Odd Craft, Complete

by W. W. Jacobs

  Talking about eddication, said the night-watchman, thoughtfully, thefinest eddication you can give a lad is to send 'im to sea. School isall right up to a certain p'int, but arter that comes the sea. I've beenthere myself and I know wot I'm talking about. All that I am I owe to'aving been to sea.

  There's a saying that boys will be boys. That's all right till they goto sea, and then they 'ave to be men, and good men too. They get knockedabout a bit, o' course, but that's all part o' the eddication, and whenthey get bigger they pass the eddication they've received on to otherboys smaller than wot they are. Arter I'd been at sea a year I spent allmy fust time ashore going round and looking for boys wot 'ad knocked meabout afore I sailed, and there was only one out o' the whole lot that Iwished I 'adn't found.

  Most people, o' course, go to sea as boys or else not at all, but I mindone chap as was pretty near thirty years old when 'e started. It's agood many years ago now, and he was landlord of a public-'ouse as usedto stand in Wapping, called the Blue Lion.

  His mother, wot had 'ad the pub afore 'im, 'ad brought 'im up very quietand genteel, and when she died 'e went and married a fine, handsomeyoung woman who 'ad got her eye on the pub without thinking much about'im. I got to know about it through knowing the servant that livedthere. A nice, quiet gal she was, and there wasn't much went on that shedidn't hear. I've known 'er to cry for hours with the ear-ache, poregal.

  Not caring much for 'er 'usband, and being spoiled by 'im into thebargain, Mrs. Dixon soon began to lead 'im a terrible life. She wasalways throwing his meekness and mildness up into 'is face, and arterthey 'ad been married two or three years he was no more like thelandlord o' that public-'ouse than I'm like a lord. Not so much. Sheused to get into such terrible tempers there was no doing anything with'er, and for the sake o' peace and quietness he gave way to 'er till 'egot into the habit of it and couldn't break 'imself of it.

  They 'adn't been married long afore she 'ad her cousin, Charlie Burge,come in as barman, and a month or two arter that 'is brother Bob, who'ad been spending a lot o' time looking for work instead o' doing it,came too. They was so comfortable there that their father--a'ouse-painter by trade--came round to see whether he couldn't paint theBlue Lion up a bit and make 'em look smart, so that they'd get moretrade. He was one o' these 'ere fust-class 'ousepainters that can go tosleep on a ladder holding a brush in one hand and a pot o' paint in theother, and by the time he 'ad finished painting the 'ouse it was readyto be done all over agin.

  I dare say that George Dixon--that was 'is name--wouldn't ha' minded somuch if 'is wife 'ad only been civil, but instead o' that she used tomake fun of 'im and order 'im about, and by-and-by the others began totry the same thing. As I said afore, Dixon was a very quiet man, and ifthere was ever anybody to be put outside Charlie or Bob used to do it.They tried to put me outside once, the two of 'em, but they on'y did itat last by telling me that somebody 'ad gone off and left a pot o' beerstanding on the pavement. They was both of 'em fairly strong young chapswith a lot of bounce in 'em, and she used to say to her 'usband wot fineyoung fellers they was, and wot a pity it was he wasn't like 'em.

  Talk like this used to upset George Dixon awful. Having been brought upcareful by 'is mother, and keeping a very quiet, respectable 'ouse--Iused it myself--he cert'nly was soft, and I remember 'im telling me oncethat he didn't believe in fighting, and that instead of hitting peopleyou ought to try and persuade them. He was uncommon fond of 'is wife,but at last one day, arter she 'ad made a laughing-stock of 'im in thebar, he up and spoke sharp to her.

  "Wot?" ses Mrs. Dixon, 'ardly able to believe her ears.

  "Remember who you're speaking to; that's wot I said," ses Dixon.

  "'Ow dare you talk to me like that?" screams 'is wife, turning red withrage. "Wot d'ye mean by it?"

  "Because you seem to forget who is master 'ere," ses Dixon, in atrembling voice.

  "Master?" she ses, firing up. "I'll soon show you who's master. Go outo' my bar; I won't 'ave you in it. D'ye 'ear? Go out of it."

