ODD CRAFT
 
 ODD CRAFT 
 
 BY 
 W. W. JACOBS
 
 IComUGHT, 1903, BV 
 
 W. W. JACOBS 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Ail rights reserved 
 
 Published, October, 1909
 
 Stacfl 
 
 33.tr 
 
 1*103 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FAG* 
 
 THE MONEY Box . * ........ . i 
 
 THE CASTAWAY ......... . . 25 
 
 BLUNDELL'S IMPROVEMENT ........ 53 
 
 BILL'S LAPSE ............ 77 
 
 LAWYER QUINCE ........... 101 
 
 BREAKING A SPELL . ......... 125 
 
 ESTABLISHING RELATIONS ........ 147 
 
 THE CHANGING NUMBERS ........ 171 
 
 THE PERSECUTION OF BOB PRETTY ..... 197 
 
 DIXON'S RETURN ...... ..... 221 
 
 A SPIRIT OF AVARICE ......... 245 
 
 THE THIRD STRING . ........ 267 
 
 ODD CHARGES ........... 293 
 
 ADMIRAL PETERS ........ ...317
 
 THE MONEY-BOX 
 
 SAILORMEN are not good 'ands at saving 
 money as a rule, said the night-watchman, as 
 he wistfully toyed with a bad shilling on his 
 watch-chain, though to 'ear 'em talk of saving when 
 they're at sea and there isn't a pub within a thousand 
 miles of 'em, you might think different. 
 
 It ain't for the want of trying either with some 
 of 'em, and I've known men do all sorts o' things as 
 soon as they was paid off, with a view to saving. 
 I knew one man as used to keep all but a shilling or 
 two in a belt next to 'is skin so that he couldn't get 
 at it easy, but it was all no good. He was always 
 running short in the most inconvenient places. I've 
 seen 'im wriggle for five minutes right off, with a 
 tramcar conductor standing over 'im and the other 
 people in the tram reading their papers with one eye 
 and watching him with the other. 
 
 Ginger Dick and Peter Russet two men I've 
 spoke of to you afore tried to save their money 
 once. They'd got so sick and tired of spending it 
 all in p'r'aps a week or ten days arter coming ashore, 
 and 'aving to go to sea agin sooner than they 'ad 
 
 3
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 intended, that they determined some way or other 
 to 'ave things different. 
 
 They was homeward bound on a steamer from 
 Melbourne when they made their minds up; and 
 Isaac Lunn, the oldest fireman aboard a very steady 
 old teetotaler gave them a lot of good advice about 
 it. They all wanted to rejoin the ship when she 
 sailed agin, and 'e offered to take a room ashore with 
 them and mind their money, giving 'em what 'e called 
 a moderate amount each day. 
 
 They would ha' laughed at any other man, but 
 they knew that old Isaac was as honest as could be 
 and that their money would be safe with 'im, and 
 at last, after a lot of palaver, they wrote out a paper 
 saying as they were willing for 'im to 'ave their 
 money and give it to 'em bit by bit, till they went 
 to sea agin. 
 
 Anybody but Ginger Dick and Peter Russet or a 
 fool would ha' known better than to do such a thing, 
 but old Isaac 'ad got such a oily tongue and seemed 
 so fair-minded about wot 'e called moderate drink- 
 ing that they never thought wot they was letting 
 themselves in for, and when they took their pay 
 close on sixteen pounds each they put the odd 
 change in their pockets and 'anded the rest over to 
 him. 
 
 The first day they was as pleased as Punch. Old 
 Isaac got a nice, respectable bedroom for them all, 
 
 4
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 and arter they'd 'ad a few drinks they humoured 'im 
 by 'aving a nice 'ot cup o' tea, and then goin' off with 
 'im to see a magic-lantern performance. 
 
 It was called "The Drunkard's Downfall," and 
 it begun with a young man going into a nice-looking 
 pub and being served by a nice-looking barmaid with 
 a glass of ale. Then it got on to 'arf pints and 
 pints in the next picture, and arter Ginger 'ad seen 
 the lost young man put away six pints in about 'arf 
 a minute, 'e got such a raging thirst on 'im that 'e 
 couldn't sit still, and 'e whispered to Peter Russet 
 to go out with 'im. 
 
 "You'll lose the best of it if you go now," ses old 
 Isaac, in a whisper; "in the next picture there's little 
 frogs and devils sitting on the edge of the pot as 
 'e goes to drink." 
 
 Ginger Dick got up and nodded to Peter. 
 
 "Arter that 'e kills ? is mother with a razor," ses old 
 Isaac, pleading with 'im and 'olding on to 'is coat. 
 
 Ginger Dick sat down agin, and when the murder 
 was over 'e said it made '5m feel faint, and 'im and 
 Peter Russet went out for a breath of fresh air. 
 They 'ad three at the first place, and then they moved 
 on to another and forgot all about Isaac and the 
 dissolving views until ten o'clock, when Ginger, who 
 'ad been very liberal to some friends 'e'd made in a 
 pub, found 'e'd spent 'is last penny. 
 
 "This comes o' listening to a parcel o' teetotalers," 
 
 5
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 'e ses, very cross, when 'e found that Peter 'ad spent 
 all 'is money too. "Here we are just beginning the 
 evening and not a farthing in our pockets." 
 
 They went off 'ome in a very bad temper. Old 
 Isaac was asleep in 'is bed, and when they woke 'im 
 up and said that they was going to take charge of 
 their money themselves 'e kept dropping off to sleep 
 agin and snoring that 'ard they could scarcely hear 
 themselves speak. Then Peter tipped Ginger a wink 
 and pointed to Isaac's trousers, which were 'anging 
 over the foot of the bed. 
 
 Ginger Dick smiled and took 'em up softly, and 
 Peter Russet smiled too ; but 'e wasn't best pleased to 
 see old Isaac a-smiling in 'is sleep, as though 'e was 
 'aving amusing dreams. All Ginger found was a ha'- 
 penny, a bunch o' keys, and a cough lozenge. In the 
 coat and waistcoat 'e found a few tracks folded up, 
 a broken pen-knife, a ball of string, and some other 
 rubbish. Then 'e set down on the foot o' their bed 
 and made eyes over at Peter. 
 
 "Wake 'im up agin," ses Peter, in a temper. 
 
 Ginger Dick got up and, leaning over the bed, took 
 old Isaac by the shoulders and shook 'im as if Vd 
 been a bottle o' medicine. 
 
 "Time to get up, lads?" ses old Isaac, putting one 
 leg out o' bed. 
 
 "No, it ain't," ses Ginger, very rough; "we ain't 
 been to bed yet. We want our money back." 
 
 6
 
 The Money- Box 
 
 Isaac drew 'is leg back into bed agin. "Goo* 
 night," he ses, and fell fast asleep. 
 
 "He's shamming, that's wot 'e is," ses Peter Rus- 
 set. "Let's look for it. It must be in the room 
 somewhere." 
 
 They turned the room upside down pretty near, 
 and then Ginger Dick struck a match and looked 
 up the chimney, but all 'e found was that it 'adn't 
 been swept for about twenty years, and wot with 
 temper and soot 'e looked so frightful that Peter 
 was arf afraid of 'im. 
 
 "I've 'ad enough of this," ses Ginger, running 
 up to the bed and 'olding his sooty fist under old 
 Isaac's nose. "Now, then, where's that money? If 
 you don't give us our money, our 'ard-earned money, 
 inside o' two minutes, I'll break every bone in your 
 body." 
 
 "This is wot comes o' trying to do you a favour, 
 Ginger," ses the old man, reproachfully. 
 
 "Don't talk to me," ses Ginger, "cos I won't have 
 it. Come on; where is it?" 
 
 Old Isaac looked at 'im, and then he gave a 
 sigh and got up and put on 'is boots and 'is trou- 
 sers. 
 
 "I thought I should 'ave a little trouble with you," 
 he ses, slowly, "but I was prepared for that." 
 
 "You'll 'ave more if you don't hurry up," ses Gin- 
 ger, glaring at 'im. 
 
 7
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 "We don't want to 'urt you, Isaac," ses Peter 
 Russet, "we on'y want our money." 
 
 "I know that," ses Isaac; "you keep still, Peter, 
 and see fair-play, and I'll knock you silly arter- 
 wards." 
 
 He pushed some o' the things into a corner and 
 then 'e spat on 'is 'ands, and began to prance up and 
 down, and duck 'is 'ead about and hit the air in a 
 way that surprised 'em. 
 
 "I ain't hit a man for five years," 'e ses, still danc- 
 ing up and down "fighting's sinful except in a good 
 cause but afore I got a new 'art, Ginger, I'd lick 
 three men like you afore breakfast, just to git up a 
 appetite." 
 
 "Look 'ere," ses Ginger; "you're an old man and 
 I don't want to 'urt you; tell us where our money 
 is, our 'ard-earned money, and I won't lay a finger 
 on you." 
 
 "I'm taking care of it for you," ses the old man. 
 
 Ginger Dick gave a howl and rushed at him, and 
 the next moment Isaac's fist shot out and give 'im 
 a drive that sent 'im spinning across the room until 
 'e fell in a heap in the fireplace. It was like a kick 
 from a 'orse, and Peter looked very serious as 'e 
 picked 'im up and dusted Mm down. 
 
 "You should keep your eye on 'is fist," he ses, 
 sharply. 
 
 It was a silly thing to say, seeing that that was just
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 wot 'ad 'appened, and Ginger told 'im wot 'e'd do 
 for 'im when 'e'd finished with Isaac. He went at 
 the old man agin, but 'e never 'ad a chance, and in 
 
 " 'I ain't hit a man for five years,' he set.*' 
 
 about three minutes 'e was very glad to let Peter 
 'elp 'im into bed. 
 
 "It's your turn to fight him now, Peter," he ses, 
 "Just move this piller so as I can see." 
 
 9
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 "Come on, lad," ses the old man. 
 
 Peter shook 'is 'ead. "I have no wish to 'urt you, 
 Isaac," he ses, kindly; "excitement like fighting is 
 dangerous for an old man. Give us our money and 
 we'll say no more about it." 
 
 "No, my lads," ses Isaac. "I've undertook to take 
 charge o' this money and I'm going to do it; and I 
 'ope that when we all sign on aboard the Planet 
 there'll be a matter o' twelve pounds each left. Now, 
 I don't want to be 'arsh with you, but I'm going back 
 to bed, and if I 'ave to get up and dress agin you'll 
 wish yourselves dead." 
 
 He went back to bed agin, and Peter, taking no 
 otice of Ginger Dick, who kept calling Mm a coward, 
 got into bed alongside of Ginger and fell fast asleep. 
 
 They all 'ad breakfast in a coffee-shop next morn- 
 ing, and arter it was over Ginger, who 'adn't spoke 
 t word till then, said that 'e and Peter Russet wanted 
 a little money to go on with. He said they preferred 
 to get their meals alone, as Isaac's face took their 
 appetite away. 
 
 "Very good," ses the old man. "I don't want to 
 force my company on nobody," and after thinking 
 *ard for a minute or two he put 'is 'and in 'is trouser- 
 pocket and gave them eighteen-pence each. 
 
 "Wot's this for?" ses Ginger, staring at the money. 
 "Matches?" 
 
 "That's your day's allowance," ses Isaac, "and it's 
 
 io
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 plenty. There's ninepence for your dinner, fourpence 
 for your tea, and twopence for a crust o' bread and 
 cheese for supper. And if you must go and drown 
 
 Wot's this for?' ses Ginger.* 1 
 
 yourselves in beer, that leaves threepence each to go 
 and do it with." 
 
 Ginger tried to speak to Mm, but 'is feelings was 
 
 ii
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 too much for 'im, and 'e couldn't. Then Peter Rus- 
 set swallered something 'e was going to say and asked 
 old Isaac very perlite to make it a quid for 'im be- 
 cause he was going down to Colchester to see 'is 
 mother, and 'e didn't want to go empty-'anded. 
 
 "You're a good son, Peter," ses old Isaac, "and 
 I wish there was more like you. I'll come down with 
 you, if you like; I've got nothing to do." 
 
 Peter said it was very kind of 'im, but 'e'd sooner 
 go alone, owing to his mother being very shy afore 
 strangers. 
 
 "Well, I'll come down to the station and take a 
 ticket for you," ses Isaac. 
 
 Then Peter lost 'is temper altogether, and banged 
 'is fist on the table and smashed 'arf the crockery. 
 He asked Isaac whether 'e thought 'im and Ginger 
 Dick was a couple o' children, and 'e said if 'e didn't 
 give 'em all their money right away 'e'd give 'im in 
 charge to the first policeman they met. 
 
 "I'm afraid you didn't intend for to go and see 
 your mother, Peter," ses the old man. 
 
 "Look 'ere," ses Peter, "are you going to give us 
 that money?" 
 
 "Not if you went down on your bended knees," 
 ses the old man. 
 
 "Very good," says Peter, getting up and walking 
 outside; "then come along o' me to find a police- 
 
 man." 
 
 12
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 "I'm agreeable," ses Isaac, "but I've got the paper 
 you signed." 
 
 Peter said 'e didn't care twopence if Vd got fifty 
 papers, and they walked along looking for a police- 
 man, which was a very unusual thing for them to do. 
 
