He pulled up suddenly one evening as he saw his tenacious friend, accompanied by a lady-member, some little distance ahead. Then he sprang forward with fists clenched as a passer-by, after scowling at Mr. Purnip, leaned forward and deliberately blew a mouthful of smoke into the face of his companion.
Mr. Billing stopped again and stood gaping with astonishment. The aggressor was getting up from the pavement, while Mr. Purnip, in an absolutely correct attitude, stood waiting for him. Mr. Billing in a glow of delight edged forward, and, with a few other fortunates, stood by watching one of the best fights that had ever been seen in the district. Mr. Purnip’s foot-work was excellent, and the way he timed his blows made Mr. Billing’s eyes moist with admiration.
It was over at last. The aggressor went limping off, and Mr. Purnip, wiping his bald head, picked up his battered and dusty hat from the roadway and brushed it on his sleeve. He turned with a start and a blush to meet the delighted gaze of Mr. Billing.
“I’m ashamed of myself,” he murmured, brokenly— “ashamed.”
“Ashamed!” exclaimed the amazed Mr. Billing. “Why, a pro couldn’t ha’ done better.”
“Such an awful example,” moaned the other. “All my good work here thrown away.”
“Don’t you believe it, sir,” said Mr. Billing, earnestly. “As soon as this gets about you’ll get more members than you want a’most. I’m coming back, for one.”
Mr. Purnip turned and grasped his hand.
“I understand things now,” said Mr. Billing, nodding sagely. “Turning the other cheek’s all right so long as you don’t do it always. If you don’t let ’em know whether you are going to turn the other cheek or knock their blessed heads off, it’s all right. ‘Arf the trouble in the world is caused by letting people know too much.”
HUSBANDRY
Dealing with a man, said the night-watchman, thoughtfully, is as easy as a teetotaller walking along a nice wide pavement; dealing with a woman is like the same teetotaller, arter four or five whiskies, trying to get up a step that ain’t there. If a man can’t get ‘is own way he eases ‘is mind with a little nasty language, and then forgets all about it; if a woman can’t get ‘er own way she flies into a temper and reminds you of something you oughtn’t to ha’ done ten years ago. Wot a woman would do whose ‘usband had never done anything wrong I can’t think.
I remember a young feller telling me about a row he ‘ad with ‘is wife once. He ‘adn’t been married long and he talked as if the way she carried on was unusual. Fust of all, he said, she spoke to ‘im in a cooing sort o’ voice and pulled his moustache, then when he wouldn’t give way she worked herself up into a temper and said things about ‘is sister. Arter which she went out o’ the room and banged the door so hard it blew down a vase off the fireplace. Four times she came back to tell ‘im other things she ‘ad thought of, and then she got so upset she ‘ad to go up to bed and lay down instead of getting his tea. When that didn’t do no good she refused her food, and when ‘e took her up toast and tea she wouldn’t look at it. Said she wanted to die. He got quite uneasy till ‘e came ‘ome the next night and found the best part of a loaf o’ bread, a quarter o’ butter, and a couple o’ chops he ‘ad got in for ‘is supper had gorn; and then when he said ‘e was glad she ‘ad got ‘er appetite back she turned round and said that he grudged ‘er the food she ate.
And no woman ever owned up as ‘ow she was wrong; and the more you try and prove it to ’em the louder they talk about something else. I know wot I’m talking about because a woman made a mistake about me once, and though she was proved to be in the wrong, and it was years ago, my missus shakes her ‘ead about it to this day.
It was about eight years arter I ‘ad left off going to sea and took up night-watching. A beautiful summer evening it was, and I was sitting by the gate smoking a pipe till it should be time to light up, when I noticed a woman who ‘ad just passed turn back and stand staring at me. I’ve ‘ad that sort o’ thing before, and I went on smoking and looking straight in front of me. Fat middle-aged woman she was, wot ‘ad lost her good looks and found others. She stood there staring and staring, and by and by she tries a little cough.
I got up very slow then, and, arter looking all round at the evening, without seeing ‘er, I was just going to step inside and shut the wicket, when she came closer.
“Bill!” she ses, in a choking sort o’ voice.
“Bill!”
I gave her a look that made her catch ‘er breath, and I was just stepping through the wicket, when she laid hold of my coat and tried to hold me back.
