by W. W. Jacobs
Mrs. John Boxer stood at the door of the shop with her hands clasped onher apron. The short day had drawn to a close, and the lamps in thenarrow little thorough-fares of Shinglesea were already lit. For a timeshe stood listening to the regular beat of the sea on the beach somehalf-mile distant, and then with a slight shiver stepped back into theshop and closed the door.
The little shop with its wide-mouthed bottles of sweets was one of herearliest memories. Until her marriage she had known no other home, andwhen her husband was lost with the North Star some three years before,she gave up her home in Poplar and returned to assist her mother in thelittle shop.
In a restless mood she took up a piece of needle-work, and a minute ortwo later put it down again. A glance through the glass of the doorleading into the small parlour revealed Mrs. Gimpson, with a red shawlround her shoulders, asleep in her easy-chair.
Mrs. Boxer turned at the clang of the shop bell, and then, with a wildcry, stood gazing at the figure of a man standing in the door-way. Hewas short and bearded, with oddly shaped shoulders, and a left leg whichwas not a match; but the next moment Mrs. Boxer was in his arms sobbingand laughing together.
Mrs. Gimpson, whose nerves were still quivering owing to the suddennesswith which she had been awakened, came into the shop; Mr. Boxer freed anarm, and placing it round her waist kissed her with some affection onthe chin.
"He's come back!" cried Mrs. Boxer, hysterically.
"Thank goodness," said Mrs. Gimpson, after a moment's deliberation.
"He's alive!" cried Mrs. Boxer. "He's alive!"
She half-dragged and half-led him into the small parlour, and thrustinghim into the easy-chair lately vacated by Mrs. Gimpson seated herselfupon his knee, regardless in her excitement that the rightful owner waswith elaborate care selecting the most uncomfortable chair in the room.
"Fancy his coming back!" said Mrs. Boxer, wiping her eyes. "How did youescape, John? Where have you been? Tell us all about it."
Mr. Boxer sighed. "It 'ud be a long story if I had the gift of tellingof it," he said, slowly, "but I'll cut it short for the present. Whenthe North Star went down in the South Pacific most o' the hands got awayin the boats, but I was too late. I got this crack on the head withsomething falling on it from aloft. Look here."
He bent his head, and Mrs. Boxer, separating the stubble with herfingers, uttered an exclamation of pity and alarm at the extent of thescar; Mrs. Gimpson, craning forward, uttered a sound which might meananything--even pity.
"When I come to my senses," continued Mr. Boxer, "the ship was sinking,and I just got to my feet when she went down and took me with her. How Iescaped I don't know. I seemed to be choking and fighting for my breathfor years, and then I found myself floating on the sea and clinging to agrating. I clung to it all night, and next day I was picked up by anative who was paddling about in a canoe, and taken ashore to an island,where I lived for over two years. It was right out o' the way o' craft,but at last I was picked up by a trading schooner named the Pearl,belonging to Sydney, and taken there. At Sydney I shipped aboard theMarston Towers, a steamer, and landed at the Albert Docks this morning."
"Poor John," said his wife, holding on to his arm. "How you must havesuffered!"
"I did," said Mr. Boxer. "Mother got a cold?" he inquired, eying thatlady.
"No, I ain't," said Mrs. Gimpson, answering for herself. "Why didn't youwrite when you got to Sydney?"
"Didn't know where to write to," replied Mr. Boxer, staring. "I didn'tknow where Mary had gone to."
"You might ha' wrote here," said Mrs. Gimpson.
"Didn't think of it at the time," said Mr. Boxer. "One thing is, I wasvery busy at Sydney, looking for a ship. However, I'm 'ere now."
"I always felt you'd turn up some day," said Mrs. Gimpson. "I feltcertain of it in my own mind. Mary made sure you was dead, but I said'no, I knew better.'"
There was something in Mrs. Gimpson's manner of saying this thatimpressed her listeners unfavourably. The impression was deepened when,after a short, dry laugh a propos of nothing, she sniffed again--threetimes.