 "I 'ope for your sakes it won't be the same police- 
 man that you and Ginger Dick set on in Gun Alley 
 the night afore you shipped on the Planet," ses Isaac, 
 pursing up 'is lips. 
 
 " 'Tain't likely to be," ses Peter, beginning to 
 wish 'e 'adn't been so free with 'is tongue. 
 
 "Still, if I tell 'im, I dessay he'll soon find 'im," 
 ses Isaac; "there's one coming along now, Peter; 
 shall I stop 'im?" 
 
 Peter Russet looked at 'im and then he looked 
 at Ginger, and they walked by grinding their teeth. 
 They stuck to Isaac all day, trying to get their money 
 out of 'im, and the names they called 'im was a sur- 
 prise even to themselves. And at night they turned 
 the room topsy-turvy agin looking for their money 
 and 'ad more unpleasantness when they wanted Isaac 
 to get up and let 'em search the bed. 
 
 They 'ad breakfast together agin next morning 
 and Ginger tried another tack. He spoke quite nice 
 to Isaac, and 'ad three large cups o' tea to show 'im 
 'ow 'e was beginning to like it, and when the old 
 man gave 'em their eighteen-pences 'e smiled and 
 said Vd like a few shillings extra that day. 
 
 13
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 "It'll be all right, Isaac," he ses. "I wouldn't 'ave 
 a drink if you asked me to. Don't seem to care for 
 it now. I was saying so to you on'y last night, 
 wasn't I, Peter?" 
 
 "You was," ses Peter; "so was I." 
 
 "Then I've done you good, Ginger," ses Isaac, 
 clapping 'im on the back. 
 
 "You 'ave," ses Ginger, speaking between his 
 teeth, "and I thank you for it. I don't want drink; 
 but I thought o' going to a music-'all this evening." 
 
 "Going to wot?" ses old Isaac, drawing 'imself 
 up and looking very shocked. 
 
 "A music-'all," ses Ginger, trying to keep 'is tem- 
 per. 
 
 "A music-'all," ses Isaac; "why, it's worse than a 
 pub, Ginger. I should be a very poor friend o' yours 
 if I let you go there I couldn't think of it." 
 
 "Wot's it got to do with you, you gray- whiskered 
 serpent?" screams Ginger, arf mad with rage. "Why 
 don't you leave us alone? Why don't you mind your 
 own business? It's our money." 
 
 Isaac tried to talk to Mm, but 'e wouldn't listen, 
 and he made such a fuss that at last the coffee-shop 
 keeper told Mm to go outside. Peter follered Mm 
 out, and being very upset they went and spent their 
 day's allowance in the first hour, and then they 
 walked about the streets quarrelling as to the death 
 they'd like old Isaac to 'ave when Ms time came.
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 They went back to their lodgings at dinner-time,; 
 but there was no sign of the old man, and, being 'un- 
 gry and thirsty, they took all their spare clothes to 
 a pawnbroker and got enough money to go on with. 
 Just to show their independence they went to two 
 music-'alls, and with a sort of idea that they was 
 doing Isaac a bad turn they spent every farthing 
 afore they got 'ome, and sat up in bed telling 'im 
 about the spree they'd 'ad. 
 
 At five o'clock in the morning Peter woke up and 
 saw, to 'is surprise, that Ginger Dick was dressed 
 and carefully folding up old Isaac's clothes. At 
 first 'e thought that Ginger 'ad gone mad, taking 
 care of the old man's things like that, but afore 'e 
 could speak Ginger noticed that 'e was awake, and 
 stepped over to 'im and whispered to 'im to dress 
 without making a noise. Peter did as 'e was told, 
 and, more puzzled than ever, saw Ginger make up 
 all the old man's clothes in a bundle and creep out 
 of the room on tiptoe. 
 
 "Going to 'ide 'is clothes?" 'e ses. 
 
 "Yes," ses Ginger, leading the way downstairs; 
 "in a pawnshop. We'll make the old man pay for 
 to-day's amusements." 
 
 Then Peter see the joke and 'e begun to laugh so 
 'ard that Ginger 'ad to threaten to knock 'is head 
 off to quiet 'im. Ginger laughed 'imself when they 
 got outside, and at last, arter walking about till the 
 
 15
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 shops opened, they got into a pawnbroker's and put 
 old Isaac's clothes up for fifteen shillings. 
 
 "They put old Isaac's clothes up for fifteen shUlingj.** 
 
 First thing they did was to 'ave a good breakfast, 
 and after that they came out smiling all over and 
 
 16
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 began to spend a 'appy day. Ginger was in tip-top 
 spirits and so was Peter, and the idea that old Isaac 
 was in bed while they was drinking 'is clothes pleased 
 them more than anything. Twice that evening po- 
 licemen spoke to Ginger for dancing on the pavement, 
 and by the time the money was spent it took Peter 
 all 'is time to get 'im 'ome. 
 
 Old Isaac was in bed when they got there, and 
 the temper 'e was in was shocking; but Ginger sat 
 on 'is bed and smiled at 'im as if 'e was saying com- 
 pliments to 'im. 
 
 "Where's my clothes?" ses the old man, shaking 
 'is fist at the two of 'em. 
 
 Ginger smiled at 'im; then 'e shut 'is eyes and 
 dropped off to sleep. 
 
 "Where's my clothes?" ses Isaac, turning to Peter. 
 
 "Closhe?" ses Peter, staring at 'im. 
 
 "Where are they?" ses Isaac. 
 
 It was a long time afore Peter could understand 
 wot 'e meant, but as soon as 'e did 'e started to look 
 for 'em. Drink takes people in different ways, and 
 the way it always took Peter was to make 'im one 
 o' the most obliging men that ever lived. He spent 
 arf the night crawling about on all fours looking 
 for the clothes, and four or five times old Isaac woke 
 up from dreams of earthquakes to find Peter 'ad got 
 jammed under 'is bed, and was wondering what 'ad 
 'appened to 'im. 
 
 '7
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 None of 'em was in the best o' tempers when they 
 woke up next morning, and Ginger 'ad 'ardly got 
 'is eyes open before Isaac was asking 'im about 'is 
 clothes agin. 
 
 "Don't bother me about your clothes," ses Gin- 
 ger; "talk about something else for a change." 
 
 "Where are they?" ses Isaac, sitting on the edge 
 of 'is bed. 
 
 Ginger yawned and felt in 'is waistcoat pocket 
 for neither of 'em 'ad undressed and then *e took 
 the pawn-ticket out and threw it on the floor. Isaac 
 picked it up, and then 'e began to dance about the 
 room as if 'e'd gone mad. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me you've pawned my 
 clothes?" he shouts. 
 
 "Me and Peter did," ses Ginger, sitting up in bed 
 and getting ready for a row. 
 
 Isaac dropped on the bed agin all of a 'cap. 
 "And wot am I to do?" he ses. 
 
 "If you be'ave yourself," ses Ginger, "and give us 
 our money, me and Peter'll go and get 'em out agin. 
 When we've 'ad breakfast, that is. There's no hurry." 
 
 "But I 'aven't got the money," ses Isaac; "it was 
 all sewn up in the lining of the coat. I've on'y got 
 about five shillings. You've made a nice mess of 
 it, Ginger, you 'ave." 
 
 "You're a silly fool, Ginger, that's wot you are," 
 ses Peter. 
 
 18
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 "Sewn up in the lining of the coat?" ses Ginger, 
 staring. 
 
 "The bank-notes was," ses Isaac, "and three 
 pounds in gold 'idden in the cap. Did you pawn 
 that too?" 
 
 Ginger got up in 'is excitement and walked up and 
 down the room. "We must go and get 'em out at 
 once," he ses. 
 
 "And where's the money to do it with?" ses Peter, 
 
 Ginger 'adn't thought of that, and it struck 'im all 
 of a heap. None of 'em seemed to be able to think 
 of a way of getting the other ten shillings wot was 
 wanted, and Ginger was so upset that 'e took no no- 
 tice of the things Peter kept saying to 'im. 
 
 "Let's go and ask to see 'em, and say we left a 
 railway-ticket in the pocket," ses Peter. 
 
 Isaac shook 'is 'ead. "There's on'y one way to 
 do it," he ses. "We shall 'ave to pawn your clothes, 
 Ginger, to get mine out with." 
 
 "That's the on'y way, Ginger," ses Peter, bright- 
 ening up. "Now, wot's the good o' carrying on like 
 that? It's no worse for you to be without your 
 clothes for a little while than it was for pore old 
 Isaac." 
 
 It took 'em quite arf an hour afore they could get 
 Ginger to see it. First of all 'e wanted Peter's 
 clothes to be took instead of 'is, and when Peter 
 pointed out that they was too shabby to fetch ten 
 
 19
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 shillings 'e 'ad a lot o' nasty things to say about 
 wearing such old rags, and at last, in a terrible tem- 
 per, 'e took 'is clothes off and pitched 'em in a 'eap 
 on the floor. 
 
 "If you ain't back in arf an hour, Peter," 'e ses, 
 scowling at 'im, "you'll 'ear from me, I can tell 
 you." 
 
 "Don't you worry about that," ses Isaac, with a 
 smile. "7'w going to take 'em." 
 
 "You?" ses Ginger; "but you can't. You ain't 
 got no clothes." 
 
 "I'm going to wear Peter's," ses Isaac, with a 
 smile. 
 
 Peter asked 'im to listen to reason, but it was all 
 no good. He'd got the pawn-ticket, and at last Peter, 
 forgetting all he'd said to Ginger Dick about using 
 bad langwidge, took 'is clothes off, one by one, and 
 dashed 'em on the floor, and told Isaac some of the 
 things 'e thought of 'im. 
 
 The old man didn't take any notice of 'im. He 
 dressed 'imself up very slow and careful in Peter's 
 clothes, and then 'e drove 'em nearly crazy by wast- 
 ing time making 'is bed. 
 
 "Be as quick as you can, Isaac," ses Ginger, at 
 last; "think of us two a-sitting 'ere waiting for 
 you." 
 
 "I sha'n't forget it," ses Isaac, and 'e came back 
 to the door after 'e'd gone arf-way down the stairs 
 
 2C
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 to ask 'em not to go out on the drink while 'e was 
 away. 
 
 It was nine o'clock when he went, and at ha'-past 
 nine Ginger began to get impatient and wondered 
 wot 'ad 'appened to 'im, and when ten o'clock came 
 and no Isaac they was both leaning out of the winder 
 with blankets over their shoulders looking up the 
 road. By eleven o'clock Peter was in very low spirits 
 and Ginger was so mad 'e was afraid to speak to 'im. 
 
 They spent the rest o' that day 'anging out of the 
 winder, but it was not till ha'-past four in the after- 
 noon that Isaac, still wearing Peter's clothes and 
 carrying a couple of large green plants under 'is 
 arm, turned into the road, and from the way 'e was 
 smiling they thought it must be all right. 
 
 "Wot 'ave you been such a long time for?" ses 
 Ginger, in a low, fierce voice, as Isaac stopped un- 
 derneath the winder and nodded up to 'em. 
 
 "I met a old friend," ses Isaac. 
 
 "Met a old friend?" ses Ginger, in a passion. 
 "Wot d'ye mean, wasting time like that while we 
 was sitting up 'ere waiting and starving?" 
 
 "I 'adn't seen 'im for years," ses Isaac, "and time 
 slipped away afore I noticed it." 
 
 "I dessay," ses Ginger, in a bitter voice. "Well, 
 is the money all right?" 
 
 "I don't know," ses Isaac; "I ain't got the 
 clothes." 
 
 21
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 "Wot?" ses Ginger, nearly falling out of the win- 
 der. "Well, wot 'ave you done with mine, then? 
 Where are they? Come upstairs." 
 
 "I won't come upstairs, Ginger," ses Isaac, "be- 
 cause I'm not quite sure whether I've done right. 
 But I'm not used to going into pawnshops, and I 
 walked about trying to make up my mind to go in 
 and couldn't." 
 
 "Well, wot did you do then?" ses Ginger, 'ardly 
 able to contain hisself. 
 
 "While I was trying to make up my mind," ses 
 old Isaac, "! see a man with a barrer of lovely plants. 
 *E wasn't asking money for 'em, only old clothes." 
 
 "Old clothes?" ses Ginger, in a voice as if 'e was 
 being suffocated. 
 
 "I thought they'd be a bit o' green for you to look 
 at," ses the old nan, 'olding the plants up; "there's 
 no knowing 'ow long you'll be up there. The big 
 one is yours, Ginger, and the other is for Peter." 
 
 " 'Ave you gone mad, Isaac?" ses Peter, in a 
 trembling voice, arter Ginger 'ad tried to speak and 
 couldn't. 
 
 Isaac shook 'is 'ead and smiled up at 'em, and 
 then, arter telling Peter to put Ginger's blanket a 
 little more round 'is shoulders, for fear 'e should 
 catch cold, 'e said 'e'd ask the landlady to send 'em 
 up some bread and butter and a cup o' tea. 
 
 They 'card 'im talking to the landlady at the door, 
 
 22
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 and then 'e went off in a hurry without looking be- 
 hind 'im, and the landlady walked up and down on 
 
 'Old Isaac kept 'em there for three dayi." 
 
 the other side of the road with 'er apron stuffed in 'er 
 mouth, pretending to be looking at 'er chimney-pots. 
 
