Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  MRS. WATERS (sharply). Mind your business (walks up and down in thought). Now if I let you out, will you promise to do exactly as I tell you?

  TRAVERS. Honour bright.

  MRS. WATERS. I’m going to give Mr. Benn a lesson he won’t forget in a hurry. I’m going to fire off this gun, and then run and tell him I’ve killed you.

  TRAVERS. Eh? (laughing) Oh Lord!

  MRS. WATERS. H’sh! stop that laughing. He’ll hear you. Do you hear? Be quiet, TRAVERS. Well, let me out!

  MRS. WATERS. Wait a moment. (She unties her hair which is tied in a plait. She shakes it over her shoulders, and arranges it with her hands. Before doing this she moves to the side of the cupboard so that TRAVERS shall not see her.) Now you can come out. ( Unlocks the door).

  (TRAVERS comes out. She holds the gun ready.)

  TRAVERS (stretching himself). I say that was a tight fit.

  MRS. WATERS. That’s your fault, you needn’t have gone in there.

  TRAVERS. It was the only — For Heaven’s sake do point that gun away. If you knew as much about guns as I do —

  MRS. WATERS. All right. I’m going into the parlour. I’ll fire the gun off in there. It’ll sound too loud here.

  TRAVERS. Yes. Fire into a cushion or something. We don’t want anybody else to hear. (She goes into the sitting-room.) Poor old Benn! This’ll upset his “narves.”

  (The sound of the explosion is heard).

  (MRS. WATERS enters and runs across to the door C.

  She unfastens it and throws it open and totters into the arms of BENN, who enters C. She utters a shriek.

  TRAVERS conceals himself in room L.).

  BENN. What — what’s the matter? I — I ‘eard a gun.

  MRS. WATERS (in a tragic whisper). A burglar. But it’s all right; I’ve killed him.

  BENN. You’ve kill — kill — killed him?

  MRS. WATERS. Yes. First shot.

  BENN (moving to door C.) Poor fellow — poor —

  MRS. WATERS (seizing his coat.) Come back!

  BENN. I was going to see — whether I could do anything for ‘im. Poor fellow. (Moving to door).

  MRS. WATERS pushing him back). You stay where you are. I don’t want any witnesses. I don’t want this house to have a bad name. I’m going to keep it quiet.

  BENN. Quiet? How?

  MRS. WATERS (pondering and biting finger). First thing to do is to get rid of the body, I suppose.

  BENN. Where — where — is he — it?

  MRS. WATERS (pointing at the ceiling). Just over where we’re standing. I must move it soon, or it will spoil my ceiling.

  (BENN hastily moves a few feet, and looks at the ceiling apprehensively.)

  I’ll bury him in the garden, I think. (Cross to window.) There’s a good piece of ground just outside. (Points C.) It’s nice and handy, and it’ll save trouble.

  BENN. Ugh!

  MRS. WATERS. What’s the matter?

  BENN (wiping his head). Nothing! (Shivers), MRS. WATERS. You’re cold It’s the night air, I suppose. A little digging will warm you beautifully. Come, get to work; you’ll find a spade in the tool-house.

  BENN (absently), A — a spade — in the tool-house? MRS. WATERS. And while you’re digging the grave, I’ll go and clean up the mess.

  BENN (in a dazed condition, fumbles at his collar). Poor fellow!

  MRS. WATERS (crosses and opens door C.). Come along, I’ll fetch the spade.

  BENN (nervously). I — I’ll come with you. (As they go out C.) Poor — fellow! — (Exeunt C.

  (TRAVERS cautiously looks out at door L.)

  TRAVERSE She’s a marvel, s’elp me, a marvel! Poor old Benn! It’s fair knocked him over. They’re coming back. He mustn’t see the corpse.

  (Goes back into room L. as Mrs Waters and Benn are seen outside window C. They have a pick and spade. There is a full moon, so that they, can be seen clearly.)

  MRS. WATERS. This is the spot. It’ll spoil my flowers but it can’t be helped, and perhaps they will be better next year.

  (BENN stands spellbound.)

  He was a tall man, so the hole must be pretty big. Thank goodness, he wasn’t very fat. Come, don’t waste time.

  BENN. P — poor fellow!

  MRS. WATERS. I’ll bring the body down when you’ve gone.

  BENN. HOW are you going to get — it down?

  MRS. WATERS. Drag it, down stairs — do you think I’m going to throw it out of the window?

  (TRAVERS comes out of room L.)

  BENN. Suppose he isn’t dead?

