving, but ‘e wouldn’t listen to me. He sat on them ledgers like a little wooden image, looking up at me and shaking his ‘ead, and when I told ‘im of storms and shipwrecks he just smacked ‘is lips and his blue eyes shone with joy. Arter a time I saw it was no good trying to persuade ‘im, and I pretended to give way.

  “‘I think I can get you a ship with a friend o’ mine,’ I ses; ‘but, mind, I’ve got to relieve your pore father’s mind — I must let ‘im know wot’s become of you.’

  “‘Not before I’ve sailed,’ he ses, very quick.

  “‘Certingly not,’ I ses. ‘But you must give me ‘is name and address, and, arter the Blue Shark — that’s the name of your ship — is clear of the land, I’ll send ‘im a letter with no name to it, saying where you ave gorn.’

  “He didn’t seem to like it at fust, and said ‘e would write ‘imself, but arter I ‘ad pointed out that ‘e might forget and that I was responsible, ‘e gave way and told me that ‘is father was named Mr. Watson, and he kept a big draper’s shop in the Commercial Road.

  “We talked a bit arter that, just to stop ‘is suspicions, and then I told ‘im to stay where ‘e was on the floor, out of sight of the window, while I went to see my friend the captain.

  “I stood outside for a moment trying to make up my mind wot to do. O’course, I ‘ad no business, strictly speaking, to leave the wharf, but, on the other ‘and, there was a father’s ‘art to relieve. I edged along bit by bit while I was thinking, and then, arter looking back once or twice to make sure that the boy wasn’t watching me, I set off for the Commercial Road as hard as I could go.

  “I’m not so young as I was. It was a warm evening, and I ‘adn’t got even a bus fare on me. I ‘ad to walk all the way, and, by the time I got there, I was ‘arf melted. It was a tidy-sized shop, with three or four nice-looking gals behind the counter, and things like babies’ high chairs for the customers to sit onlong in the leg and ridikerlously small in the seat. I went up to one of the gals and told Per I wanted to see Mr. Watson.

  “‘On private business,’ I ses. ‘Very important.’

  “She looked at me for a moment, and then she went away and fetched a tall, bald-headed man with grey side-whiskers and a large nose.

  “‘Wot d’you want?” he ses, coming up to me.

  I want a word with you in private,’ I ses.

  “‘This is private enough for me,’ he ses. ‘Say wot you ‘ave to say, and be quick about it.’

  “I drawed myself up a bit and looked at him. ‘P’r’aps you ain’t missed ‘im yet,’ I ses.

  “‘Missed ‘im?’ he ses, with a growl. ‘Missed who?’

  “‘Your-son. Your blue-eyed son,’ I ses, looking ‘im straight in the eye.

  “‘Look here!’
he ses, spluttering. ‘You be off. ‘Ow dare you come here with your games? Wot d’ye mean by it?’

  “‘I mean,’ I ses, getting a bit out o’ temper, ‘that your boy has run away to go to sea, and I’ve come to take you to ‘im.’

  “He seemed so upset that I thought ‘e was going to ‘ave a fit at fust, and it seemed only natural, too. Then I see that the best-looking girl and another was having a fit, although trying ‘ard not to.

  “‘If you don’t get out o’ my shop,’ he ses at last, ‘I’ll ‘ave you locked up.’

  “‘Very good!’ I ses, in a quiet way. ‘Very good; but, mark my words, if he’s drownded you’ll never forgive yourself as long as you live for letting your temper get the better of you — you’ll never know a good night’s rest agin. Besides, wot about ‘is mother?’

  “One o’ them silly gals went off agin just like a damp firework, and Mr. Watson, arter nearly choking ‘imself with temper, shoved me out o’ the way and marched out o’ the shop. I didn’t know wot to make of ‘im at fust, and then one o’ the gals told me that ‘e was a bachelor and ‘adn’t got no son, and that somebody ‘ad been taking advantage of what she called my innercence to pull my leg.

  “‘You toddle off ‘ome,’ she ses, ‘before Mr. Watson comes back.’

  “‘It’s a shame to let ‘im come out alone,’ ses one o’ the other gals. ‘Where do you live, gran’pa?’

  “I see then that I ‘ad been done, and I was just walking out o’ the shop, pretending to be deaf, when Mr. Watson come back with a silly young policeman wot asked me wot I meant by it. He told me to get off ‘ome quick, and actually put his ‘and on my shoulder, but it ‘ud take more than a thing like that to push me, and, arter trying his ‘ardest, he could only rock me a bit.

  “I went at last because I wanted to see that boy agin, and the young policeman follered me quite a long way, shaking his silly ‘ead at me and telling me to be careful.

  “I got a ride part o’ the way from Commercial Road to Aldgate by getting on the wrong bus, but it wasn’t much good, and I was quite tired by the time I got back to the wharf. I waited outside for a minute or two to get my wind back agin, and then I went in-boiling.