 23
 
 The Money-Box 
 
 Isaac didn't turn up at all that night, and by next 
 morning those two unfortunate men see 'ow they'd 
 been done. It was quite plain to them that Isaac 
 'ad been deceiving them, and Peter was pretty cer- 
 tain that 'e took the money out of the bed while 'e 
 was fussing about making it. Old Isaac kept 'em 
 there for three days, sending 'em in their clothes bit 
 by bit and two shillings a day to live on; but they 
 didn't set eyes on '5m agin until they all signed on 
 aboard the Planet, and they didn't set eyes on their 
 money until they was two miles below Gravesend. 
 
 24
 
 THE CASTAWAY
 
 THE CASTAWAY 
 
 MRS. JOHN BOXER stood at the door of 
 the shop with her hands clasped on her 
 apron. The short day had drawn to a 
 close, and the lamps in the narrow little thorough- 
 fares of Shinglesea were already lit. For a time she 
 stood listening to the regular beat of the sea on the 
 beach some half-mile distant, and then with a slight 
 shiver stepped back into the shop and closed the 
 door. 
 
 The little shop with its wide-mouthed bottles of 
 sweets was one of her earliest memories. Until her 
 marriage she had known no other home, and when 
 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 the little shop. 
 
 In a restless mood she took up a piece of needle- 
 work, and a minute or two later put it down again. 
 A glance through the glass of the door leading into 
 the small parlour revealed Mrs. Gimpson, with a red 
 shawl round her shoulders, asleep in her easy-chair. 
 
 Mrs. Boxer turned at the clang of the shop bell, 
 and then, with a wild cry, stood gazing at the figure 
 
 27
 
 The Castaway 
 
 of a man standing in the door-way. He was short 
 and bearded, with oddly shaped shoulders, and a left 
 leg which was not a match; but the next moment 
 Mrs. Boxer was in his arms sobbing and laughing 
 together. 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson, whose nerves were still quivering 
 owing to the suddenness with which she had been 
 awakened, came into the shop; Mr. Boxer freed an 
 arm, and placing it round her waist kissed her with 
 some affection on the chin. 
 
 "He's come back!" cried Mrs. Boxer, hyster- 
 ically. 
 
 "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 thrusting him into the easy-chair lately 
 vacated by Mrs. Gimpson seated herself upon his 
 knee, regardless in her excitement that the rightful 
 owner was with elaborate care selecting the most un- 
 comfortable chair in the room. 
 
 "Fancy his coming back!" said Mrs. Boxer, wip- 
 ing her eyes. "How did you escape, 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 telling of it," he said, slowly, "but 
 I'll cut it short for the present. When the North 
 Star went down in the South Pacific most o' the hands 
 
 28
 
 The Castaway 
 
 got away in the boats, but I was too late. I got this, 
 crack on the head with something falling on it from 
 aloft. Look here." 
 
 He bent his head, and Mrs. Boxer, separating the 
 stubble with her fingers, uttered an exclamation of 
 pity and alarm at the extent of the scar; Mrs. Gimp- 
 son, craning forward, uttered a sound which might 
 mean anything 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 I escaped I don't know. I seemed to be chok- 
 ing and fighting for my breath for years, and then: 
 I found myself floating on the sea and clinging to a 
 grating. I clung to it all night, and next day I wa& 
 picked up by a native 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 schoon- 
 er named the Pearl, belonging to Sydney, and taken 
 there. At Sydney I shipped aboard the Marston 
 Towers, a steamer, and landed at the Albert Docks 
 this morning." 
 
 "Poor John," said his wife, holding on to his arrru 
 "How you must have suffered!" 
 
 "I did," said Mr. Boxer. "Mother got a cold?" 
 he inquired, eying that lady. 
 
 "No, I ain't," said Mrs. Gimpson, answering for 
 
 29
 
 The Castaway 
 
 herself. "Why didn't you write when you got to 
 Sydney?" 
 
 "Didn't know where to write to," replied Mr. 
 Boxer, staring. "I didn't know 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 was very busy at Sydney, looking 
 for a ship. However, I'm 'ere now." 
 
 "I always felt you'd turn up some day," said Mrs. 
 Gimpson. "1 felt certain 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 that impressed her listeners unfavour- 
 ably. The impression was deepened when, after a 
 short, dry laugh a propos of nothing, she sniffed 
 again three times. 
 
 "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 me in." 
 
 She sniffed again. 
 
 "Were the natives kind to you?" inquired Mrs. 
 Boxer, hastily, as she turned 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 the picking, 
 
 30
 
 The Castaway 
 
 and nothing to do all day but lay about in the sun 
 and swim in the sea." 
 
 "Any public-'ouses there?" inquired Mrs. Gimp- 
 
 son. 
 
 (4 
 
 Cert'nly not," said her son-in-law. "This was 
 an island one o' the little islands in the South Pa- 
 cific Ocean." 
 
 "What did you say the name o' the schooner 
 was?" inquired Mrs. Gimpson. 
 
 "Pearl," replied Mr. Boxer, with the air of a re- 
 sentful witness under cross-examination. 
 
 "And what was the name o' the captin?" said 
 Mrs. Gimpson. 
 
 "Thomas Henery Walter Smith," said Mr. 
 Boxer, with somewhat unpleasant emphasis. 
 
 "An' the mate's name?" 
 
 "John Brown," was the reply. 
 
 "Common names," commented Mrs. Gimpson, 
 "very common. But I knew you'd come back all 
 right / never 'ad no alarm. 'He's safe and happy, 
 my dear,' I says. 'He'll come back all in his own 
 good time.' ' 
 
 "What d'you mean by that?" demanded the 
 sensitive Mr. Boxer. "I come back as soon as I 
 could." 
 
 "You know you were anxious, mother," interposed 
 her daughter. "Why, you insisted upon our going 
 to see old Mr. Silver about it."
 
 The Castaway 
 
 "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 his mother-in-law. 
 
 Mr. Boxer laughed a good ringing laugh. 
 ""What did he tell you?" he inquired. 
 
 "Nothing," said his wife, hastily. 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Boxer, waggishly, "that was wise 
 of 'im. Most of us could tell fortunes that way." 
 
 "That's wrong," said Mrs. Gimpson to her daugh- 
 ter, sharply. "Right's right any day, and truth's 
 truth. He said that he knew all about John and 
 what he'd been doing, but he wouldn't tell us for 
 fear of 'urting our feelings and making mischief." 
 
 "Here, look 'ere," said Mr. Boxer, starting up; 
 "I've 'ad about enough o' this. Why don't you 
 speak out what you mean? I'll mischief 'im, the old 
 humbug. Old rascal." 
 
 "Never mind, John," said his wife, laying her 
 hand upon his arm. "Here you 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't forget that he foretold my 
 cough last winter." 
 
 "Well, look 'ere," said Mr. Boxer, twisting his 
 
 32
 
 The Castaway 
 
 short, blunt nose into as near an imitation of a sneer 
 as he could manage, "I've told you my story and I've 
 got witnesses to prove it. You can write to the 
 master of the Marston Towers if you like, and other 
 
 " 'Well, look 'ere,' said Mr. Boxer, 'I've told you my story and I*TC got 
 witnesses to prove it.* " 
 
 people besides. Very well, then; let's go and see 
 your precious old fortune-teller. You needn't say 
 who I am; say I'm a friend, and tell 'im never to 
 mind about making mischief, but to say right out 
 
 33
 
 The Castaway 
 
 where I am and what I've been doing all this time. 
 I have my 'opes it'll cure you of your superstitious- 
 ness." 
 
 "We'll go round after we've shut up, mother," 
 said Mrs. Boxer. "We'll have a bit o' supper first 
 and then start early." 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson hesitated. It is never pleasant to 
 submit one's superstitions to the tests of the unbe- 
 lieving, but after the attitude she had taken up she 
 was extremely loath to allow her son-in-law a tri- 
 umph. 
 
 "Never mind, we'll say no more about it," she 
 said, primly, "but I 'ave my own ideas." 
 
 "I dessay," said Mr. Boxer; "but you're afraid 
 for us to go to your old fortune-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't do it," said Mrs. Gimpson, 
 in a voice trembling with passion. 
 
 "O' course, if people like being deceived they 
 must be," said Mr. Boxer; "we've all got to live, 
 and if we'd all got our common sense fortune-tellers 
 couldn't. Does he tell fortunes by tea-leaves or by 
 the colour of your eyes?" 
 
 "Laugh away, John Boxer," said Mrs. Gimpson, 
 icily; "but I shouldn't have been alive now if it 
 hadn't ha' been for Mr. Silver's warnings." 
 
 "Mother stayed in bed for the first ten days in 
 
 34
 
 'he Castaway 
 
 July," explained Mrs. Boxer, "to avoid being bit 
 by a mad dog." 
 
 "Tehee tehee tehee," said the hapless Mr. 
 Boxer, putting his hand over his mouth and making 
 noble efforts to restrain himself; "tehee tch " 
 
 "I s'pose you'd ha' laughed more if I 'ad been 
 bit?" said the glaring Mrs. Gimpson. 
 
 "Well, who did the dog bite after all?" inquired 
 Mr. Boxer, recovering. 
 
 "You don't understand," replied Mrs. Gimpson, 
 pityingly; "me being safe up in bed and the door 
 locked, there was no mad dog. There was no use 
 for it." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Boxer, "me and Mary's going 
 round to see that old deceiver after supper, whether 
 you come or not. Mary shall tell 'im I'm a friend, 
 and ask him to tell her everything about 'er husband. 
 Nobody knows me here, and Mary and me'll be af- 
 fectionate like, and give 'im to understand we want 
 to marry. Then he won't mind making mischief." 
 
 "You'd better leave well alone," said Mrs. Gimp- 
 son. 
 
 Mr. Boxer shook his. head. "I was always one 
 for a bit o 1 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 she 
 
 35
 
 The Castaway 
 
 -went out to obtain a supper which should, in her 
 daughter's eyes, be worthy of the occasion. 
 
 She went to the High Street first and made her 
 purchases, and was on the way back again when, in 
 response to a sudden impulse, as she passed the end 
 of Crowner's Alley, she turned into that small by- 
 way and knocked at the astrologer's door. 
 
 A slow, dragging footstep was heard approaching 
 in reply to the summons, and the astrologer, recog- 
 nising his visitor as one of his most faithful and 
 credulous clients, invited her to step inside. Mrs. 
 Gimpson complied, and, taking a chair, gazed at the 
 venerable white beard and small, red-rimmed eyes 
 of her host in some perplexity as to how to begin. 
 
 "My daughter's coming round to see you present- 
 ly," 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 in your 
 knowledge. He he knows all about my daughter's 
 husband, and he wants to see what you say you know 
 about him." 
 
 The old man put on a pair of huge horn specta- 
 cles and eyed her carefully. 
 
 "You've got something on your mind," he said, 
 at last; "you'd better tell me everything." 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson shook her head. 
 36
 
 The Castaway 
 
 "There's some danger hanging over you," con- 
 tinued Mr. Silver, in a low, thrilling voice; "some 
 danger in connection with your son-in-law. There" 
 
 "There is something forming over you.* 
 
 37
 
 The Castaway 
 
 he waved a lean, shrivelled hand backward and for- 
 ward as though dispelling a fog, and peered into 
 distance "there is something forming over 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 be sacrificed for others." 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson was of the same opinion, and in 
 some haste she reeled off the events of the evening. 
 . She had a good memory, and no detail was lost. 
 
 "Strange, strange," said the venerable Mr. Sil- 
 ver, when he had finished. "He is an ingenious 
 man." 
 
 "Isn't it true?" inquired his listener. "He says 
 he can prove it. And he is going to find out what 
 you meant by saying you were afraid of making mis- 
 chief." 
 
 "He can prove some of it," said the old man, his 
 eyes snapping spitefully. "I can guarantee that." 
 
 "But it wouldn't have made mischief if you had 
 told us that," ventured Mrs. Gimpson. "A man 
 can't help being cast away." 
 
 "True," said the astrologer, slowly; "true. But 
 let them come and question me; and whatever you 
 do, for your own sake don't let a soul know that 
 you have been here. If you do, the danger to your- 
 
 38
 
 The Castaway 
 
 self will be so terrible that even / may be unable to 
 help you." 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson shivered, and more than ever im- 
 pressed by his marvellous powers made her way slow- 
 ly home, where she found the unconscious Mr. Boxer 
 relating his adventures again with much gusto to a 
 married couple from next door. 
 
 "It's a wonder he's alive," said Mr. Jem Thomp- 
 son, looking up as the old woman entered the room; 
 "it sounds like a story-book. Show us that cut on 
 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 to me to see 
 old Silver bowled out." 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson sniffed and eyed his retreating fig- 
 ure 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 over at last, and after that gentle- 
 man had assisted in shutting up the shop they joined 
 the Thompsons, who were waiting outside, and set 
 off for Crowner's Alley. The way was enlivened 
 by Mr. Boxer, who had thrills of horror every ten 
 yards at the idea of the supernatural things he was 
 about to witness, and by Mr. Thompson, who, not 
 to be outdone, persisted in standing stock-still at fre- 
 
 39
 
 The Castaway 
 
 quent intervals until he had received the assurances 
 of his giggling better-half that he would not be made 
 to vanish in a cloud of smoke. 
 