  MRS. WATERS. Fiddlesticks! Do you think I don’t know? Now, don’t waste time talking; it needn’t be very deep. I’ll put a few cabbages on top; I’ve got more than I want.

  (During the foregoing dialogue, TRAVERS has cautiously made his way from the room L. to the window R. C. By peering round the curtain he has seen what was passing in the garden.)

  BENN (commencing to dig). Poor chap!

  MRS. WATERS. Do be quick, you seem quite upset! You said you’d do anything for me.

  BENN. SO — so I will, but I — I — am a bit taken i aback, and I’m not used to diggin’g — graves.

  MRS. WATERS. It’s quite easy. Now I’m going in. I’ll be back soon. (She comes in and closes door C. She walks across to room L. and looks in.) Gone! (Looks round and sees TRAVERS at the window.) Ah!

  TRAVERS. COME AND LOOK AT HIM. YOU’RE A WONDER THAT’S WHAT YOU ARE. IV’E BEEN WATCHING FROM HERE. COME AND LOOK AT HIM.

  (She goes to the window R. C. TRAVERS struggles to get a view.)

  MRS. WATERS. Get back, he’ll see you.

  BENN. IS — is that you, Mrs. Waters?

  MRS. WATERS. Yes, of course it is. Who else should it be, do you think? Go on. What are you stopping for?

  (TRAVERS stands behind MRS. WATERS and peers over her shoulder. )

  TRAVERS. Fine exercise digging.

  MRS. WATERS (suddenly). Look out, he’ll see you.

  (TRAVERS in drawing back, bumps his head against the window frame. )

  BENN. Won’t you come out here, Mrs. Waters? It’s a bit creepy for you in there all alone.

  MRS. WATERS. I’m all right.

  BENN (in trembling tones). I keep fancying there’s something dodging behind them currant bushes. How you can stay there alone I can’t think. I thought I saw something looking over your shoulder just now. Fancy if it came creeping up behind you and caught hold of you!

  (TRAVERS creeps up and puts his arm round MRS. WATERS’ waist.)

  MRS. WATERS. Oh! (Speaking in a fierce under-tone.) If you do that again —

  TRAVERS. He put it into my head. I should never have thought of such a thing by myself. As a rule, I’m one of the quietest.

  MRS. WATERS. (turning to window). Make haste, Mr. Benn, I’ve a lot to do when you’ve finished. (Turning to TRAVERS.) Now you get back in there. (Pointing L.) I’m going to open the door, and when I come back try to behave yourself as if you were —

  TRAVERS. A corpse?

  MRS. WATERS. NO, as if you were ashamed of yourself.

  TRAVERS. I am. But it’s been good fun, hasn’t it?

  (Exit L.)

  (MRS. WATERS opens door C. BENN can be seen through the open window digging frantically. There is a pile of earth which he has thrown up.)

  BENN. (wiping his brow with his arm) It’s — it’s hard work; and I keep fancying — (Looks round nervously, starts and draws near her)

  MRS. WATERS. (Going out and inspecting the hole) I’ll finish it — I want a little exercise, and if anybody passed and saw you here it might lead to questions. Now you’d better go straight off home, and mind, not a word to a soul about this. (She puts her hand on his shoulder)

  (He shudders and draws away,)

  BENN. Good night! (As he moves away) Poor fellow!

  (Exit down the garden C.) —

  MRS. WATERS. He won’t want to rescue me in a hurry. (Looks at the pile of earth.) Now, I suppose I must fill this hole up. What an awful mess he’
s made! (She picks up the spade.)

  (TRAVERS comes from room L. and looks through the window).

  TRAVERS. Let me, it’s my grave.

  MRS. WATERS. I told you not to come out of that room, but as you’re there, you may as well make yourself useful. I’m coming in doors, it’s cold out here without any — with only a mackintosh on (Coming in at door C.)

  TRAVERS. Yes, take care of yourself, there’s a good girl. Where did I put my boots (lights candle and sits L. of table.) —

  (MRS. WATERS closes door with a bang.)

  MRS. WATERS. (L.) What awful impudence the man has. But he’s not bad-looking, (C.) Why don’t you get some settled work?

  TRAVERS (putting on boots). Easier said than done. Since I took my discharge from the Army, I’ve done all I could get — and that’s precious little.

  MRS. WATERS. You’ve been a soldier? I thought you were afraid of that gun. I — I mean, of course, you know how — how dangerous they are, being used to them.

  TRAVERS. Yes, I’m an old soldier. But don’t you run away with the idea that I’m a beggar, because I’m not. I pay my way, such as it is. And, by the bye, I s’pose I haven’t earned that two pounds Benn gave me? (Rising and going C to MRS. WATERS.)