"Well, you turned out to be right," said Mr. Boxer, shortly.
"I gin'rally am," was the reply; "there's very few people can take mein."
She sniffed again.
"Were the natives kind to you?" inquired Mrs. Boxer, hastily, as sheturned to her husband.
"Very kind," said the latter. "Ah! you ought to have seen that island.Beautiful yellow sands and palm-trees; cocoa-nuts to be 'ad for thepicking, and nothing to do all day but lay about in the sun and swim inthe sea."
"Any public-'ouses there?" inquired Mrs. Gimpson.
"Cert'nly not," said her son-in-law. "This was an island--one o' thelittle islands in the South Pacific Ocean."
"What did you say the name o' the schooner was?" inquired Mrs. Gimpson.
"Pearl," replied Mr. Boxer, with the air of a resentful witness undercross-examination.
"And what was the name o' the captin?" said Mrs. Gimpson.
"Thomas--Henery--Walter--Smith," said Mr. Boxer, with somewhatunpleasant emphasis.
"An' the mate's name?"
"John Brown," was the reply.
"Common names," commented Mrs. Gimpson, "very common. But I knew you'dcome back all right--I never 'ad no alarm. 'He's safe and happy, mydear,' I says. 'He'll come back all in his own good time.'"
"What d'you mean by that?" demanded the sensitive Mr. Boxer. "I comeback as soon as I could."
"You know you were anxious, mother," interposed her daughter. "Why, youinsisted upon our going to see old Mr. Silver about it."
"Ah! but I wasn't uneasy or anxious afterwards," said Mrs. Gimpson,compressing her lips.
"Who's old Mr. Silver, and what should he know about it?" inquired Mr.Boxer.
"He's a fortune-teller," replied his wife. "Reads the stars," said hismother-in-law.
Mr. Boxer laughed--a good ringing laugh. "What did he tell you?" heinquired. "Nothing," said his wife, hastily. "Ah!" said Mr. Boxer,waggishly, "that was wise of 'im. Most of us could tell fortunes thatway."
"That's wrong," said Mrs. Gimpson to her daughter, sharply. "Right'sright any day, and truth's truth. He said that he knew all about Johnand what he'd been doing, but he wouldn't tell us for fear of 'urtingour feelings and making mischief."
"Here, look 'ere," said Mr. Boxer, starting up; "I've 'ad about enougho' this. Why don't you speak out what you mean? I'll mischief 'im, theold humbug. Old rascal."
"Never mind, John," said his wife, laying her hand upon his arm. "Hereyou are safe and sound, and as for old Mr. Silver, there's a lot o'people don't believe in him."
"Ah! they don't want to," said Mrs. Gimpson, obstinately. "But don'tforget that he foretold my cough last winter."
"Well, look 'ere," said Mr. Boxer, twisting his short, blunt nose intoas near an imitation of a sneer as he could manage, "I've told you mystory and I've got witnesses to prove it. You can write to the master ofthe Marston Towers if you like, and other people besides. Very well,then; let's go and see your precious old fortune-teller. You needn't saywho I am; say I'm a friend, and tell 'im never to mind about makingmischief, but to say right out where I am and what I've been doing allthis time. I have my 'opes it'll cure you of your superstitiousness."
"We'll go round after we've shut up, mother," said Mrs. Boxer. "We'llhave a bit o' supper first and then start early."
Mrs. Gimpson hesitated. It is never pleasant to submit one'ssuperstitions to the tests of the unbelieving, but after the attitudeshe had taken up she was extremely loath to allow her son-in-law atriumph.
"Never mind, we'll say no more about it," she said, primly, "but I 'avemy own ideas."
"I dessay," said Mr. Boxer; "but you're afraid for us to go to your oldfortune-teller. It would be too much of a show-up for 'im."
"It's no good your trying to aggravate me, John Boxer, because you can'tdo it," said Mrs. Gimpson, in a voice trembling with passion.