 By the time they reached Mr. Silver's abode the 
 party had regained its decorum, and, except for a 
 tremendous shudder on the part of Mr. Boxer as his 
 gaze fell on a couple of skulls which decorated the 
 magician's table, their behaviour left nothing to be 
 desired. Mrs. Gimpson, in a few awkward words, 
 announced the occasion of their visit. Mr. Boxer she 
 introduced as a friend of the family from London. 
 
 "I will do what I can," said the old man, slowly, 
 as his visitors seated themselves, u but I can only tell 
 you what I see. If I do not see all, or see clearly, 
 it cannot be helped." 
 
 Mr. Boxer winked at Mr. Thompson, and re- 
 ceived an understanding pinch in return; 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 small china bowl and, holding up his hand to 
 command silence, gazed steadfastly 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 bent left leg standing on the deck of a ship.'* 
 
 40
 
 The Castaway 
 
 Mr. Thompson, his eyes wide open with surprise, 
 jerked Mr. Boxer in the ribs, but Mr. Boxer, whose 
 figure was a sore point with him, made no response. 
 
 "The ship leaves the docks," continued Mr. Sil- 
 ver, still peering into the bowl. "As she passes 
 through the entrance her stern comes into view with 
 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 still standing on the fore-part of the 
 ship; I do not know his name or who he is. He 
 takes the portrait of a beautiful young woman from 
 his pocket and gazes at it earnestly." 
 
 Mrs. Boxer, who had no illusions on the subject 
 of her personal appearance, sat up as though she had 
 been stung; Mr. Thompson, who was about to nudge 
 Mr. Boxer in the ribs again, thought better of it and 
 assumed an air of uncompromising virtue. 
 
 "The picture disappears," said Mr. Silver. "Ah! 
 I see; I see. A ship in a gale at sea. It is the 
 North Star; it is sinking. The ill-shaped man sheds 
 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 endeav- 
 oured to look unconcerned. 
 
 "The ship sinks," continued the astrologer, in 
 
 41
 
 The Castaway 
 
 thrilling tones. "Ah I what is this? a piece of wreck- 
 age with a monkey clinging to it? No, no-o. The 
 ill-shaped man again. Dear me!" 
 
 " Ah ! what is this ? a piece of wreckage with a monkey clinging to it ? " 
 
 His listeners sat spellbound. Only the laboured 
 and intense breathing of Mr. Boxer broke the si- 
 lence. 
 
 42
 
 The Castaway 
 
 "He is alone on the boundless sea," pursued the 
 seer; "night falls. Day breaks, and a canoe pro- 
 pelled by a slender and pretty but dusky maiden ap- 
 proaches the castaway. She assists him into the ca- 
 noe and his head sinks on her lap, as with vigorous 
 strokes of her paddle she propels the canoe toward 
 a small island fringed with palm trees." 
 
 "Here, look 'ere " began the overwrought Mr. 
 Boxer. 
 
 "H'sh, h'shf" ejaculated the keenly interested Mr. 
 Thompson. "W'y don't you keep quiet?" 
 
 "The picture fades," continued the old man. "I 
 see another : a native wedding. It is the dusky maid- 
 en and the man she rescued. Ah ! the wedding is 
 interrupted; a young man, a native, breaks into the 
 group. He has a long knife in his hand. He springs 
 upon the ill-shaped man and wounds him in the 
 head." 
 
 Involuntarily Mr. Boxer's hand went up to his 
 honourable scar, and the heads of the others swung 
 round to gaze at it. Mrs. Boxer's face was terrible 
 in its expression, but Mrs. Gimpson's bore the look 
 of sad and patient triumph of one who knew men 
 and could not be surprised at anything they do. 
 
 "The scene vanishes," resumed the monotonous 
 voice, "and another one forms. The same man 
 stands on the deck of a small ship. The name on 
 the stern is the Peer no, Paris no, no, no, Pearl. 
 
 43
 
 The Castaway 
 
 It fades from the shore where the dusky maiden 
 stands .with hands stretched out imploringly. The 
 ill-shaped man smiles and takes the portrait of the 
 young and beautiful girl from his pocket." 
 
 "Look 'ere," said the infuriated Mr. Boxer, "I 
 think we've 'ad about enough of this rubbish. I have 
 more than enough." 
 
 "I don't wonder at it," said his wife, trembling 
 furiously. "You can go if 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't said it's you. There's more 
 than one misshaped man in the world, I s'pose?" 
 
 "I see an ocean liner," said the seer, who had ap- 
 peared to be in a trance state during this colloquy. 
 "She is sailing for England from Australia. I see 
 the name distinctly : the Marston Towers. The same 
 man is on board of her. The ship arrives at Lon- 
 don. The scene closes; another one forms. The ill- 
 shaped man is sitting with a woman with a beautiful 
 face not the same as the photograph." 
 
 "What they can see in him I can't think," mut- 
 tered Mr. Thompson, in an envious whisper. "He's 
 a perfick terror, and to look at him " 
 
 "They sit hand in hand," continued the astrolo- 
 ger, raising his voice. "She smiles up at him and 
 gently strokes his head; he " 
 
 A loud smack rang through the room and startled 
 
 44
 
 The Castaway 
 
 the entire company; Mrs. Boxer, unable to contain 
 herself any longer, had, so far from profiting by the 
 example, gone to the other extreme and slapped her 
 husband's head with hearty good-will. Mr. Boxer 
 sprang raging to his feet, and in the confusion 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 the table as Mr. Boxer advanced 
 upon him. 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson pushed her son-in-law aside, and 
 laying a modest fee upon the table took her daugh- 
 ter's arm and led her out. The Thompsons fol- 
 lowed, and Mr. Boxer, after an irresolute glance in 
 the direction of the ingenuous Mr. Silver, made his 
 way after them and fell into the rear. The people 
 in front walked on for some time in silence, and then 
 the voice of the greatly impressed Mrs. Thompson 
 was heard, to the effect that if there were only more 
 fortune-tellers in the world there would 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, 
 
 45
 
 The Castaway 
 
 his temper by no means being improved by observing 
 that Mrs. Thompson, doubtless with a firm belief 
 in the saying that "Evil communications corrupt 
 good manners," kept a tight hold of her husband's 
 arm. His position as an outcast was clearly defined, 
 and he ground his teeth with rage as he observed 
 the virtuous uprightness of Mrs. Gimpson's back. 
 By the time they reached home he was in a spirit 
 of mad recklessness far in advance of the character 
 given him by the astrologer. 
 
 His wife gazed at him with a look of such strong 
 interrogation as he was about to follow her into the 
 house that he paused with his foot on the step 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 clean breast 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 be denied, followed close 
 behind with his faintly protesting wife. They sat 
 down in a row against the wall, and Mr. Boxer, sit- 
 ting opposite in a hang-dog fashion, eyed them with 
 scornful wrath. 
 
 "Well?" said Mrs. Boxer, at last. 
 
 "All that he said was quite true," said her hus- 
 band, defiantly. "The only thing is, he didn't tell 
 
 46
 
 The Castaway 
 
 - - Have you left anything inside that you want ? ' she inquired." 
 
 the arf of it. Altogether, I married three dusky 
 maidens." 
 
 Everybody but Mr. Thompson shuddered with 
 horror. 
 
 "Then I married a white girl in Australia," pur- 
 
 47
 
 The Castaway 
 
 sued Mr. Boxer, musingly. "I wonder old Silver 
 didn't see that in the bowl; not arf a fortune-teller, 
 I call 'im." 
 
 "What they see in 'im !" whispered the astounded 
 Mr. Thompson to his wife. 
 
 "And did you marry the beautiful girl in the pho- 
 tograph?" demanded Mrs. Boxer, in trembling ac- 
 cents. 
 
 "I did," said her husband. 
 
 "Hussy," cried Mrs. Boxer. 
 
 "I married her," said Mr. Boxer, considering 
 "I married her at Camberwell, in eighteen ninety- 
 three." 
 
 "Eighteen ninety-three!" said his wife, in a start- 
 led voice. "But you couldn't. Why, you didn't 
 marry me till eighteen ninety-/owr." 
 
 "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 him with horror-struck eyes, trying 
 in vnin to speak. 
 
 "You villain!" cried Mrs. Gimpson, violently. 
 "I always distrusted you." 
 
 "I know you did," said Mr. Boxer, calmly. 
 
 "You've been committing bigamy," cried Mrs. 
 Gimpson. 
 
 "Over and over agin," assented Mr. Boxer, cheer- 
 fully. "It's got to be a 'obby with me." 
 
 48
 
 The Castaway 
 
 "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 bless her." 
 
 ** ' You villain I ' cried Mrs. Gimpson, violently. ' I always distrusted you.* * ! 
 
 He leaned back in his chair and regarded with in- 
 tense satisfaction the horrified faces of the group 
 in front. 
 
 "You you'll go to jail for this," cried Mrs. 
 
 49
 
 The Castaway 
 
 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. He can tell you 
 more than I can." 
 
 " I demand to know her name and address," cried 
 Mrs. Gimpson, putting a bony arm around the waist 
 of the trembling Mrs. Boxer. 
 
 "I decline to give it," said Mr. Boxer, with great 
 relish. "It ain't likely I'm going to give myself 
 away like that; besides, it's agin the law for a man 
 to criminate himself. You go on and start your 
 bigamy case, and call old red-eyes as a witness." 
 
 Mrs. Gimpson gazed at him in speechless wrath 
 and then stooping down conversed in excited whis- 
 pers with Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Boxer crossed 
 over 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." 
 
 So
 
 The Castaway 
 
 "What I told you when I first came in this evening 
 was quite true," said her husband, slowly. "And 
 what I've just told you is as true as what that lying 
 old fortune-teller told you. You can please yourself 
 what you believe." 
 
 "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 I don't care what other people 
 think. And before I'm much older I'll find out how 
 that old rascal got to know the names of the ships 
 I was aboard. Seems to me somebody's been talk- 
 ing."
 
 BLUNDELL'S IMPROVEMENT
 
 BLUNDELL'S IMPROVEMENT 
 
 VENIA TURNBULLinaquiet, unobtrusive 
 fashion was enjoying herself. The cool liv- 
 ing-room at Turnbull's farm was a delightful 
 contrast to the hot sunshine without, and the drowsy 
 humming of bees floating in at the open window 
 was charged with hints of slumber to the middle- 
 aged. From her seat by the window she watched 
 with amused interest the efforts of her father kept 
 from his Sunday afternoon nap by the assiduous at- 
 tentions of her two admirers to maintain his polite- 
 ness. 
 
 "Father was so pleased to see you both come in," 
 she said, softly; " it's very dull for him here of an 
 afternoon with only me." 
 
 " I can't imagine anybody being dull with only 
 you," said Sergeant Dick Daly, turning a bold brown 
 eye upon her. 
 
 Mr. John Blundell scowled; this was the third 
 time the sergeant had said the thing that he would 
 have liked to say if he had thought of it. 
 
 " I don't mind being dull," remarked Mr. Turn* 
 bull, casually. 
 
 Neither gentleman made any comment 
 
 55
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 "I like it," pursued Mr. Turnbull, longingly; "al- 
 ways did, from a child." 
 
 The two young men looked at each other; then 
 they looked at Venia; the sergeant assumed an ex- 
 pression of careless ease, while John Blundell sat his 
 chair like a human limpet. Mr. Turnbull almost 
 groaned as he remembered his tenacity. 
 
 "The garden's looking very nice," he said, with a 
 pathetic glance round. 
 
 "Beautiful," assented the sergeant. "I saw it yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "Some o' the roses on that big bush have opened 
 a bit more since then," said the farmer. 
 
 Sergeant Daly expressed his gratification, and said 
 that he was not surprised. It was only ten days since 
 he had arrived in the village on a visit to a relative, 
 but in that short space of time he had, to the great 
 discomfort of Mr. Blundell, made himself wonder- 
 fully at home at Mr. Turnbull's. To Venia he re- 
 lated strange adventures by sea and land, and on 
 subjects of which he was sure the farmer knew noth- 
 ing he was a perfect mine of information. He began 
 to talk in low tones to Venia, and the heart of Mr. 
 Blundell sank within him as he noted her interest. 
 Their voices fell to a gentle murmur, and the ser- 
 geant's sleek, well-brushed head bent closer to that 
 of his listener. Relieved from his attentions, Mr. 
 Turnbull fell asleep without more ado. 
 
 56
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 Blundell sat neglected, the unwilling witness of a 
 flirtation he was powerless to prevent. Considering 
 her limited opportunities, Miss Turnbull displayed a 
 proficiency which astonished him. Even the sergeant 
 was amazed, and suspected her of long practice. 
 
 "I wonder whether it is very hot outside?" she 
 said, at last, rising and looking out of the window. 
 
 "Only pleasantly warm," said the sergeant. "It 
 would be nice down by the water." 
 
 "I'm afraid of disturbing father by our talk," 
 said the considerate daughter. "You might tell him 
 we've gone for a little stroll when he wakes," she 
 added, turning to Blundell. 
 