  MRS. WATERS. TWO pounds? Two pounds? Won’t I talk to him I TRAVERS. (taking sovereigns from his pocket, and gazing at them regretfully.) Yes, here they are.

  MRS. WATERS. Don’t you think you’ve earned them?

  TRAVERS (shaking his head.) No, there, take ’em quick I (Sighs) before I change my mind.

  MRS. WATERS (regarding him closely.) I’ll — I’ll tell him what I think of him when I’m tired of the joke.

  TRAVERS (as she takes the coins.) Soft hand you’ve got. I don’t wonder Benn was desperate. I daresay I should have done just the samp in his place. There’s only one job I’m really fit for, now that I’m too old for the Army. —

  MRS. WATERS. Playing at Burglars?

  TRAVERS. Guess again.

  MRS WATERS. Strolling about looking for work?

  TRAVERS. (putting arm round MRS WATERS’ waist) No; Landlord of a little country public house.

  MRS WATERS. HOW dare you! (Crosses R. to door. Opening door R. gasping) Good-night!

  TRAVERS. Good-bye! I say, I should like to hear how old Benn takes the joke though.

  MRS WATERS. (slowly) Well, if you should happen to be passing this way again, and — and like to look in — perhaps I’ll tell you. Good-bye! — (C.)

  TRAVERS (at door.) I’ll look in in two or three days’ time, say to-morrow. (Taking her hand.) I say! (Softly) it would be an awful joke if he came here and found me landlord. I’m fond of jokes. Suppose we think it over?

  MRS. WATERS. I can think best when I’m alone. Good-bye.

  (BENN looks through window. He does not see TRAVERS who is standing behind the door R.)

  BENN. I — I couldn’t leave you, Mrs. Waters, all alone with — with it. So I’ve come back to see if I — (TRAVERS comes from behind door R.) Ha!

  (He falls into the grave which is dug just outside the window TRAVERS leans out of the window and pulls him to his feet.

  TRAVERS. Come out of my grave.

  MRS. WATERS. It’s only — only — (Moves fingers with hands raised in an endeavour to remember his name).

  TRAVERS (taking her hand and facing BENN as he stands at window staring at them). Only the future landlord of the “Beehive.”

  CURTAIN.

  (Business for second curtain. TRAVERS goes to window and pulls down the blind, shutting BENN out. He then returns and embraces MRS. WATERS.

  THE CHANGELING

  A PLAY IN ONE ACT

  First performance at Wyndham’s Theatre, 15th March, 1908, with the following cast:

  GEORGE HENSHAW — Mr. H. J. Manning.

  MRS. HENSHAW — Miss Helen Palgrave, TED STOKES — Mr. George F. Tully.

  TIME IN REPRESENTATION — 30 minutes.

  SCENE — The kitchen at Henshaw’s House in Bermondsey. TIME — 8 p.m.

  Properties.

  1. Table.

  2. Small table upon which are books and a shade of wax fruit.

  3. Chair.

  4. Chair.

  5. Chair.

  6. Mantel, with clock and cheap vases.

  7. Clipboard containing blacking brush and bottle of blacking.

  8. Dresser upon which are glasses, plates, etc.

  9. A shabby carpet.

  10. A patchwork rug.

  11. Hat pegs.

  12. Cheap lace curtains.

  13. Green blind drawn over window.

  14. White table cloth, afterwards changed for red table cover.

  15. Bird cage, covered by a cloth, hanging in window.

  16. Chair.

  THE CHANGELING

  The kitchen at HENSHAW’S House in Bermondsey.

  TIME: — Eight o’clock in the evening.

  The Kitchen is furnished as a living room. There is a window C looking on to the street. On the L. of window is a door which opens on to the street. Up L. is a door which communicates with the washhouse. There is a door down R. opening up stage. There is a table C. upon which are the remains of supper. These consist of a rind of cheese and a small piece of stale bread.

  (When the Curtain rises, MRS. HENSHAW is discovered seated at the table. She is an angular woman of thirty-five. She empties the remainder of the beer from the jug into a glass, and drinks it. GEORGE HENSHAW, a scrubby little man of about forty, opens the door C with a latch key and enters. He is dressed in the working clothes of a mechanic. He has a small brown beard, which he tugs habitually in a nervous manner. Upon his entrance MRS. HENSHAW glares at him, then turns her chair and sits with her back to him. He endeavours to appear at ease, and, after wiping his boots with great care, hangs up his hat. He hums a tune with forced cheerfulness. He comes to the table and sits.)

