Works of W. W. Jacobs

by Jacobs, W. W.

  (Shouting.) Now then! You clear off; I’ve had about enough of it. The next man that shoves his head into my room will get it broken!

  (He closes the door, re-enters the room and sits down, choking.)

  (To JACK.) Three of ’em! Three of ’em!

  JACK. I wonder whether there’s enough money left to pay ’em all?

  EVANS (fiercely). That’s his look-out.

  (He rises and addresses FRED.)

  Look here! I’ve had enough of this. I think we can do without you, after all. I’ve no doubt you owe money all over England. You’re a cadger, that’s what you are. (He ‘produces FRED’S watch and chain, money, etc., and dumps them on the table.) Here you are. Take it and go.

  (FRED opens his mouth as though about to speak. Then slowly he takes the things from the table and crams them into his pocket. He stands looking from one to the other.)

  (Pointing.) There’s the door!

  (FRED blunders towards it.)

  JACK. And three of ’em waiting outside for you.

  NANCY (with gentle severity). Cheats never prosper.

  FRED (pausing at the door). Good-bye.

  NANCY (slowly). Good-bye. It’s your own fault, you know. If you hadn’t come here pretending to be Bert Simmons and calling me Nan, as if you had known me all your life, I wouldn’t have done it.

  FRED. It doesn’t matter. I wish I was Bert Simmons, that’s all. Good-bye.

  EVANS (listening in open-mouthed astonishment). Wish you was? Wish you was? Look here! Man to man — are you Bert Simmons or are — you — not?

  FRED. No.

  NANCY. Of course not. I told you he wasn’t.

  EVANS. Why did you come back and say you were, then?

  FRED (looking at NANCY). Because I thought I’d like to be.

  EVANS. And you didn’t owe that money I gave Wilson and Ben Prout?

  NANCY. Nobody owed it. I did it just to punish him.

  EVANS (roaring, as he goes to the door). I’ll have that money out of ’em if I have to turn ’em over and shake it out of their trouser pockets! You stay here. You, too, miss. I’ll talk to you when I come back. Come on, Jack!

  (He rushes out, followed by JACK.)

  NANCY (after a long pause). Well, you’ve got me into a nice mess.

  FEED. Never mind. Perhaps Bert Simmons will come back one day, and then you’ll be all right. No, that’s impossible; he can’t come back.

  NANCY. Can’t come back? Why not?

  FEED (solemnly). Because he’s dead.

  NANCY. Dead? How do you know?

  FEED. I’m certain of it.

  NANCY. Why?

  FEED. Why, because if he was alive he’d come back to you. Any man would. He couldn’t stay away.

  NANCY. I think you’re crazy.

  FEED (Softly). I wasn’t until I saw you.

  NANCY. H’m! Well, you’d better make the most of it; father’ll be back soon.

  FEED. I know, but this is the first day of my fortnight. (Musingly.) A hard-working, determined man can do a lot in a fortnight.

  NANCY. YOU won’t stay here. I can tell you that much.

  FEED. NO, but I shall be in the same town. That’s something. And perhaps I can call and see you.

  NANCY. I don’t think you will, then.

  FEED. Well, I can call and see your father. I’ve taken quite a fancy to him.

  NANCY. HOW nice! Perhaps you’d like to sit and hold his hand when you come?

  FEED (nodding). That’s a good idea. I shall close my eyes and try and think it’s yours.

  NANCY (hotly). Mine? Have you noticed the size of father’s hand?

  FEED. That doesn’t matter. I can imagine it’s yours easy enough. Look here! Sit down a moment.

  NANCY. What for?

  FEED. If you’ll sit down, you’ll see.

  (NANCY seats herself, scornfully. FEED takes a chair beside her.)

  NANCY. Well?

  FRED. It’s just a little experiment. I want to hold your hand and see if I can imagine it’s your father’s. Then if I can do that it’ll prove to me that I can imagine his hand is yours.

  NANCY. DO you think I’m as crazy as you are?

  FRED (wistfully). No, but I wish you were. But, of course, if you’re afraid to let me hold your hand —

  NANCY. Afraid!

  (She gives him her hand.)

  FRED (after a pause). No: I’m afraid the experiment has failed. I couldn’t possibly imagine that it is your father’s — or anybody’s but yours. It’s so soft and small, and — and —

  NANCY (derisively). Go on! Surely you haven’t finished yet.

  FRED (still holding her hand). I can think of a lot more if you will only give me time.

  (There is a long pause.)

  NANCY. Well?

  FRED. I shall think of the words in a minute; they’re just on the tip of my tongue. I hope your father won’t get into any trouble trying to get that money back.

  NANCY. Don’t you worry about father; he can look after himself all right.

  FRED. Yes, I suppose so; he looks strong. It’s curious that he and Jack took me for Bert Simmons, and you knew that I wasn’t. Pity it wasn’t the other way about. But life’s like that. (He sighs.) Look here! Why not close your eyes and try and think I’m Bert?

  NANCY (dryly). Couldn’t be done.

  FRED. Why not?

  NANCY. Because I know that Bert wouldn’t just sit holding my hand.

  FRED. Oh! He — he — he —

  NANCY. Well?

  FRED. He’d be a bit more venturesome, I suppose.

  NANCY (half-closing her eyes and speaking dreamily). He would.

  FRED (kissing her). Like that?

  NANCY (starting up and pulling her hand away). Well, of all the impudence! How dare you?

  (FRED rises as EVANS and JACK return.)

  EVANS (putting the money on the table). Here you are. I gave Prout a black eye for his lot, and... Hallo! What’s the matter?

  NANCY (dramatically). He — he kissed me!

  EVANS (calmly). Well, you must have given him some encouragement.

  NANCY (rising voice). Encouragement?

  EVANS. Yes, I know you, my gal. You wouldn’t be kissed unless you wanted to be.

  NANCY (breathlessly). O-oh!

  EVANS (nodding). Yes, you can say “Oh,” as much as you like.

  NANCY (loftily). I was taken by surprise — I never dreamt —— (She turns to FRED.) If you were a man you’d tell my father how you did it.

  (FRED puts his arm round NANCY’S waist, draws her head on to his shoulder, and, very slowly, kisses her.)

  FRED (turning to EVANS). Like this, sir.

  CURTAIN.

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&nb
sp; Mark Twain

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  Michel de Montaigne

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  Richard Marsh

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  Talbot Mundy

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  W. W. Jacobs

  Ancient Classics

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  Jacobs’ body was cremated at Golders Green Crematorium, the first crematorium to be opened in London, Barnet

  Jacobs’ ashes were scattered in the garden of Golders Green Crematorium