 Mr. Blundell, who had risen with the idea of act- 
 ing the humble but, in his opinion, highly necessary 
 part of chaperon, sat down again and watched blank- 
 ly from the window until they were out of sight. 
 He was half inclined to think that the exigencies of 
 the case warranted him in arousing the farmer at 
 once. 
 
 It was an hour later when the farmer awoke, to 
 find himself alone with Mr. Blundell, a state of af- 
 fairs for which he strove with some pertinacity to 
 make that aggrieved gentleman responsible. 
 
 "Why didn't you go with them?" he demanded. 
 
 "Because I wasn't asked," replied the other. 
 
 Mr. Turnbull sat up in his chair and eyed him 
 disdainfully. "For a great, big chap like you are, 
 
 57
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 John Blundell," he exclaimed, "it's surprising what 
 a little pluck you've got." 
 
 "I don't want to go where I'm not wanted," re- 
 torted Mr. Blundell. 
 
 "That's where you make a mistake," said the 
 other, regarding him severely; "girls like a master- 
 ful man, and, instead of getting your own way, 
 you sit down quietly and do as you're told, like a 
 tame tame ' ' 
 
 "Tame what?" inquired Mr. Blundell, resent- 
 fully. 
 
 "I don't know," said the other, frankly; "the tam- 
 est thing you can think of. There's Daly laughing 
 in his sleeve at you, and talking to Venia about 
 Waterloo and the Crimea as though he'd been there. 
 I thought it was pretty near settled between you." 
 
 "So did I," said Mr. Blundell. 
 
 "You're a big man, John," said the other, "but 
 you're slow. You're all muscle and no head." 
 
 "I think of things afterward," said Blundell, 
 humbly; "generally after I get to bed." 
 
 Mr. Turnbull sniffed, and took a turn up and 
 down the room; then he closed the door and came 
 toward his friend again. 
 
 "I dare say you're surprised at me being so anx- 
 ious to get rid of Venia," he said, slowly, "but the 
 fact is I'm thinking of marrying again myself." 
 
 "You!" said the startled Mr. Blundell. 
 
 58
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 "Yes, me," said the other, somewhat sharply. 
 "But she won't marry so long as Venia is at home. 
 It's a secret, because if Venia got to hear of it she'd 
 keep single to prevent it. She's just that sort of 
 girl." 
 
 Mr. Blundell coughed, but did not deny it. "Who 
 is it?" he inquired. 
 
 "Miss Sippet," was the reply. "She couldn't hold 
 her own for half an hour against Venia." 
 
 Mr. Blundell, a great stickler for accuracy, re- 
 duced the time to five minutes. 
 
 "And now," said the aggrieved Mr. Turnbull, 
 "now, so far as I can see, she's struck with Daly. 
 If she has him it'll be years and years before they 
 can marry. She seems crazy about heroes. She was 
 talking to me the other night about them. Not to 
 put too fine a point on it, she was talking about you." 
 
 Mr. Blundell blushed with pleased surprise. 
 
 "Said you were not a hero," explained Mr. Turn- 
 bull. "Of course, I stuck up for you. I said you'd 
 got too much sense to go putting your life into dan- 
 ger. I said you were a very careful man, and I told 
 her how particular you was about damp sheets. 
 Your housekeeper told me." 
 
 "It's all nonsense," said Blundell, with a fiery face. 
 "I'll send that old fool packing if she can't keep her 
 tongue quiet." 
 
 "It's very sensible of you, John," said Mr. Turn- 
 
 59
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 bull, "and a sensible girl would appreciate it. In- 
 stead of that, she only sniffed when I told her how 
 careful you always were to wear flannel next to your 
 skin. She said she liked dare-devils." 
 
 "I suppose she thinks Daly is a dare-devil," said 
 the offended Mr. Blundell. "And I wish people 
 wouldn't talk about me and my skin. Why can't 
 they mind their own business?" 
 
 Mr. Turnbull eyed him indignantly, and then, sit- 
 ting in a very upright position, slowly filled his pipe, 
 and declining a proffered match rose and took one 
 from the mantel-piece. 
 
 "I was doing the best I could for you," he said, 
 staring hard at the ingrate. "I was trying to make 
 Venia see what a careful husband you would make. 
 Miss Sippet herself is most particular about such 
 things and Venia seemed to think something of it, 
 because she asked me whether you used a warming- 
 pan." 
 
 Mr. Blundell got up from his chair and, without 
 going through the formality of bidding his host good- 
 by, quitted the room and closed the door violently 
 behind him. He was red with rage, and he brooded 
 darkly as he made his way home on the folly of 
 carrying on the traditions of a devoted mother with- 
 out thinking for himself. 
 
 For the next two or three days, to Venia's secret 
 concern, he failed to put in an appearance at the 
 
 60
 
 BlundelPs Improvement 
 
 farm a fact which made flirtation with the sergeant 
 a somewhat uninteresting business. Her sole recom- 
 pense was the dismay of her father, and for his bene 
 
 " She asked me whether you used a warming-pan." 
 
 fit she dwelt upon the advantages of the Army in a 
 manner that would have made the fortune of a re- 
 cruiting-sergeant. 
 
 61
 
 BlundelPs Improvement 
 
 "She's just crazy after the soldiers," he said to Mr. 
 Blundell, whom he was trying to spur on to a desper- 
 ate effort. "I've been watching her close, and I can 
 see what it is now; she's romantic. You're too slow 
 and ordinary for her. She wants somebody more 
 dazzling. She told Daly only yesterday afternoon 
 that she loved heroes. Told it to him to his face. 
 I sat there and heard her. It's a pity you ain't a hero, 
 John." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Blundell; a then, if I was, I ex- 
 pect she'd like something else." 
 
 The other shook his head. "If you could only do 
 something daring," he murmured; "half-kill some- 
 body, or save somebody's life, and let her see you 
 do it. Couldn't you dive off the quay and save some- 
 body's life from drowning?" 
 
 "Yes, I could," said Blundell, "if somebody would 
 only tumble in." 
 
 "You might pretend that you thought you saw 
 somebody drowning," suggested Mr. Turnbull. 
 
 "And be laughed at," said Mr. Blundell, who 
 knew his Venia by heart. 
 
 "You always seem to be able to think of objec- 
 tions," complained Mr. Turnbull; "I've noticed that 
 in you before." 
 
 "I'd go in fast enough if there was anybody 
 there," said Blundell. "I'm not much of a swimmer, 
 
 but " 
 
 62
 
 Blundeirs Improvement 
 
 "All the better," interrupted the other; "that 
 would make it all the more daring." 
 
 "And I don't much care if I'm drowned," pursued 
 the younger man, gloomily. 
 
 Mr. Turnbull thrust his hands in his pockets and 
 took a turn or two up and down the room. His 
 brows were knitted and his lips pursed. In the pres- 
 ence of this mental stress Mr. Blundell preserved a 
 respectful silence. 
 
 "We'll all four go for a walk on the quay on Sun- 
 day afternoon," said Mr. Turnbull, at last. 
 
 "On the chance?" inquired his staring friend. 
 
 "On the chance," assented the other; "it's just pos- 
 sible Daly might fall in." 
 
 "He might if we walked up and down five million 
 times," said Blundell, unpleasantly. 
 
 "He might if we walked up and down three or 
 four times," said Mr. Turnbull, "especially if you 
 happened to stumble." 
 
 "I never stumble," said the matter-of-fact Mr. 
 Blundell. "I don't know anybody more sure-footed 
 than I am." 
 
 "Or thick-headed," added the exasperated Mr. 
 Turnbull. 
 
 Mr. Blundell regarded him patiently; he had a 
 strong suspicion that his friend had been drinking. 
 
 "Stumbling," said Mr. Turnbull, conquering his 
 annoyance with an effort "stumbling is a thing that 
 
 63
 
 BlundelPs Improvement 
 
 might happen to anybody. You trip your foot 
 against a stone and lurch up against Daly; he tumbles 
 overboard, and you off with your jacket and dive in 
 off the quay after him. He can't swim a stroke." 
 
 Mr. Blundell caught his breath and gazed at him 
 in speechless amaze. 
 
 "There's sure to be several people on the quay if 
 it's a fine afternoon," continued his instructor. 
 "You'll have half Dunchurch round you, praising 
 you and patting you on the back all in front of 
 iVenia, mind you. It'll be put in all the papers and 
 you'll get a medal." 
 
 "And suppose we are both drowned?" said Mr. 
 Blundell, soberly. 
 
 "Drowned? Fiddlesticks!" said Mr. Turnbull. 
 "However, please yourself. If you're afraid " 
 
 "I'll do it," said Blundell, decidedly. 
 
 "And mind," said the other, "don't do it as if it's 
 as easy as kissing your fingers ; be half-drowned your- 
 self, or at least pretend to be. And when you're on 
 the quay take your time about coming round. Be 
 longer than Daly is; you don't want him to get all 
 the pity." 
 
 "All right," said the other. 
 
 "After a time you can open your eyes," went on 
 his instructor; "then, if I were you, I should say, 
 'Good-bye, Venia,' and close 'em again. Work it up 
 affecting, and send messages to your aunts." 
 
 64
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 "It sounds all right," said Blundell. 
 
 "It is all right," said Mr. Turnbull. "That's just 
 the bare idea I've given you. It's for you to improve 
 upon it. You've got two days to think about it." 
 
 Mr. Blundell thanked him, and for the next two 
 days thought of little else. Being a careful man he 
 made his will, and it was in a comparatively cheerful 
 frame of mind that he made his way on Sunday 
 afternoon to Mr. Turnbull's. 
 
 The sergeant was already there conversing in low 
 tones with Venia by the window, while Mr. Turnbull, 
 sitting opposite in an oaken armchair, regarded him 
 with an expression which would have shocked lago. 
 
 "We were just thinking of having a blow down by 
 the water," he said, as Blundell entered. 
 
 "What! a hot day like this?" said Venia. 
 
 "I was just thinking how beautifully cool it is in. 
 here," said the sergeant, who was hoping for a repeti- 
 tion of the previous Sunday's performance. 
 
 "It's cooler outside," said Mr. Turnbull, with a 
 wilful ignoring of facts; "much cooler when you get 
 used to it." 
 
 He led the way with Blundell, and Venia and ths 
 sergeant, keeping as much as possible in the shade of 
 the dust-powdered hedges, followed. The sun was 
 blazing in the sky, and scarce half-a-dozen people 
 were to be seen on the little curved quay which con- 
 stituted the usual Sunday afternoon promenade. The 
 
 65
 
 BlundelPs Improvement 
 
 water, a dozen feet below, lapped cool and green 
 against the stone sides. 
 
 At the extreme end of the quay, underneath the 
 lantern, they all stopped, ostensibly to admire a full- 
 rigged ship sailing slowly by in the distance, but really 
 to effect the change of partners necessary to the after- 
 noon's business. The change gave Mr. Turnbull 
 some trouble ere it was effected, but he was successful 
 at last, and, walking behind the two young men, 
 waited somewhat nervously for developments. 
 
 Twice they paraded the length of the quay and 
 nothing happened. The ship was still visible, and, 
 the sergeant halting to gaze at it, the company lost 
 their formation, and he led the complaisant Venia off 
 from beneath her father's very nose. 
 
 "You're a pretty manager, you are, John Blun- 
 dell," said the incensed Mr. Turnbull. 
 
 "I know what I'm about," said Blundell, slowly. 
 
 "Well, why don't you do it?" demanded the other. 
 "I suppose you are going to wait until there are more 
 people about, and then perhaps some of them will see 
 you push him over." 
 
 "It isn't that," said Blundell, slowly, "but you told 
 me to improve on your plan, you know, and I've been 
 thinking out improvements." 
 
 "Well?" said the other. 
 
 "It doesn't seem much good saving Daly," said 
 Blundell; "that's what I've been thinking. He would 
 
 66
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 be in as much danger as I should, and he'd get as 
 much sympathy; perhaps more." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that you are backing out 
 of it?" demanded Mr. Turnbull. 
 
 " ' Bah f you are backing out of it,' said the irritated Mr. Turnbull." 
 
 "No," said Blundell, slowly, "but it would be 
 much better if I saved somebody else. I don't want 
 Daly to be pitied." 
 
 67
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 "Bah ! you are backing out of it," said the irritated 
 Mr. Turnbull. "You're afraid of a little cold water." 
 
 "No, I'm not," said Blundell; "but it would be 
 better in every way to save somebody else. She'll see 
 Daly standing there doing nothing, while I am strug- 
 gling for my life. I've thought it all out very care- 
 fully. I know I'm not quick, but I'm sure, and when 
 I make up my mind to do a thing, I do it. You ought 
 to know that." 
 
 "That's all very well," said the other; "but who 
 else is there to push in ?" 
 
 "That's all right," said Blundell, vaguely. "Don't 
 you worry about that; I shall find somebody." 
 
 Mr. Turnbull turned and cast a speculative eye 
 along the quay. As a rule, he had great confidence 
 in Blundell's determination, but on this occasion he 
 had his doubts. 
 
 "Well, it's a riddle to me," he said, slowly. "I 
 give it up. It seems Halloa! Good heavens, be 
 careful. You nearly had me in then." 
 
 "Did I?" said Blundell, thickly. "I'm very sorry." 
 