  HENSHAW. (nervously) You’ve had supper early? (crosses R. )

  MRS. HENSHAW. (frigidly) Have I?

  HENSHAW. All, I suppose you thought I was kept late. Clock’s fast; that’s what it is.

  (He rises and adjusts the clock. MRS HENSHAW, at the same moment, rises and begins to clear the table. She takes off white table cloth and puts red table cover in its place.)

  What — what about my supper?

  MRS. HENSHAW. Supper? You go and tell that creature you were on the bus with to get your supper. I’m not going to wait on you.

  HENSHAW. (with a gesture of despair) I tell you, it wasn’t me. Why, I told you so before I wont to work this morning. Once you get an idea into your head and —

  (HENSHAW sits R. of table.)

  MRS. HENSHAW. (sharply) That’ll do; that’ll do. I saw you, George Henshaw, as plain as I see you now. You were tickling her ear with a bit o’ straw, and that good-for-nothing, friend of yours, Ted Stokes, was sitting behind with another beauty. Nice way o’ going on, and your wife at ‘ome all alone by ‘erself slaving and slaving to keep things respectable.

  HENSHAW. It wasn’t me I tell you. (hits table with his fist.)

  MRS. HENSHAW. And when I called out to you, you started and pulled your hat over your eyes and turned away. I should have caught you if it hadn’t been for that nasty smelly motor, and all them carts in the way and falling down. I can’t understand now how it was I wasn’t killed; I was a mask of mud from head to foot.

  (HENSHAW sniggers and then endeavours to conceal the fact that he has done so.)

  (furiously) Yes, you may laugh, and I’ve no doubt them two beauties laughed too. I’ll take care you don’t have much more to laugh at, my man.

  HENSHAW. Now, Polly, do be reasonable. Listen to reason, (stands up.)

  MRS. HENSHAW. (putting on her hound and cape which are on hat pegs by door C., and taking up umbrella) No, George Henshaw, I will not listen to reason. I’m going to run round to Mother’s. She don’t tickle people on buses. (She goes to door C.)

  HENSHAW. (crossing to door C.) What about my —

  (
She goes out C. slamming the door after her.) Supper? (stands gazing at the door) wonder whether Ted’s got any grub. I’ll just pop over the fence and see.

  (Exit L. after which MRS. HENSHAW enters C.)

  MRS HENSHAW. (lowering wet umbrella as she enters and shaking skirts). Drat the puddles; (takes off elastic-side boot and shakes it) I’ll have to put on my Sunday boots after all. (limps to door R. and exit, leaving the door just swinging to.) —

  (TED STOKES and HENSHAW enter L. TED STOKES is a man of about thirty years of age.)

  TED. Sorry but I’ve just finished the last crumb and that went the wrong way. I was just coming in to ask you what about last night? Did she spot you?

  HENSHAW. (gloomily) Yes. And you too. (TED laughs.)

  TED. (lightly) Did you tell ‘or she’d made a mistake?

  HENSHAW. ‘Course I did. —

  TED. Wouldn’t wash, I s’pose?

  HENSHAW. NO, she saw both of us all right.

  TED. Couldn’t say she’d made a double mistake, I suppose?

  HENSHAW. Talk sense.

  TED. (sits L. of table, reflectively) I know a chap what’d swear we was with him somewhere else at the time if I gave him half a pint.

  HENSHAW. She wouldn’t believe ‘im.

  TED. (hopefully) He’s a masterpiece at telling the tale. He was a pleeceman once.

  HENSHAW. (sits R. of table) He might have been twice, but she wouldn’t believe him. Mind if she speaks to you about it, it wasn’t me, but somebody like me. You might say he ‘ad been mistook for me before. D’ye see?

  TED. Why not say it was you? There’s no ‘arm in going for a ride with a friend and a couple of ladies.

  HENSHAW. Of course there ain’t, else I shouldn’t ha’ done it. But you know what my wife is.

  TED. (nodding with meaning) Yes. You were a bit larky too. You ‘ad quite a little slapping game after you pretended to steal her brooch, you flirt.

  HENSHAW. (angrily) I s’pose when a gentleman’s with a lady he ‘as got to make ‘imself pleasant?

  TED. Yes, so long as his wife don’t see ‘im.

  HENSHAW. NOW, if my missis speaks to you about it, you say that it wasn’t me, but a friend of yours up from the country who is as like me as two peas. See?

  TED. (knowingly) I see. Name o’ Dodd — Tommy Dodd.