"O' course, if people like being deceived they m
ust be," said Mr. Boxer;"we've all got to live, and if we'd all got our common sensefortune-tellers couldn't. Does he tell fortunes by tea-leaves or by thecolour of your eyes?"
"Laugh away, John Boxer," said Mrs. Gimpson, icily; "but I shouldn'thave been alive now if it hadn't ha' been for Mr. Silver's warnings."
"Mother stayed in bed for the first ten days in July," explained Mrs.Boxer, "to avoid being bit by a mad dog."
"Tchee--tchee--tchee," said the hapless Mr. Boxer, putting his hand overhis mouth and making noble efforts to restrain himself; "tchee--tch
"I s'pose you'd ha' laughed more if I 'ad been bit?" said the glaringMrs. Gimpson.
"Well, who did the dog bite after all?" inquired Mr. Boxer, recovering.
"You don't understand," replied Mrs. Gimpson, pityingly; "me being safeup in bed and the door locked, there was no mad dog. There was no usefor it."
"Well," said Mr. Boxer, "me and Mary's going round to see that olddeceiver after supper, whether you come or not. Mary shall tell 'im I'ma friend, and ask him to tell her everything about 'er husband. Nobodyknows me here, and Mary and me'll be affectionate like, and give 'im tounderstand we want to marry. Then he won't mind making mischief."
"You'd better leave well alone," said Mrs. Gimpson.
Mr. Boxer shook his head. "I was always one for a bit o' fun," he said,slowly. "I want to see his face when he finds out who I am."
Mrs. Gimpson made no reply; she was looking round for the market-basket,and having found it she left the reunited couple to keep house while shewent out to obtain a supper which should, in her daughter's eyes, beworthy of the occasion.
She went to the High Street first and made her purchases, and was on theway back again when, in response to a sudden impulse, as she passed theend of Crowner's Alley, she turned into that small by-way and knocked atthe astrologer's door.
A slow, dragging footstep was heard approaching in reply to the summons,and the astrologer, recognising his visitor as one of his most faithfuland credulous clients, invited her to step inside. Mrs. Gimpsoncomplied, and, taking a chair, gazed at the venerable white beard andsmall, red-rimmed eyes of her host in some perplexity as to how tobegin.
"My daughter's coming round to see you presently," she said, at last.
The astrologer nodded.
"She--she wants to ask you about 'er husband," faltered' Mrs. Gimpson;"she's going to bring a friend with her--a man who doesn't believe inyour knowledge. He--he knows all about my daughter's husband, and hewants to see what you say you know about him."
The old man put on a pair of huge horn spectacles and eyed hercarefully.
"You've got something on your mind," he said, at last; "you'd bettertell me everything."
Mrs. Gimpson shook her head.
"There's some danger hanging over you," continued Mr. Silver, in a low,thrilling voice; "some danger in connection with your son-in-law.There," he waved a lean, shrivelled hand backward and for-ward as thoughdispelling a fog, and peered into distance--"there is something formingover you. You--or somebody--are hiding something from me."
Mrs. Gimpson, aghast at such omniscience, sank backward in her chair.
"Speak," said the old man, gently; "there is no reason why you should besacrificed for others."
Mrs. Gimpson was of the same opinion, and in some haste she reeled offthe events of the evening. She had a good memory, and no detail waslost.
"Strange, strange," said the venerable Mr. Silver, when he had finished."He is an ingenious man."
"Isn't it true?" inquired his listener. "He says he can prove it. And heis going to find out what you meant by saying you were afraid of makingmischief."
"He can prove some of it," said the old man, his eyes snappingspitefully. "I can guarantee that."
"But it wouldn't have made mischief if you had told us that," venturedMrs. Gimpson. "A man can't help being cast away."
"True," said the astrologer, slowly; "true. But let them come andquestion me; and whatever you do, for your own sake don't let a soulknow that you have been here. If you do, the danger to yourself will beso terrible that even I may be unable to help you."