 Mr. Turnbull, angry at such carelessness, accepted 
 the apology in a grudging spirit and trudged along 
 in silence. Then he started nervously as a monstrous 
 and unworthy suspicion occurred to him. It was an 
 incredible thing to suppose, but at the same time he 
 felt that there was nothing like being on the safe 
 side, and in tones not quite free from significance he 
 
 68
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 intimated his desire of changing places with his awk- 
 ward friend. 
 
 "It's all right," said Blundell, soothingly. 
 
 "I know it is," said Mr. Turnbull, regarding him 
 fixedly; "but I prefer this side. You very near had 
 me over just now." 
 
 "I staggered," said Mr. Blundell. 
 
 "Another inch and I should have been overboard," 
 said Mr. Turnbull, with a shudder. "That would 
 have been a nice how d'ye do." 
 
 Mr. Blundell coughed and looked seaward. "Ac- 
 cidents will happen," he murmured. 
 
 They reached the end of the quay again and stood 
 talking, and when they turned once more the sergeant 
 was surprised and gratified at the ease with which he 
 bore off Venia. Mr. Turnbull and Blundell followed 
 some little way behind, and the former gentleman's 
 suspicions were somewhat lulled by finding that his 
 friend made no attempt to take the inside place. He 
 looked about him with interest for a likely victim, but 
 in vain. 
 
 "What are you looking at?" he demanded, impa- 
 tiently, as Blundell suddenly came to a stop and gazed 
 curiously into the harbour. 
 
 "Jelly-fish," said the other, briefly. "I never saw 
 such a monster. It must be a yard across." 
 
 Mr. Turnbull stopped, but could see nothing, and 
 even when Blundell pointed it out with his finger he 
 
 69
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 had no better success. He stepped forward a pace, 
 and his suspicions returned with renewed vigour as a 
 hand was laid caressingly on his shoulder. The next 
 moment, with a wild shriek, he shot suddenly over 
 the edge and disappeared. Venia and the sergeant, 
 turning hastily, were just in time to see the fountain 
 which ensued on his immersion. 
 
 "Oh, save him!" cried Venia. 
 
 The sergeant ran to the edge and gazed in helpless 
 dismay as Mr. Turnbull came to the surface and dis- 
 appeared again. At the same moment Blundell, who 
 had thrown off his coat, dived into the harbour and, 
 rising rapidly to the surface, caught the fast-choking 
 Mr. Turnbuli by the collar. 
 
 "Keep still," he cried, sharply, as the farmer tried 
 to clutch him; "keep still or I'll let you go." 
 
 "Help!" choked the farmer, gazing up at the 
 little knot of people which had collected on the 
 quay. 
 
 A stout fisherman who had not run for thirty years 
 came along the edge of the quay at a shambling trot, 
 with a coil of rope over his arm. John Blundell saw 
 him and, mindful of the farmer's warning about kiss- 
 ing of fingers, etc., raised his disengaged arm and 
 took that frenzied gentleman below the surface 
 again. By the time they came up he was very glad 
 for his own sake to catch the line skilfully thrown by 
 the old fisherman and be drawn gently to the side. 
 
 70
 
 * With a wild shriek he shot suddenly over the edge.'
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 "I'll tow you to the steps," said the fisherman; 
 "don't let go o' the line." 
 
 Mr. Turnbull saw to that; he wound the rope 
 round his wrist and began to regain his presence of 
 mind as they were drawn steadily toward the steps. 
 Willing hands drew them out of the water and helped 
 them up on to the quay, where Mr. Turnbull, sitting 
 in his own puddle, coughed up salt water and glared 
 ferociously at the inanimate form of Mr. Blundell. 
 Sergeant Daly and another man were rendering what 
 they piously believed to be first aid to the apparently 
 drowned, while the stout fisherman, with both hands 
 to his mouth, was yelling in heart-rending accents for 
 a barrel. 
 
 "He he push pushed me in," gasped the chok- 
 ing Mr. Turnbull. 
 
 Nobody paid any attention to him ; even Venia, see- 
 ing that he was safe, was on her knees by the side of 
 the unconscious Blundell. 
 
 "He he's shamming," bawled the neglected Mr. 
 Turnbull. 
 
 "Shame!" said somebody, without even looking 
 round. 
 
 "He pushed me in," repeated Mr. Turnbull. "He 
 pushed me in." 
 
 "Oh, father," said Venia, with a scandalised glance 
 at him, "how can you?" 
 
 "Shame!" said the bystanders, briefly, as they] 
 72
 
 BlundelPs Improvement 
 
 Watched anxiously for signs of returning life on the 
 part of Mr. Blundell. He lay still with his eyes 
 closed, but his hearing was still acute, and the sounds 
 of a rapidly approaching barrel trundled by a breath- 
 less Samaritan did him more good than anything. 
 
 "Good-bye, Venia," he said, in a faint voice; 
 "good-bye." 
 
 Miss Turnbull sobbed and took his hand. 
 
 "He's shamming," roared Mr. Turnbull, incensed 
 beyond measure at the faithful manner in which Blun- 
 dell was carrying out his instructions. "He pushed 
 me in." 
 
 There was an angry murmur from the bystanders. 
 
 "Be reasonable, Mr. Turnbull," said the sergeant, 
 somewhat sharply. 
 
 "He nearly lost 'is life over you," said the stout 
 fisherman. "As plucky a thing as ever I see. If I 
 'adn't ha' been 'andy with that there line you'd both 
 ha' been drownded." 
 
 "Give my love to everybody," said Blundell, 
 faintly. "Good-bye, Venia. Good-bye, Mr. Turn- 
 bull." 
 
 "Where's that barrel?" demanded the stout fisher- 
 man, crisply. "Going to be all night with it? Now, 
 two of you " 
 
 Mr. Blundell, with a great effort, and assisted by 
 Venia and the sergeant, sat up. He felt that he had 
 made a good impression, and had no desire to spoil it 
 
 73
 
 Blun dell's Improvement 
 
 by riding the barrel. With one exception, everybody 
 was regarding him with moist-eyed admiration. The 
 exception's eyes were, perhaps, the moistest of them 
 all, but admiration had no place in them. 
 
 "You're all being made fools of," he said, getting 
 up and stamping. "I tell you he pushed me over- 
 board for the purpose." 
 
 "Oh, father! how can you?" demanded Venia, an- 
 grily. "He saved your life." 
 
 "He pushed me in," repeated the farmer. "Told 
 me to look at a jelly-fish and pushed me in." 
 
 "What for?" inquired Sergeant Daly. 
 
 "Because " said Mr. Turnbull. He looked at 
 the unconscious sergeant, and the words on his lips 
 died away in an inarticulate growl. 
 
 "What for?" pursued the sergeant, in triumph. 
 "Be reasonable, Mr. Turnbull. Where's the reason 
 in pushing you overboard and then nearly losing his 
 life saving you? That would be a fool's trick. It 
 was as fine a thing as ever I saw." 
 
 "What you 'ad, Mr. Turnbull," said the stout 
 fisherman, tapping him on the arm, "was a little touch 
 o' the sun." 
 
 "What felt to you like a push," said another man, 
 "and over you went." 
 
 "As easy as easy," said a third. 
 
 "You're red in the face now," said the stout fisher- 
 man, regarding him critically, "and your eyes are 
 
 74
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 starting. You take my advice and get 'ome and get 
 to bed, and the first thing you'll do when you get your 
 senses back will be to go round and thank Mr. Blun- 
 dell for all Vs done for you." 
 
 " You take my advice and get 'ome and get to bed." 
 
 Mr. Turnbull looked at them, and the circle of in- 
 telligent faces grew misty before his angry eyes. One 
 man, ignoring his sodden condition, recommended a 
 wet handkerchief tied round his brow. 
 
 "I don't want any thanks, Mr. Turnbull," said 
 
 75
 
 Blundell's Improvement 
 
 Blundell, feebly, as he was assisted to his feet. "I'd 
 do as much for you again." 
 
 The stout fisherman patted him admiringly on the 
 back, and Mr. Turnbull felt like a prophet beholding 
 a realised vision as the spectators clustered round Mr. 
 Blundell and followed their friends' example. Ten- 
 derly but firmly they led the hero in triumph up the 
 quay toward home, shouting out eulogistic descrip- 
 tions of his valour to curious neighbours as they 
 passed. Mr. Turnbull, churlishly keeping his dis- 
 tance in the rear of the procession, received in grim 
 silence the congratulations of his friends. 
 
 The extraordinary hallucination caused by the sun- 
 stroke lasted with him for over a week, but at the end 
 of that time his mind cleared and he saw things in the 
 same light as reasonable folk. Venia was the first to 
 congratulate him upon his recovery; but his extraor- 
 dinary behaviour in proposing to Miss Sippet the 
 very day on which she herself became Mrs. Blundell 
 convinced her that his recovery was only partial.
 
 BILL'S LAPSE
 
 BILL'S LAPSE 
 
 STRENGTH and good-nature said the night- 
 watchman, musingly, as he felt his biceps 
 strength and good-nature always go together. 
 Sometimes you find a strong man who is not good- 
 natured, but then, as everybody he comes in contack 
 with is, it comes to the same thing. 
 
 The strongest and kindest-'earted man I ever come 
 across was a man o' the name of Bill Burton, a ship- 
 mate of Ginger Dick's. For that matter 'e was a 
 shipmate o' Peter Russet's and old Sam Small's too. 
 Not over and above tall; just about my height, his 
 arms was like another man's legs for size, and 'is chest 
 and his back and shoulders might ha' been made for a 
 giant. And with all that he'd got a soft blue eye like 
 a gal's (blue's my favourite colour for gals' eyes), 
 and a nice, soft, curly brown beard. He was an A.B., 
 too, and that showed 'ow good-natured he was, to 
 pick up with firemen. 
 
 He got so fond of 'em that when they was all paid 
 off from the Ocean King he asked to be allowed to 
 join them in taking a room ashore. It pleased every- 
 body, four coming cheaper than three, and Bill being 
 
 79
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 that good-tempered that Vd put up with anything, 
 and when any of the three quarrelled he used to act 
 the part of peacemaker. 
 
 The only thing about 'im that they didn't like was 
 that 'e was a teetotaler. He'd go into public-'ouses 
 with 'em, but he wouldn't drink; leastways, that is to 
 say, he wouldn't drink beer, and Ginger used to say 
 that it made 'im feel uncomfortable to see Bill put 
 away a bottle o' lemonade every time they 'ad a drink. 
 One night arter 'e had 'ad seventeen bottles he could 
 'ardly got home, and Peter Russet, who knew a lot 
 about pills and such-like, pointed out to 'im 'ow bad it 
 was for his constitushon. He proved that the lemon- 
 ade would eat away the coats o' Bill's stomach, and 
 that if 'e kept on 'e might drop down dead at any 
 moment. 
 
 That frightened Bill a bit, and the next night, in- 
 stead of 'aving lemonade, 'e had five bottles o' stone 
 ginger-beer, six of different kinds of teetotal beer, 
 three of soda-water, and two cups of coffee. I'm not 
 counting the drink he 'ad at the chemist's shop arter- 
 ward, because he took that as medicine, but he was 
 so queer in 'is inside next morning that 'e began to be 
 afraid he'd 'ave to give up drink altogether. 
 
 He went without the next night, but 'e was such a 
 generous man that 'e would pay every fourth time, 
 and there was no pleasure to the other chaps to see 
 'im pay and 'ave nothing out of it. It spoilt their 
 
 80
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 evening, and owing to 'aving only about 'arf wot they 
 was accustomed to they all got up very disagreeable 
 next morning. 
 
 "Why not take just a little beer, Bill?" asks Ginger. 
 
 Bill 'ung his 'ead and looked a bit silly. "I'd 
 rather not, mate," he ses, at last. "I've been teetotal 
 for eleven months now." 
 
 "Think of your 'ealth, Bill," ses Peter Russet; 
 "your 'ealth is more important than the pledge. Wot 
 made you take it?" 
 
 Bill coughed. "I 'ad reasons," he ses, slowly. "A 
 mate o' mine wished me to." 
 
 "He ought to ha' known better," ses Sam. 
 
 "He 'ad 'is reasons," ses Bill. 
 
 "Well, all I can say is, Bill," ses Ginger, "all I 
 can say is, it's very disobligin' of you." 
 
 "Disobligin' ?" ses Bill, with a start; "don't say 
 that, mate." 
 
 "I must say it," ses Ginger, speaking very firm. 
 
 "You needn't take a lot, Bill," ses Sam; "nobody 
 wants you to do that. Just drink in moderation, same 
 as wot we do." 
 
 "It gets into my 'ead," ses Bill, at last. 
 
 "Well, and wot of it?" ses Ginger; "it gets into 
 everybody's 'ead occasionally. Why, one night old 
 Sam 'ere went up behind a policeman and tickled 'im 
 under the arms; didn't you, Sam?" 
 
 "I did nothing o' the kind," ses Sam, firing up. 
 81
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "Well, you was fined ten bob for it next morning, 
 that's all I know," ses Ginger. 
 
 "I was fined ten bob for punching 'im," ses old 
 Sam, very wild. "I never tickled a policeman in my 
 life. I never thought o' such a thing. I'd no more 
 tickle a policeman than I'd fly. Anybody that ses I 
 did is a liar. Why should I ? Where does the sense 
 come in? Wot should I want to do it for?" 
 