  Dixon turned away and began to serve a customer. "D'ye hear wot I say?"ses Mrs. Dixon, stamping 'er foot. "Go out o' my bar. Here, Charlie!"

  "Hullo!" ses 'er cousin, who 'ad been standing looking on and grinning.

  "Take the master and put 'im into the parlour," ses Mrs. Dixon, "anddon't let 'im come out till he's begged my pardon."

  "Go on," ses Charlie, brushing up 'is shirt-sleeves; "in you go. You'ear wot she said."

  He caught 'old of George Dixon, who 'ad just turned to the back o' thebar to give a customer change out of 'arf a crown, and ran 'im kickingand struggling into the parlour. George gave 'im a silly little punch inthe chest, and got such a bang on the 'ead back that at fust he thoughtit was knocked off.

  When 'e came to 'is senses agin the door leading to the bar was shut,and 'is wife's uncle, who 'ad been asleep in the easy-chair, was findingfault with 'im for waking 'im up.

  "Why can't you be quiet and peaceable?" he ses, shaking his 'ead at him."I've been 'ard at work all the morning thinking wot colour to paint theback-door, and this is the second time I've been woke up since dinner.You're old enough to know better."

  "Go and sleep somewhere else, then," ses Dixon. "I don't want you 'ereat all, or your boys neither. Go and give somebody else a treat; I've'ad enough of the whole pack of you."

  He sat down and put 'is feet in the fender, and old Burge, as soon as he'ad got 'is senses back, went into the bar and complained to 'is niece,and she came into the parlour like a thunderstorm.

  "You'll beg my uncle's pardon as well as mine afore you come out o' thatroom," she said to her 'usband; "mind that."

  George Dixon didn't say a word; the shame of it was a'most more than 'ecould stand. Then 'e got up to go out o' the parlour and Charlie pushed'im back agin. Three times he tried, and then 'e stood up and looked at'is wife.

  "I've been a good 'usband to you," he ses; "but there's no satisfyingyou. You ought to ha' married somebody that would ha' knocked you about,and then you'd ha' been happy. I'm too fond of a quiet life to suityou."

  "Are you going to beg my pardon and my uncle's pardon?" ses 'is wife,stamping 'er foot.

  "No," ses Dixon; "I am not. I'm surprised at you asking it."

  "Well, you don't come out o' this room till you do," ses 'is wife.

  "That won't hurt me," ses Dixon. "I couldn't look anybody in the facearter being pushed out o' my own bar."

  They kept 'im there all the rest o' the day, and, as 'e was stillobstinate when bedtime came, Mrs. Dixon, who wasn't to be beat, broughtdown some bedclothes and 'ad a bed made up for 'im on the sofa. Some menwould ha' 'ad the police in for less than that, but George Dixon 'ad gota great deal o' pride and 'e couldn't bear the shame of it. Instead o'that 'e acted like a fourteen-year-old boy and ran away to sea.

  They found 'im gone when they came down in the morning, and theside-door on the latch. He 'ad left a letter for 'is wife on the table,telling 'er wot he 'ad done. Short and sweet it was, and wound up withtelling 'er to be careful that her uncle and cousins didn't eat 'er outof house and 'ome.

  She got another letter two days arterward, saying that he 'ad shipped asordinary seaman on an American barque called the Seabird, bound forCalifornia, and that 'e expected to be away a year, or thereabouts.

  "It'll do 'im good," ses old Burge, when Mrs. Dixon read the letter to'em. "It's a 'ard life is the sea, and he'll appreciate his 'ome when 'ecomes back to it agin. He don't know when 'e's well off. It's ascomfortable a 'ome as a man could wish to 'ave." It was surprising wot alittle difference George Dixon's being away made to the Blue Lion.Nobody seemed to miss 'im much, and things went on just the same asafore he went. Mrs. Dixon was all right with most people, and 'errelations 'ad a very good time of it; old Burge began to put on flesh atsuch a rate that the sight of a ladder made 'im ill a'most, and Charlieand Bob went about as if the place belonged to 'em.