Mrs. Gimpson shivered, and more than ever impressed by his marvellouspowers made her way slowly home, where she found the unconscious Mr.Boxer relating his adventures again with much gusto to a married couplefrom next door.
"It's a wonder he's alive," said Mr. Jem Thompson, looking up as the oldwoman entered the room; "it sounds like a story-book. Show us that cuton your head again, mate."
The obliging Mr. Boxer complied.
"We're going on with 'em after they've 'ad sup-per," continued Mr.Thompson, as he and his wife rose to depart. "It'll be a fair treat tome to see old Silver bowled out."
Mrs. Gimpson sniffed and eyed his retreating figure disparagingly; Mrs.Boxer, prompted by her husband, began to set the table for supper.
It was a lengthy meal, owing principally to Mr. Boxer, but it was overat last, and after that gentleman had assisted in shutting up the shopthey joined the Thompsons, who were waiting outside, and set off forCrowner's Alley. The way was enlivened by Mr. Boxer, who had thrills ofhorror every ten yards at the idea of the supernatural things he wasabout to witness, and by Mr. Thompson, who, not to be outdone, persistedin standing stock-still at frequent intervals until he had received theassurances of his giggling better-half that he would not be made tovanish in a cloud of smoke.
By the time they reached Mr. Silver's abode the party had regained itsdecorum, and, except for a tremendous shudder on the part of Mr. Boxeras his gaze fell on a couple of skulls which decorated the magician'stable, their behaviour left nothing to be desired. Mrs. Gimpson, in afew awkward words, announced the occasion of their visit. Mr. Boxer sheintroduced as a friend of the family from London.
"I will do what I can," said the old man, slowly, as his visitors seatedthemselves, "but I can only tell you what I see. If I do not see all, orsee clearly, it cannot be helped."
Mr. Boxer winked at Mr. Thompson, and received an understanding pinch inreturn; Mrs. Thompson in a hot whisper told them to behave themselves.
The mystic preparations were soon complete. A little cloud of smoke,through which the fierce red eyes of the astrologer peered keenly at Mr.Boxer, rose from the table. Then he poured various liquids into a smallchina bowl and, holding up his hand to command silence, gazedsteadfastly into it. "I see pictures," he announced, in a deep voice."The docks of a great city; London. I see an ill-shaped man with a bentleft leg standing on the deck of a ship."
Mr. Thompson, his eyes wide open with surprise, jerked Mr. Boxer in theribs, but Mr. Boxer, whose figure was a sore point with him, made noresponse.
"The ship leaves the docks," continued Mr. Silver, still peering intothe bowl. "As she passes through the entrance her stern comes into viewwith the name painted on it. The--the--the----"
"Look agin, old chap," growled Mr. Boxer, in an undertone.
"The North Star," said the astrologer. "The ill-shaped man is stillstanding on the fore-part of the ship; I do not know his name or who heis. He takes the portrait of a beautiful young woman from his pocket andgazes at it earnestly."
Mrs. Boxer, who had no illusions on the subject of her personalappearance, sat up as though she had been stung; Mr. Thompson, who wasabout to nudge Mr. Boxer in the ribs again, thought better of it andassumed an air of uncompromising virtue.
"The picture disappears," said Mr. Silver. "Ah! I see; I see. A ship ina gale at sea. It is the North Star; it is sinking. The ill-shaped mansheds tears and loses his head. I cannot discover the name of this man."
Mr. Boxer, who had been several times on the point of interrupting,cleared his throat and endeavoured to look unconcerned.
"The ship sinks," continued the astrologer, in thrilling tones. "Ah!what is this? a piece of wreck-age with a monkey clinging to it? No,no-o. The ill-shaped man again. Dear me!"
His listeners sat spellbound. Only the laboured and intense breathing ofMr. Boxer broke the silence.