“Do you know wot you’re a-doing of?” I ses, turning on her.
“Oh, Bill dear,” she ses, “don’t talk to me like that. Do you want to break my ‘art? Arter all these years!”
She pulled out a dirt-coloured pocket-’ankercher and stood there dabbing her eyes with it. One eye at a time she dabbed, while she looked at me reproachful with the other. And arter eight dabs, four to each eye, she began to sob as if her ‘art would break.
“Go away,” I ses, very slow. “You can’t stand making that noise outside my wharf. Go away and give somebody else a treat.”
Afore she could say anything the potman from the Tiger, a nasty ginger- ‘aired little chap that nobody liked, come by and stopped to pat her on the back.
“There, there, don’t take on, mother,” he ses. “Wot’s he been a-doing to you?”
“You get off ‘ome,” I ses, losing my temper.
“Wot d’ye mean trying to drag me into it? I’ve never seen the woman afore in my life.”
“Oh, Bill!” ses the woman, sobbing louder than ever. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
“‘Ow does she know your name, then?” ses the little beast of a potman.
I didn’t answer him. I might have told ‘im that there’s about five million Bills in England, but I didn’t. I stood there with my arms folded acrost my chest, and looked at him, superior.
“Where ‘ave you been all this long, long time?” she ses, between her sobs. “Why did you leave your happy ‘ome and your children wot loved you?”
The potman let off a whistle that you could have ‘eard acrost the river, and as for me, I thought I should ha’ dropped. To have a woman standing sobbing and taking my character away like that was a’most more than I could bear.
“Did he run away from you?” ses the potman.
“Ye-ye-yes,” she ses. “He went off on a vy’ge to China over nine years ago, and that’s the last I saw of ‘im till to-night. A lady friend o’ mine thought she reckernized ‘im yesterday, and told me.”
“I shouldn’t cry over ‘im,” ses the potman, shaking his ‘ead: “he ain’t worth it. If I was you I should just give ‘im a bang or two over the ‘ead with my umberella, and then give ‘im in charge.”
I stepped inside the wicket — backwards — and then I slammed it in their faces, and putting the key in my pocket, walked up the wharf. I knew it was no good standing out there argufying. I felt sorry for the pore thing in a way. If she really thought I was her ‘usband, and she ‘ad lost me —— I put one or two things straight and then, for the sake of distracting my mind, I ‘ad a word or two with the skipper of the John Henry, who was leaning against the side of his ship, smoking.
“Wot’s that tapping noise?” he ses, all of a sudden. “‘Ark!”
I knew wot it was. It was the handle of that umberella ‘ammering on the gate. I went cold all over, and then when I thought that the pot-man was most likely encouraging ‘er to do it I began to boil.
“Somebody at the gate,” ses the skipper.
“Aye, aye,” I ses. “I know all about it.”
I went on talking until at last the skipper asked me whether he was wandering in ‘is mind, or whether I was. The mate came up from the cabin just then, and o’ course he ‘ad to tell me there was somebody knocking at the gate.
“Ain’t you going to open it?” ses the skipper, staring at me.
“Let ’em ring,” I ses, off-han
d.
The words was ‘ardly out of my mouth afore they did ring, and if they ‘ad been selling muffins they couldn’t ha’ kept it up harder. And all the time the umberella was doing rat-a-tat tats on the gate, while a voice — much too loud for the potman’s — started calling out: “Watch-man ahoy!”
“They’re calling you, Bill,” ses the skipper. “I ain’t deaf,” I ses, very cold.
“Well, I wish I was,” ses the skipper. “It’s fair making my ear ache. Why the blazes don’t you do your dooty, and open the gate?”
“You mind your bisness and I’ll mind mine,” I ses. “I know wot I’m doing. It’s just some silly fools ‘aving a game with me, and I’m not going to encourage ’em.”
“Game with you?” ses the skipper. “Ain’t they got anything better than that to play with? Look ‘ere, if you don’t open that gate, I will.”
“It’s nothing to do with you,” I ses. “You look arter your ship and I’ll look arter my wharf. See? If you don’t like the noise, go down in the cabin and stick your ‘ead in a biscuit-bag.”
To my surprise he took the mate by the arm and went, and I was just thinking wot a good thing it was to be a bit firm with people sometimes, when they came back dressed up in their coats and bowler-hats and climbed on to the wharf.