  They 'eard nothing for eight months, and then a letter came for Mrs.Dixon from her 'usband in which he said
that 'e had left the Seabirdafter 'aving had a time which made 'im shiver to think of. He said thatthe men was the roughest of the rough and the officers was worse, andthat he 'ad hardly 'ad a day without a blow from one or the other sincehe'd been aboard. He'd been knocked down with a hand-spike by the secondmate, and had 'ad a week in his bunk with a kick given 'im by theboatswain. He said 'e was now on the Rochester Castle, bound for Sydney,and he 'oped for better times.

  That was all they 'eard for some months, and then they got anotherletter saying that the men on the Rochester Castle was, if anything,worse than those on the Seabird, and that he'd begun to think thatrunning away to sea was diff'rent to wot he'd expected, and that hesupposed 'e'd done it too late in life. He sent 'is love to 'is wife andasked 'er as a favour to send Uncle Burge and 'is boys away, as 'edidn't want to find them there when 'e came home, because they was thecause of all his sufferings.

  "He don't know 'is best friends," ses old Burge. "'E's got a nastysperrit I don't like to see."

  "I'll 'ave a word with 'im when 'e does come home," ses Bob. "I s'posehe thinks 'imself safe writing letters thousands o' miles away."

  The last letter they 'ad came from Auckland, and said that he 'adshipped on the Monarch, bound for the Albert Docks, and he 'oped soon tobe at 'ome and managing the Blue Lion, same as in the old happy daysafore he was fool enough to go to sea.

  That was the very last letter, and some time arterward the Monarch wasin the missing list, and by-and-by it became known that she 'ad gonedown with all hands not long arter leaving New Zealand. The onlydifference it made at the Blue Lion was that Mrs. Dixon 'ad two of 'erdresses dyed black, and the others wore black neckties for a fortnightand spoke of Dixon as pore George, and said it was a funny world, butthey supposed everything was for the best.

  It must ha' been pretty near four years since George Dixon 'ad run offto sea when Charlie, who was sitting in the bar one arternoon readingthe paper, things being dull, saw a man's head peep through the door fora minute and then disappear. A'most direckly arterward it looked in atanother door and then disappeared agin. When it looked in at the thirddoor Charlie 'ad put down 'is paper and was ready for it.

  "Who are you looking for?" he ses, rather sharp. "Wot d'ye want? Are you'aving a game of peepbo, or wot?"

  The man coughed and smiled, and then 'e pushed the door open gently andcame in, and stood there fingering 'is beard as though 'e didn't knowwot to say.

  "I've come back, Charlie," he ses at last.

  "Wot, George!" ses Charlie, starting. "Why, I didn't know you in thatbeard. We all thought you was dead, years ago."

  "I was pretty nearly, Charlie," ses Dixon, shaking his 'ead. "Ah! I've'ad a terrible time since I left 'once."

  "'You don't seem to ha' made your fortune," ses Charlie, looking down at'is clothes. "I'd ha' been ashamed to come 'ome like that if it 'ad beenme."

  "I'm wore out," ses Dixon, leaning agin the bar. "I've got no prideleft; it's all been knocked out of me. How's Julia?"

  "She's all right," ses Charlie. "Here, Ju--"

  "H'sh!" ses Dixon, reaching over the bar and laying his 'and on his arm."Don't let 'er know too sudden; break it to 'er gently."

  "Fiddlesticks!" ses Charlie, throwing his 'and off and calling, "Here,Julia! He's come back."

  Mrs. Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar. "Good gracious!"she ses, staring at her 'us-band. "Whoever'd ha' thought o' seeing youagin? Where 'ave you sprung from?"

  "Ain't you glad to see me, Julia?" ses George Dixon.

  "Yes, I s'pose so; if you've come back to behave yourself," ses Mrs.Dixon. "What 'ave you got to say for yourself for running away and thenwriting them letters, telling me to get rid of my relations?"

  "That's a long time ago, Julia," ses Dixon, raising the flap in thecounter and going into the bar. "I've gone through a great deal o'suffering since then. I've been knocked about till I 'adn't got anyfeeling left in me; I've been shipwrecked, and I've 'ad to fight for mylife with savages."