&
nbsp; "He is alone on the boundless sea," pursued the seer; "night falls. Daybreaks, and a canoe propelled by a slender and pretty but dusky maidenapproaches the castaway. She assists him into the canoe and his headsinks on her lap, as with vigorous strokes of her paddle she propels thecanoe toward a small island fringed with palm trees."
"Here, look 'ere--" began the overwrought Mr. Boxer.
"H'sh, h'sh!" ejaculated the keenly interested Mr. Thompson. "W'y don'tyou keep quiet?"
"The picture fades," continued the old man. "I see another: a nativewedding. It is the dusky maiden and the man she rescued. Ah! the weddingis interrupted; a young man, a native, breaks into the group. He has along knife in his hand. He springs upon the ill-shaped man and woundshim in the head."
Involuntarily Mr. Boxer's hand went up to his honourable scar, and theheads of the others swung round to gaze at it. Mrs. Boxer's face wasterrible in its expression, but Mrs. Gimpson's bore the look of sad andpatient triumph of one who knew men and could not be surprised atanything they do.
"The scene vanishes," resumed the monotonous voice, "and another oneforms. The same man stands on the deck of a small ship. The name on thestern is the Peer--no, Paris--no, no, no, Pearl. It fades from the shorewhere the dusky maiden stands with hands stretched out imploringly. Theill-shaped man smiles and takes the portrait of the young and beautifulgirl from his pocket."
"Look 'ere," said the infuriated Mr. Boxer, "I think we've 'ad aboutenough of this rubbish. I have--more than enough."
"I don't wonder at it," said his wife, trembling furiously. "You can goif you like. I'm going to stay and hear all that there is to hear."
"You sit quiet," urged the intensely interested Mr. Thompson. "He ain'tsaid it's you. There's more than one misshaped man in the world, Is'pose?"
"I see an ocean liner," said the seer, who had appeared to be in atrance state during this colloquy. "She is sailing for England fromAustralia. I see the name distinctly: the Marston Towers. The same manis on board of her. The ship arrives at London. The scene closes;another one forms. The ill-shaped man is sitting with a woman with abeautiful face --not the same as the photograph."
"What they can see in him I can't think," muttered Mr. Thompson, in anenvious whisper. "He's a perfick terror, and to look at him----"
"They sit hand in hand," continued the astrologer, raising his voice."She smiles up at him and gently strokes his head; he----"
A loud smack rang through the room and startled the entire company; Mrs.Boxer, unable to contain herself any longer, had, so far from profitingby the example, gone to the other extreme and slapped her husband's headwith hearty good-will. Mr. Boxer sprang raging to his feet, and in theconfusion which ensued the fortune-teller, to the great regret of Mr.Thompson, upset the contents of the magic bowl.
"I can see no more," he said, sinking hastily into his chair behind thetable as Mr. Boxer advanced upon him.
Mrs. Gimpson pushed her son-in-law aside, and laying a modest fee uponthe table took her daughter's arm and led her out. The Thompsonsfollowed, and Mr. Boxer, after an irresolute glance in the direction ofthe ingenuous Mr. Silver, made his way after them and fell into therear. The people in front walked on for some time in silence, and thenthe voice of the greatly impressed Mrs. Thompson was heard, to theeffect that if there were only more fortune-tellers in the world therewould be a lot more better men.
Mr. Boxer trotted up to his wife's side. "Look here, Mary," he began.
"Don't you speak to me," said his wife, drawing closer to her mother,"because I won't answer you."
Mr. Boxer laughed, bitterly. "This is a nice home-coming," he remarked.
He fell to the rear again and walked along raging, his temper by nomeans being improved by observing that Mrs. Thompson, doubtless with afirm belief in the saying that "Evil communications corrupt goodmanners," kept a tight hold of her husband's arm. His position as anoutcast was clearly defined, and he ground his teeth with rage as heobserved the virtuous uprightness of Mrs. Gimpson's back. By the timethey reached home he was in a spirit of mad recklessness far in advanceof the character given him by the astrologer.