 "All right, Sam," ses Ginger, sticking 'is fingers 
 in 'is ears, "you didn't, then." 
 
 "No, I didn't," ses Sam, "and don't you forget it. 
 This ain't the fust time you've told that lie about me. 
 I can take a joke with any man; but anybody that 
 goes and ses I tickled " 
 
 "All right" ses Ginger and Peter Russet together. 
 "You'll 'ave tickled policeman on the brain if you 
 ain't careful, Sam," ses Peter. 
 
 Old Sam sat down growling, and Ginger Dick 
 turned to Bill agin. "It gets into everybody's 'ead 
 at times," he ses, "and where's the 'arm? It's wot it 
 was meant for." 
 
 Bill shook his 'ead, but when Ginger called 'im 
 disobligin' agin he gave way and he broke the pledge 
 that very evening with a pint o' six 'arf. 
 
 Ginger was surprised to see the way 'e took his 
 liquor. Alter three or four pints he'd expected to see 
 'im turn a bit silly, or sing, or do something o' the 
 kind, but Bill kept on as if 'e was drinking water. 
 
 82
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "Think of the 'armless pleasure you've been losing 
 all these months, Bill," ses Ginger, smiling at him. 
 
 Bill said it wouldn't bear thinking of, and, the next 
 place they came to he said some rather 'ard things of 
 the man who'd persuaded 'im to take the pledge. He 
 'ad two or three more there, and then they began to 
 see that it was beginning to have an effect on 'im. 
 The first one that noticed it was Ginger Dick. Bill 
 'ad just lit 'is pipe, and as he threw the match down 
 he ses: "I don't like these 'ere safety matches," he ses. 
 
 "Don't you, Bill?" ses Ginger. " I do, rather." 
 
 "Oh, you do, do you?" ses Bill, turning on 'im like 
 lightning; "well, take that for contradictin'," he ses, 
 an' he gave Ginger a smack that nearly knocked his 
 'ead off. 
 
 It was so sudden that old Sam and Peter put their 
 beer down and stared at each other as if they couldn't 
 believe their eyes. Then they stooped down and 
 helped pore Ginger on to 'is legs agin and began to 
 brush 'im down. 
 
 "Never mind about 'im, mates," ses Bill, looking 
 at Ginger very wicked. "P'r'aps he won't be so ready 
 to give me 'is lip next time. Let's come to another 
 pub and enjoy ourselves." 
 
 Sam and Peter followed 'im out like lambs, 'ardly 
 daring to look over their shoulder at Ginger, who 
 was staggering arter them some distance behind a 
 'olding a handerchief to 'is face. 
 
 83
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "It's your turn to pay, Sam," ses Bill, when they'd 
 got inside the next place. "Wot's it to be? Give it 
 a name." 
 
 "Three 'arf pints o' four ale, miss," ses Sam, not 
 because 'e was mean, but because it wasn't 'is turn. 
 
 "Three wot?" ses Bill, turning on 'im. 
 
 "Three pots o' six ale, miss," ses Sam, in a 
 hurry. 
 
 "That wasn't wot you said afore," ses Bill. "Take 
 that," he ses, giving pore old Sam a wipe in the 
 mouth and knocking 'im over a stool; "take that for 
 your sauce." 
 
 Peter Russet stood staring at Sam and wondering 
 wot Bill ud be like when he'd 'ad a little more. Sara 
 picked hisself up arter a time and went outside to 
 talk to Ginger about it, and then Bill put 'is arm 
 round Peter's neck and began to cry a bit and say 'e 
 was the only pal he'd got left in the world. It was 
 very awkward for Peter, and more awkward still 
 when the barman came up and told 'im to take Bill 
 outside. 
 
 "Go on," he ses, "out with 'im." 
 
 "He's all right," ses Peter, trembling; "'e's the 
 truest-'arted gentleman in London. Ain't you, 
 Bill?" 
 
 Bill said he was, and 'e asked the barman to go and 
 hide 'is face because it reminded 'im of a little dog 
 'e had 'ad once wot 'ad died. 
 
 84
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "You get outside afore you're hurt," ses the bar- 
 man. 
 
 Bill punched at 'im over the bar, and not being able 
 to reach 'im threw Peter's pot o' beer at 'im. There 
 was a fearful to-do then, and the landlord jumped 
 over the bar and stood in the doorway, whistling for 
 
 " Bfll jumped into a cab and pulled Peter Russet in arter *nn.** 
 
 the police. Bill struck out right and left, and the 
 men in the bar went down like skittles, Peter among 
 them. Then they got outside, and Bill, arter giving 
 the landlord a thump in the back wot nearly made 
 him swallow the whistle, jumped into a cab and 
 pulled Peter Russet in arter 'im. 
 
 85
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "I'll talk to you by-and-by," he ses, as the cab 
 drove off at a gallop; "there ain't room in this cab. 
 You wait, my lad, that's all. You just wait till we 
 get out, and I'll knock you silly." 
 
 "Wot for, Bill?" ses Peter, staring. 
 
 "Don't you talk to me," roars Bill. "If I choose 
 to knock you about that's my business, ain't it? Be- 
 sides, you know very well." 
 
 He wouldn't let Peter say another word, but com- 
 ing to a quiet place near the docks he stopped the cab 
 and pulling 'im out gave 'im such a dressing down 
 that Peter thought 'is last hour 'ad arrived. He let 
 'im go at last, and after first making him pay the cab- 
 man took 'im along till they came to a public-'ouse 
 and made 'im pay for drinks. 
 
 They stayed there till nearly eleven o'clock, and 
 then Bill set off home 'olding the unfortunit Peter 
 by the scruff o' the neck, and wondering out loud 
 whether 'e ought to pay 'im a bit more or not. Afore 
 'e could make up 'is mind, however, he turned sleepy, 
 and, throwing 'imself down on the bed which was 
 meant for the two of 'em, fell into a peaceful sleep. 
 
 Sam and Ginger Dick came in a little while arter- 
 ward, both badly marked where Bill 'ad hit them, 
 and sat talking to Peter in whispers as to wot was to 
 be done. Ginger, who 'ad plenty of pluck, was for 
 them all to set on to 'im, but Sam wouldn't 'ear of it, 
 and as for Peter he was so sore he could 'ardly move. 
 
 86
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 They all turned in to the other bed at last, 'arf 
 afraid to move for fear of disturbing Bill, and when 
 they woke up in the morning and see 'im sitting up 
 in 'is bed they lay as still as mice. 
 
 "Why, Ginger, old chap," ses Bill, with a 'earty 
 smile, "wot are you all three in one bed for?" 
 
 "We was a bit cold," ses Ginger. 
 
 "Cold?" ses Bill. "Wot, this weather? We 'ad 
 a bit of a spree last night, old man, didn't we? My 
 throat's as dry as a cinder." 
 
 "It ain't my idea of a spree," ses Ginger, sitting up 
 and looking at 'im. 
 
 "Good 'eavens, Ginger!" ses Bill, starting back, 
 "wotever 'ave you been a-doing to your face? Have 
 you been tumbling off of a 'bus?" 
 
 Ginger couldn't answer; and Sam Small and Peter 
 sat up in bed alongside of 'im, and Bill, getting as far 
 back on 'is bed as he could, sat staring at their pore 
 faces as if 'e was having a 'orrible dream. 
 
 "And there's Sam," he ses. "Where ever did you 
 get that mouth, Sam?" 
 
 "Same place as Ginger got 'is eye and pore Peter 
 got 'is face," ses Sam, grinding his teeth. 
 
 "You don't mean to tell me," ses Bill, in a sad 
 voice "you don't mean to tell me that I did it?" 
 
 "You know well enough," ses Ginger. 
 
 Bill looked at 'em, and 'is face got as long as a 
 yard measure. 
 
 87
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "I'd 'oped I'd growed out of it, mates," he ses, at 
 last, "but drink always takes me like that. I can't 
 keep a pal." 
 
 "You sur-prise me," ses Ginger, sarcastic-like. 
 
 "Don't talk like that, Ginger," ses Bill, 'arf crying. 
 "It ain't my fault; it's my weakness. Wot did I do 
 it for?" 
 
 "I don't know," ses Ginger, "but you won't get the 
 chance of doing it agin, I'll tell you that much." 
 
 "I daresay I shall be better to-night, Ginger," ses 
 Bill, very humble; "it don't always take me that 
 way." 
 
 "Well, we don't want you with us any more," ses 
 old Sam, 'olding his 'ead very high. 
 
 "You'll 'ave to go and get your beer by yourself, 
 Bill," ses Peter Russet, feeling 'is bruises with the tips 
 of 'is fingers. 
 
 "But then I should be worse," ses Bill. "I want 
 cheerful company when I'm like that. I should very 
 likely come 'ome and 'arf kill you all in your beds. 
 You don't 'arf know what I'm like. Last night was 
 nothing, else I should 'ave remembered it." 
 
 "Cheerful company?" ses old Sam. "'Ow do you 
 think company's going to be cheerful when you're 
 carrying on like that, Bill ? Why don't you go away 
 and leave us alone?" 
 
 "Because I've got a 'art," ses Bill. "I can't chuck 
 up pals in that free-and-easy way. Once I take a lik- 
 
 88
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 ing to anybody I'd do anything for 'em, and I've 
 never met three chaps I like better than wot I do you. 
 Three nicer, straightforrad, free-'anded mates I've 
 never met afore." 
 
 "Why not take the pledge agin, Bill?" ses Peter 
 Russet. 
 
 "No, mate," ses Bill, with a kind smile; "it's just a 
 weakness, and I must try and grow out of it. I'll tie 
 a bit o' string round my little finger to-night as a re- 
 minder." 
 
 He got out of bed and began to wash 'is face, and 
 Ginger Dick, who was doing a bit o' thinking, gave a 
 whisper to Sam and Peter Russet. 
 
 "All right, Bill, old man," he ses, getting out of 
 bed and beginning to put his clothes on; "but first of 
 all we'll try and find out 'ow the landlord is." 
 
 "Landlord?" ses Bill, puffing and blowing in the 
 basin. "Wot landlord?" 
 
 "Why, the one you bashed," ses Ginger, with a 
 wink at the other two. '"He 'adn't got 'is senses back 
 when me and Sam came away." 
 
 Bill gave a groan and sat on the bed while 'e dried 
 nimself, and Ginger told 'im 'ow he 'ad bent a quart 
 pot on the landlord's 'ead, and 'ow the landlord 'ad 
 been carried upstairs and the doctor sent for. He 
 began to tremble all over, and when Ginger said he'd 
 go out and see 'ow the land lay 'e could 'ardly thank 
 'im enough. 
 
 89
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 Ginger was gone about two hours, and when 'e 
 came back he looked so solemn that old Sam asked 
 'im whether he 'ad seen a ghost. Ginger didn't 
 answer 'im; he set down on the side o' the bed and 
 sat thinking. 
 
 "I s'pose I s'pose it's nice and fresh in the streets 
 this morning?" ses Bill, at last, in a trembling voice. 
 
 Ginger started and looked at 'im. "I didn't notice, 
 mate," he ses. Then 'e got up and patted Bill on the 
 back, very gentle, and sat down again. 
 
 "Anything wrong, Ginger?" asks Peter Russet, 
 staring at 'im. 
 
 "It's that landlord," ses Ginger; "there's straw 
 down in the road outside, and they say that he's dy- 
 ing. Pore old Bill don't know 'is own strength. The 
 best thing you can do, old pal, is to go as far away as 
 you can, at once." 
 
 "I shouldn't wait a minnit if it was me," ses old 
 Sam. 
 
 Bill groaned and hid 'Is face in his 'ands, and then 
 Peter Russet went and spoilt things by saying that 
 the safest place for a murderer to 'ide in was London. 
 Bill gave a dreadful groan when 'e said murderer, but 
 'e up and agreed with Peter, and all Sam and Ginger 
 Dick could do wouldn't make 'im alter his mind. He 
 said that he would shave off 'is beard and moustache, 
 and when night came 'e would creep out and take a 
 lodging somewhere right the other end of London. 
 
 00
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 He stayed in the bedroom all day, with the blinds 
 down, and wouldn't eat anything, and when Ginger 
 looked in about eight o'clock to find out whether he 
 'ad gone, he found '5m sitting on the bed clean shaved, 
 
 " Then 'e got up and patted Bill on the back, very gentle." 
 
 and 'is face cut about all over where the razor 'ad 
 slipped. 
 
 "It'll soon be dark," ses Ginger, "and your own 
 brother wouldn't know you now, Bill. Where d'you 
 think of going?" 
 
 01
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 Bill shook his 'ead. "Nobody must know that, 
 mate,' r he ses. "I must go into hiding for as long as 
 I can -as long as my money lasts; I've only got six 
 pounds leftj" 
 
 "That'll last a long time if you're careful," ses 
 Ginger. 
 
 "I want A lot more,*' ses Bill. "I want you to 
 take this silver ring as a keepsake, Ginger. If I 'ad 
 another six poands or so I should feel much safer. 
 'Ow much 'avc you got, Ginger?" 
 
 "Not much," ses Ginger, shaking his 'ead. 
 