  "Nobody asked you to run away," ses his wife, edging away as he went toput his arm round 'er waist. "You'd better go upstairs and put on somedecent clothes."

  Dixon looked at 'er for a moment and then he 'ung his 'ead.

  "I've been thinking o' you and of seeing you agin every day since I wentaway, Julia," he ses. "You'd be the same to me if you was dressed inrags."

  He went upstairs without another word, and old Burge, who was comingdown, came down five of 'em at once owing to Dixon speaking to 'im aforehe knew who 'e was. The old man was still grumbling when Dixon came downagin, and said he believed he'd done it a-purpose.

  "You run away from a good 'ome," he ses, "and the best wife in Wapping,and you come back and frighten people 'arf out o' their lives. I neversee such a feller in all my born days."

  "I was so glad to get 'ome agin I didn't think," ses Dixon. "I hopeyou're not 'urt."

  He started telling them all about his 'ardships while they were at tea,but none of 'em seemed to care much about hearing 'em. Bob said that thesea was all right for men, and that other people were sure not to likeit.

  "And you brought it all on yourself," ses Charlie. "You've only gotyourself to thank for it. I 'ad thought o' picking a bone with you overthose letters you wrote."

  "Let's 'ope 'e's come back more sensible than wot 'e was when 'e wentaway," ses old Burge, with 'is mouth full o' toast.

  By the time he'd been back a couple o' days George Dixon could see that'is going away 'adn't done any good at all. Nobody seemed to take anynotice of 'im or wot he said, and at last, arter a word or two withCharlie about the rough way he spoke to some o' the customers, Charliecame in to Mrs. Dixon and said that he was at 'is old tricks ofinterfering, and he would not 'ave it.

  "Well, he'd better keep out o' the bar altogether," ses Mrs. Dixon."There's no need for 'im to go there; we managed all right while 'e wasaway."

  "Do you mean I'm not to go into my own bar?" ses Dixon, stammering.

  "Yes, I do," ses Mrs. Dixon. "You kept out of it for four years toplease yourself, and now you can keep out of it to please me."

  "I've put you out o' the bar before," ses Charlie, "and if you comemessing about with me any more I'll do it agin. So now you know."

  He walked back into the bar whistling, and George Dixon, arter sittingstill for a long time thinking, got up and went into the bar, and he'd'ardly got his foot inside afore Charlie caught 'old of 'im by theshoulder and shoved 'im back into the parlour agin.

  "I told you wot it would be," ses Mrs. Dixon, looking up from 'ersewing. "You've only got your interfering ways to thank for it."

  "This is a fine state of affairs in my own 'ouse," ses Dixon, 'ardlyable to speak. "You've got no proper feeling for your husband, Julia,else you wouldn't allow it. Why, I was happier at sea than wot I am'ere."

  "Well, you'd better go back to it if you're so fond of it," ses 'iswife.

  "I think I 'ad," ses Dixon. "If I can't be master in my own 'ouse I'mbetter at sea, hard as it is. You must choose between us, Julia--me oryour relations. I won't sleep under the same roof as them for anothernight. Am I to go?"

  "Please yourself," ses 'is wife. "I don't mind your staying 'ere so longas you behave yourself, but the others won't go; you can make your mindeasy on that."

  "I'll go and look for another ship, then," ses Dixon, taking up 'is cap."I'm not wanted here. P'r'aps you wouldn't mind 'aving some clothespacked into a chest for me so as I can go away decent."

  He looked round at 'is wife, as though 'e expected she'd ask 'im not togo, but she took no notice, and he opened the door softly and went out,while old Burge, who 'ad come into the room and 'eard what he wassaying, trotted off upstairs to pack 'is chest for 'im.

  In two hours 'e was back agin and more cheerful than he 'ad been sincehe 'ad come 'ome. Bob was in the bar and the others were just sittingdown to tea, and a big chest, nicely corded, stood on the floor in thecorner of the room.

  "That's right," he ses, looking at it; "that's just wot I wante
d."

  "It's as full as it can be," ses old Burge. "I done it for you myself.'Ave you got a ship?"

  "I 'ave," ses Dixon. "A jolly good ship. No more hardships for me thistime. I've got a berth as captain."