“Watchman!” ses the skipper, in a hoity-toity sort o’ voice, “me and the mate is going as far as Aldgate for a breath o’ fresh air. Open the gate.”
I gave him a look that might ha’ melted a ‘art of stone, and all it done to ‘im was to make ‘im laugh.
“Hurry up,” he ses. “It a’most seems to me that there’s somebody ringing the bell, and you can let them in same time as you let us out. Is it the bell, or is it my fancy, Joe?” he ses, turning to the mate.
They marched on in front of me with their noses cocked in the air, and all the time the noise at the gate got worse and worse. So far as I could make out, there was quite a crowd outside, and I stood there with the key in the lock, trembling all over. Then I unlocked it very careful, and put my hand on the skipper’s arm.
“Nip out quick,” I ses, in a whisper.
“I’m in no hurry,” ses the skipper. “Here! Halloa, wot’s up?”
It was like opening the door at a theatre, and the fust one through was that woman, shoved behind by the potman. Arter ‘im came a car-man, two big ‘ulking brewers’ draymen, a little scrap of a woman with ‘er bonnet cocked over one eye, and a couple of dirty little boys.
“Wot is it?” ses the skipper, shutting the wicket behind ’em. “A beanfeast?”
“This lady wants her ‘usband,” ses the pot-man, pointing at me. “He run away from her nine years ago, and now he says he ‘as never seen ‘er before. He ought to be ‘ung.”
“Bill,” ses the skipper, shaking his silly ‘ead at me. “I can ‘ardly believe it.”
“It’s all a pack o’ silly lies,” I ses, firing up. “She’s made a mistake.”
“She made a mistake when she married you,” ses the thin little woman. “If I was in ‘er shoes I’d take ‘old of you and tear you limb from limb.”
“I don’t want to hurt ‘im, ma’am,” ses the other woman. “I on’y want him to come ‘ome to me and my five. Why, he’s never seen the youngest, little Annie. She’s as like ‘im as two peas.”
“Pore little devil,” ses the carman.
“Look here!” I ses, “you clear off. All of you. ‘Ow dare you come on to my wharf? If you aren’t gone in two minutes I’ll give you all in charge.”
“Who to?” ses one of the draymen, sticking his face into mine. “You go ‘ome to your wife and kids. Go on now, afore I put up my ‘ands to you.”
“That’s the way to talk to ‘im,” ses the pot-man, nodding at ’em.
They all began to talk to me then and tell me wot I was to do, and wot they would do if I didn’t. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways. When I reminded the mate that when he was up in London ‘e always passed himself off as a single man, ‘e wouldn’t listen; and when I asked the skipper whether ‘is pore missus was blind, he on’y went on shouting at the top of ‘is voice. It on’y showed me ‘ow anxious most people are that everybody else should be good.
I thought they was never going to stop, and, if it ‘adn’t been for a fit of coughing, I don’t believe that the scraggy little woman could ha’ stopped. Arter one o’ the draymen ‘ad saved her life and spoilt ‘er temper by patting ‘er on the back with a hand the size of a leg o’ mutton, the carman turned to me and told me to tell the truth, if it choked me.
“I have told you the truth,” I ses. “She ses I’m her ‘usband and I say I ain’t. Ow’s she going to prove it? Why should you believe her, and not me?”
“She’s got a truthful face,” ses the carman.
“Look here!” ses the skipper, speaking very slow, “I’ve got an idea, wot’ll settle it p’raps. You get outside,” he ses, turning sharp on the two little boys.
One o’ the draymen ‘elped ’em to go out, and ‘arf a minute arterwards a stone came over the gate and cut the potman’s lip open. Boys will be boys.
“Now!” ses the skipper, turning to the woman, and smiling with conceitedness. “Had your ‘usband got any marks on ‘im? Birth-mark, or moles, or anything of that sort?”
“I’m sure he is my ‘usband,” ses the woman, dabbing her eyes.
“Yes, yes,” ses the skipper, “but answer my question. If you can tell us any marks your ‘usband had, we can take Bill down into my cabin and — —”
“You’ll do WOT?” I ses, in a loud voice.