His wife gazed at him with a look of such strong interrogation as he wasabout to follow her into the house that he paused with his foot on thestep and eyed her dumbly.
"Have you left anything inside that you want?" she inquired.
Mr. Boxer shook his head. "I only wanted to come in and make a cleanbreast of it," he said, in a curious voice; "then I'll go."
Mrs. Gimpson stood aside to let him pass, and Mr. Thompson, not to bedenied, followed close behind with his faintly protesting wife. They satdown in a row against the wall, and Mr. Boxer, sitting opposite in ahang-dog fashion, eyed them with scornful wrath.
"Well?" said Mrs. Boxer, at last.
"All that he said was quite true," said her husband, defiantly. "Theonly thing is, he didn't tell the arf of it. Altogether, I married threedusky maidens."
Everybody but Mr. Thompson shuddered with horror.
"Then I married a white girl in Australia," pursued Mr. Boxer, musingly."I wonder old Silver didn't see that in the bowl; not arf afortune-teller, I call 'im."
"What they see in 'im!" whispered the astounded Mr. Thompson to hiswife.
"And did you marry the beautiful girl in the photograph?" demanded Mrs.Boxer, in trembling accents.
"I did," said her husband.
"Hussy," cried Mrs. Boxer.
"I married her," said Mr. Boxer, considering--"I married her atCamberwell, in eighteen ninety-three."
"Eighteen ninety-three!" said his wife, in a startled voice. "But youcouldn't. Why, you didn't marry me till eighteen ninety-four."
"What's that got to do with it?" inquired the monster, calmly.
Mrs. Boxer, pale as ashes, rose from her seat and stood gazing at himwith horror-struck eyes, trying in vain to speak.
"You villain!" cried Mrs. Gimpson, violently. "I always distrusted you."
"I know you did," said Mr. Boxer, calmly. "You've been committingbigamy," cried Mrs. Gimpson.
"Over and over agin," assented Mr. Boxer, cheerfully. "It's got to be a'obby with me."
"Was the first wife alive when you married my daughter?" demanded Mrs.Gimpson.
"Alive?" said Mr. Boxer. "O' course she was. She's alive now--blessher."
He leaned back in his chair and regarded with intense satisfaction thehorrified faces of the group in front.
"You--you'll go to jail for this," cried Mrs. Gimpson, breathlessly."What is your first wife's address?"
"I decline to answer that question," said her son-in-law.
"What is your first wife's address?" repeated Mrs. Gimpson.
"Ask the fortune-teller," said Mr. Boxer, with an aggravating smile."And then get 'im up in the box as a witness, little bowl and all. Hecan tell you more than I can."
"I demand to know her name and address," cried Mrs. Gimpson, putting abony arm around the waist of the trembling Mrs. Boxer.
"I decline to give it," said Mr. Boxer, with great relish. "It ain'tlikely I'm going to give myself away like that; besides, it's agin thelaw for a man to criminate himself. You go on and start your bigamycase, and call old red-eyes as a witness."
Mrs. Gimpson gazed at him in speechless wrath and then stooping downconversed in excited whispers with Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Boxer crossedover to her husband.
"Oh, John," she wailed, "say it isn't true, say it isn't true."
Mr. Boxer hesitated. "What's the good o' me saying anything?" he said,doggedly.
"It isn't true," persisted his wife. "Say it isn't true."
"What I told you when I first came in this evening was quite true," saidher husband, slowly. "And what I've just told you is as true as whatthat lying old fortune-teller told you. You can please yourself what youbelieve."
"I believe you, John," said his wife, humbly.
Mr. Boxer's countenance cleared and he drew her on to his knee.
"That's right," he said, cheerfully. "So long as you believe
in me Idon't care what other people think. And before I'm much older I'll findout how that old rascal got to know the names of the ships I was aboard.Seems to me somebody's been talking."
BLUNDELL'S IMPROVEMENT