  "Wot?" ses 'is wife. "Captain? You!"

  "Yes," ses Dixon, smiling at her. "You can sail with me if you like."

  "Thankee," ses Mrs. Dixon, "I'm quite comfortable where I am."

  "Do you mean to say you've got a master's berth?" ses Charlie, staringat 'im.

  "I do," ses Dixon; "master and owner."

  Charlie coughed. "Wot's the name of the ship?" he asks, winking at theothers.

  "The BLUE LION," ses Dixon, in a voice that made 'em all start. "I'mshipping a new crew and I pay off the old one to-night. You first, mylad."

  "Pay off," ses Charlie, leaning back in 'is chair and staring at 'im ina puzzled way. "Blue Lion?"

  "Yes," ses Dixon, in the same loud voice. "When I came 'ome the otherday I thought p'r'aps I'd let bygones be bygones, and I laid low for abit to see whether any of you deserved it. I went to sea to gethardened--and I got hard. I've fought men that would eat you at a meal.I've 'ad more blows in a week than you've 'ad in a lifetime, youfat-faced land-lubber."

  He walked to the door leading to the bar, where Bob was doing 'is bestto serve customers and listen at the same time, and arter locking it putthe key in 'is pocket. Then 'e put his 'and in 'is pocket and slappedsome money down on the table in front o' Charlie.

  "There's a month's pay instead o' notice," he ses. "Now git."

  "George!" screams 'is wife. "'Ow dare you? 'Ave you gone crazy?"

  "I'm surprised at you," ses old Burge, who'd been looking on with 'ismouth wide open, and pinching 'imself to see whether 'e wasn't dreaming.

  "I don't go for your orders," ses Charlie, getting up. "Wot d'ye mean bylocking that door?"

  "Wot!" roars Dixon. "Hang it! I mustn't lock a door without asking mybarman now. Pack up and be off, you swab, afore I start on you."

  Charlie gave a growl and rushed at 'im, and the next moment 'e was downon the floor with the 'ardest bang in the face that he'd ever 'ad in 'islife. Mrs. Dixon screamed and ran into the kitchen, follered by oldBurge, who went in to tell 'er not to be frightened. Charlie got up andwent for Dixon agin; but he 'ad come back as 'ard as nails and 'ad arushing style o' fighting that took Charlie's breath away. By the timeBob 'ad left the bar to take care of itself, and run round and got inthe back way, Charlie had 'ad as much as 'e wanted and was lying on thesea-chest in the corner trying to get 'is breath.

  "Yes? Wot d'ye want?" ses Dixon, with a growl, as Bob came in at thedoor.

  He was such a 'orrible figure, with the blood on 'is face and 'is beardsticking out all ways, that Bob, instead of doing wot he 'ad come roundfor, stood in the doorway staring at 'im without a word.

  "I'm paying off," ses Dixon. "'Ave you got any-thing to say agin it?"

  "No," ses Bob, drawing back.

  "You and Charlie'll go now," ses Dixon, taking out some money. "The oldman can stay on for a month to give 'im time to look round. Don't lookat me that way, else I'll knock your 'ead off."

  He started counting out Bob's money just as old Burge and Mrs. Dixon,hearing all quiet, came in out of the kitchen.

  "Don't you be alarmed on my account, my dear," he ses, turning to 'iswife; "it's child's play to wot I've been used to. I'll just see thesetwo mistaken young fellers off the premises, and then we'll 'ave a cupo' tea while the old man minds the bar."

  Mrs. Dixon tried to speak, but 'er temper was too much for 'er. Shelooked from her 'usband to Charlie and Bob and then back at 'im agin andcaught 'er breath.

  "That's right," ses Dixon, nodding his 'ead at her. "I'm master andowner of the Blue Lion and you're first mate. When I'm speaking you keepquiet; that's dissipline."

  I was in that bar about three months arterward, and I never saw such achange in any woman as there was in Mrs. Dixon. Of all thenice-mannered, soft-spoken landladies I've ever seen, she was the best,and on'y to 'ear the way she answered her 'usband when he spoke to 'erwas a pleasure to every married man in the bar.

  A SPIRIT OF AVARICE