“You speak when you’re spoke to,” ses the carman. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”
“No, he ain’t got no birthmarks,” ses the woman, speaking very slow — and I could see she was afraid of making a mistake and losing me— “but he’s got tattoo marks. He’s got a mermaid tattooed on ‘im.”
“Where?” ses the skipper, a’most jumping.
I ‘eld my breath. Five sailormen out of ten have been tattooed with mermaids, and I was one of ’em. When she spoke agin I thought I should ha’ dropped.
“On ‘is right arm,” she ses, “unless he’s ‘ad it rubbed off.”
“You can’t rub out tattoo marks,” ses the skipper.
They all stood looking at me as if they was waiting for something. I folded my arms — tight — and stared back at ’em.
“If you ain’t this lady’s ‘usband,” ses the skipper, turning to me, “you can take off your coat and prove it.”
“And if you don’t we’ll take it off for you,” ses the carman, coming a bit closer.
Arter that things ‘appened so quick, I hardly knew whether I was standing on my ‘cad or my heels. Both, I think. They was all on top o’ me at once, and the next thing I can remember is sitting on the ground in my shirt-sleeves listening to the potman, who was making a fearful fuss because somebody ‘ad bit his ear ‘arf off. My coat was ripped up the back, and one of the draymen was holding up my arm and showing them all the mermaid, while the other struck matches so as they could see better.
“That’s your ‘usband right enough,” he ses to the woman. “Take ‘im.”
“P’raps she’ll carry ‘im ‘ome,” I ses, very fierce and sarcastic.
“And we don’t want none of your lip,” ses the carman, who was in a bad temper because he ‘ad got a fearful kick on the shin from somewhere.
I got up very slow and began to put my coat on again, and twice I ‘ad to tell that silly woman that when I wanted her ‘elp I’d let ‘er know. Then I ‘eard slow, heavy footsteps in the road outside, and, afore any of ’em could stop me, I was calling for the police.
I don’t like policemen as a rule; they’re too inquisitive, but when the wicket was pushed open and I saw a face with a helmet on it peeping in, I felt quite a liking for ’em.
“Wot’s up?” ses the policeman, staring ‘ard at my little party.
They all started telling ‘im at once, and I should think if the
potman showed him ‘is ear once he showed it to ‘im twenty times. He lost his temper and pushed it away at last, and the potman gave a ‘owl that set my teeth on edge. I waited till they was all finished, and the policeman trying to get ‘is hearing back, and then I spoke up in a quiet way and told ‘im to clear them all off of my wharf.
“They’re trespassing,” I ses, “all except the skipper and mate here. They belong to a little wash-tub that’s laying alongside, and they’re both as ‘armless as they look.”
It’s wonderful wot a uniform will do. The policeman just jerked his ‘ead and said “out-side,” and the men went out like a flock of sheep. The on’y man that said a word was the carman, who was in such a hurry that ‘e knocked his bad shin against my foot as ‘e went by. The thin little woman was passed out by the policeman in the middle of a speech she was making, and he was just going for the other, when the skipper stopped ‘im.
“This lady is coming on my ship,” he ses, puffing out ‘is chest.
I looked at ‘im, and then I turned to the policeman. “So long as she goes off my wharf, I don’t mind where she goes,” I ses. “The skipper’s goings-on ‘ave got nothing to do with me.”
“Then she can foller him ‘ome in the morning,” ses the skipper. “Good night, watch-man.”
Him and the mate ‘elped the silly old thing to the ship, and, arter I ‘ad been round to the Bear’s Head and fetched a pint for the police-man, I locked up and sat down to think things out; and the more I thought the worse they seemed. I’ve ‘eard people say that if you have a clear conscience nothing can hurt you. They didn’t know my missus.
I got up at last and walked on to the jetty, and the woman, wot was sitting on the deck of the John Henry, kept calling out: “Bill!” like a sick baa-lamb crying for its ma. I went back, and ‘ad four pints at the Bear’s Head, but it didn’t seem to do me any good, and at last I went and sat down in the office to wait for morning.
It came at last, a lovely morning with a beautiful sunrise; and that woman sitting up wide awake, waiting to foller me ‘ome. When I opened the gate at six o’clock she was there with the mate and the skipper, waiting, and when I left at five minutes past she was trotting along beside me.
Works of W. W. Jacobs Page 268