 "Lend it to me, mate," ses Bill, stretching out his 
 'and. "You can ?asy get another ship. Ah, I wish 
 I was you; I'd be is 'appy as 'appy if I hadn't got a 
 penny." 
 
 "I'm very sorry, Bill," ses Ginger, trying to smile, 
 "but I've already promised to lend it to a man wot 
 we met this evening. A promise is a promise, else 
 I'd lend it to you with pleasure." 
 
 "Would you let me be 'ung for the sake of a few 
 pounds, Ginger?" ses Bill, looking at 'im reproach- 
 fully. "I'm a desprit man, Ginger, and I must 'ave 
 that money." 
 
 Afore pore Ginger could move he suddenly clapped 
 'is hand over 'is mouth and flung 'im on the bed. 
 Ginger was like a child in 'is hands, although he 
 struggled like a madman, and in five minutes 'e was 
 laying there with a towel tied round his mouth and 
 
 92
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 'is arms and legs tied up with the cord off of Sam's 
 chest. 
 
 "I'm very sorry, Ginger," ses Bill, as 'e took a 
 little over eight pounds out of Ginger's pocket. "I'll 
 pay you back one o' these days, if I can. If you'd got 
 a rope round your neck same as I 'ave you'd do the 
 same as I've done." 
 
 He lifted up the bedclothes and put Ginger inside 
 and tucked 'im up. Ginger's face was red with pas- 
 sion and 'is eyes starting out of his 'ead. 
 
 "Eight and six is fifteen," ses Bill, and just then 
 he 'card somebody coming up the stairs. Ginger 
 'card it, too, and as Peter Russet came into the room 
 'e tried all 'e could to attract 'is attention by rolling 
 'is 'ead from side to side. 
 
 "Why, 'as Ginger gone to bed ?" ses Peter. "Wot's 
 up, Ginger?" 
 
 "He's all right," ses Bill; "just a bit of a 'eadache." 
 
 Peter stood staring at the bed, and then 'e pulled 
 the clothes off and saw pore Ginger all tied up, and 
 making awful eyes at 'im to undo him. 
 
 "I 'ad to do it, Peter," ses Bill. "I wanted some 
 more money to escape with, and 'e wouldn't lend it to 
 me. I 'aven't got as much as I want now. You just 
 came in in the nick of time. Another minute and 
 you'd ha' missed me. 'Ow much 'ave you got?" 
 
 "Ah, I wish I could lend you some, Bill," ses 
 Peter Russet, turning pale, "but I've 'ad my pocket 
 
 93
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 picked ; that's wot I came back for, to get some from 
 Ginger." 
 
 Bill didn't say a word. 
 
 "You see 'ow it is, Bill," ses Peter, edging back 
 toward the door; "three men laid 'old of me and 
 took every farthing I'd got." 
 
 "Well, I can't rob you, then," ses Bill, catching 
 'old of 'im. "Whoever's money this is," he ses, pull- 
 ing a handful out o' Peter's pocket, "it can't be 
 yours. Now, if you make another sound I'll knock 
 your 'ead off afore I tie you up." 
 
 "Don't tie me up, Bill," ses Peter, struggling. 
 
 "I can't trust you," ses Bill, dragging 'im over to 
 the washstand and taking up the other towel; "turn 
 round." 
 
 Peter was a much easier job than Ginger Dick, and 
 arter Bill 'ad done 'im 'e put 'im in alongside o' Gin- 
 ger and covered 'em up, arter first tying both the gags 
 round with some string to prevent 'em slipping. 
 
 "Mind, I've only borrowed it," he ses, standing by 
 the side o' the bed; "but I must say, mates, I'm dis- 
 appointed in both of you. If either of you 'ad 'ad 
 the misfortune wot I've 'ad, I'd have sold the clothes 
 off my back to 'elp you. And I wouldn't 'ave waited 
 to be asked neither." 
 
 He stood there for a minute very sorrowful, and 
 then 'e patted both their 'eads and went downstairs. 
 Ginger and Peter lay listening for a bit, and then 
 -> 94
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 they turned their pore bound-up faces to each other 
 and tried to talk with their eyes. 
 
 Then Ginger began to wriggle and try and twist 
 the cords off, but 'e might as well 'ave tried to wriggle 
 out of 'is skin. The worst of it was they couldn't 
 make known their intentions to each other, and when 
 Peter Russet leaned over 'im and tried to work 'is gag 
 off by rubbing it up agin 'is nose, Ginger pretty near 
 went crazy with temper. He banged Peter with hi's 
 'ead, and Peter banged back, and they kept it up till 
 they'd both got splitting 'eadaches, and at last they 
 gave up in despair and lay in the darkness waiting 
 for Sam. 
 
 And all this time Sam was sitting in the Red Lion, 
 waiting for them. He sat there quite patient till 
 twelve o'clock and then walked slowly 'ome, wonder- 
 ing wot 'ad happened and whether Bill had gone. 
 
 Ginger was the fust to 'ear 'is foot on the stairs, 
 and as he came into the room, in the darkness, him 
 an' Peter Russet started shaking their bed in a way 
 that scared old Sam nearly to death. He thought it 
 was Bill carrying on agin, and 'e was out o' that door 
 and 'arf-way downstairs afore he stopped to take 
 breath. He stood there trembling for about ten min- 
 utes, and then, as nothing 'appened, he walked slowly 
 upstairs agin on tiptoe, and as soon as they heard 
 the door creak Peter and Ginger made that bed do 
 everything but speak. 
 
 95
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "Is that you, Bill?" ses old Sam, in a shaky voice, 
 and standing ready to dash downstairs agin. 
 
 There was no answer except for the bed, and Sam 
 didn't know whether Bill was dying or whether 'e 'ad 
 got delirium trimmings. All 'e did know was that 'e 
 wasn't going to sleep in that room. He shut the door 
 gently and went downstairs agin, feeling in 'is pocket 
 for a match, and, not finding one, 'e picked out the 
 softest stair 'e could find and, leaning his 'ead agin 
 the banisters, went to sleep. 
 
 It was about six o'clock when 'e woke up. and 
 broad daylight. He was stiff and sore all over, and 
 feeling braver in the light 'e stepped softly upstairs 
 and opened the door. Peter and Ginger was waiting 
 for Mm, and as he peeped in 'e saw two things sitting 
 up in bed with their 'air standing up all over like 
 mops and their faces tied up with bandages. He 
 was that startled 'e nearly screamed, and then 'e 
 stepped into the room and stared at 'em as if he 
 couldn't believe 'is eyes. 
 
 "Is that you, Ginger?" he ses. "Wot d'ye mean 
 by making sights of yourselves like that? 'Ave you 
 took leave of your senses?" 
 
 Ginger and Peter shook their 'eads and rolled 
 their eyes, and then Sam see wot was the matter with 
 'em. Fust thing 'e did was to pull out 'is knife nnd 
 cut Ginger's gag off, and the fust thing Ginger did 
 was to call Mm every name 'e could lay his tongue to. 
 
 06
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 "You wait a moment," he screams, 'arf crying with 
 rage. "You wait till I get my 'ands loose and I'll 
 
 '* "e picked out the softest stair *e could find.** 
 
 97
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 pull you to pieces. The idea o' leaving us like this all 
 night, you old crocodile. I 'card you come in. I'll 
 pay you." 
 
 Sam didn't answer 'im. He cut off Peter Russet's 
 gag, and Peter Russet called 'im 'arf a score o' names 
 without taking breath. 
 
 "And when Ginger's finished I'll 'ave a go at you," 
 he ses. "Cut off these lines." 
 
 "At once, d'ye hear?" ses Ginger. "Oh, you wait 
 till I get my 'ands on you." 
 
 Sam didn't answer 'em; he shut up 'is knife with a 
 click and then 'e sat at the foot o' the bed on Ginger's 
 feet and looked at 'em. It wasn't the fust time they'd 
 been rude to 'im, but as a rule he'd 'ad to put up with 
 it. He sat and listened while Ginger swore 'imself 
 faint. 
 
 "That'll do," he ses, at last; "another word and I 
 shall put the bedclothes over your 'ead. Afore 
 I do anything more I want to know wot it's all 
 about." 
 
 Peter told 'im, arter fust calling 'im some more 
 names, because Ginger was past it, and when 'e'd 
 finished old Sam said 'ow surprised he was at them 
 for letting Bill do it, and told 'em how they ought to 
 ''ave prevented it. He sat there talking as though 'e 
 enjoyed the sound of 'is own voice, and he told Peter 
 and Ginger all their faults and said wot sorrow it 
 caused their friends. Twice he 'ad to throw the bed- 
 
 98
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 clothes over their 'eads because o' the noise they was 
 making. 
 
 "Are -you going to undo us?'* ses Ginger, 
 at last. 
 
 " Old Sam said 'ow surprised he was at them for letting Bill do it." 
 
 "No, Ginger," ses old Sam; "in justice to myself 
 I couldn't do it. Arter wot you've said and arter 
 wot I've said my life wouldn't be safe. Besides 
 which, you'd want to go shares in my money," 
 
 99
 
 Bill's Lapse 
 
 He took up 'is chest and marched downstairs with 
 it, and about 'arf an hour arterward the landlady's 
 'usband came up and set 'em free. As soon as they'd 
 got the use of their legs back they started out to look 
 for Sam, but they didn't find 'im for nearly a year, 
 and as for Bill, they never set eyes on 'im again. 
 
 TOO
 
 LAWYER QUINCE
 
 LAWYER QUINCE 
 
 LAWYER QUINCE, so called by his neigh- 
 hours in Little Haven from his readiness at 
 all times to place at their disposal the legal 
 lore he had acquired from a few old books while fol- 
 lowing his useful occupation of making boots, sat in 
 a kind of wooden hutch at the side of his cottage 
 plying his trade. The London coach had gone by in 
 a cloud of dust some three hours before, and since 
 then the wide village street had slumbered almost 
 undisturbed in the sunshine. 
 
 Hearing footsteps and the sound of voices raised 
 in dispute caused him to look up from his work. Mr. 
 Rose, of Holly Farm, Hogg, the miller, and one or 
 two neighbours of lesser degree appeared to be in 
 earnest debate over some point of unusual difficulty. 
 
 Lawyer Quince took a pinch of snuff and bent to 
 his work again. Mr. Rose was one of the very few 
 who openly questioned his legal knowledge, and his 
 gibes concerning it were only too frequent. More- 
 over, he had a taste for practical joking, which to a 
 grave man was sometimes offensive. 
 
 "Well, here he be," said Mr. Hogg to the farmer, 
 as the group halted in front of the hutch. "Now ask 
 
 103
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 Lawyer Quince and see whether I ain't told you true. 
 I'm willing to abide by what he says." 
 
 Mr. Quince put down his hammer and, brushing 
 a little snuff from his coat, leaned back in his chair 
 and eyed them with grave confidence. 
 
 "It's like this," said the farmer. "Young Pascoe 
 has been hanging round after my girl Celia, though 
 I told her she wasn't to have nothing to do with him. 
 Half an hour ago I was going to put my pony in its 
 stable when I see a young man sitting there waiting." 
 
 "Well?" said Mr. Quince, after a pause. 
 
 "He's there yet," said the farmer. "I locked him 
 in, and Hogg here says that I've got the right to 
 keep him locked up there as long as I like. I say 
 it's agin the law, but Hogg he says no. I say his 
 folks would come and try to break open my stable, 
 but Hogg says if they do I can have the law of 'em 
 for damaging my property." 
 
 "So you can," interposed Mr. Hogg, firmly. 
 "You see whether Lawyer Quince don't say I'm 
 right." 
 
 Mr. Quince frowned, and in order to think more 
 deeply closed his eyes. Taking advantage of this 
 three of his auditors, with remarkable unanimity, 
 each closed one. 
 
 "It's your stable," said Mr. Quince, opening his 
 eyes and speaking with great deliberation, "and you 
 have a right to lock it up when you like." 
 
 104
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 "There you are," said Mr. Hogg; "what did I 
 tell you?" 
 
 "If anybody's there that's got no business there, 
 that's his look-out," continued Mr. Quince. "You 
 didn't induce him to go in?" 
 
 "Certainly not," replied the farmer. 
 
 "I told him he can keep him there as long as he 
 likes," said the jubilant Mr. Hogg, "and pass him 
 in bread and water through the winder; it's got bars 
 to it." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Quince, nodding, "he can do that. 
 As for his folks knocking the place about, if you like 
 to tie up one or two of them nasty, savage dogs f 
 yours to the stable, well, it's your stable, and you 
 can fasten your dogs to it if you like. And you've 
 generally got a man about the yard." 
 
 Mr. Hogg smacked his thigh in ecstasy. 
 
 "But " began the farmer. 
 
 "That's the law," said the autocratic Mr. Quince, 
 sharply. "O' course, if you think you know more 
 about it than I do, I've nothing more to say." 
 
 "I don't want to do nothing I could get into 
 trouble for," murmured Mr. Rose. 
 
 "You can't get into trouble by doing as I tell you," 
 said the shoemaker, impatiently. "However, to be 
 quite on the safe side, if I was in your place I should 
 lose the key." 
 
 "Lose the key?" said the farmer, blankly. 
 
 105
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 "Lose the key," repeated the shoemaker, his eyes 
 watering with intense appreciation of his own re- 
 sourcefulness. "You can find it any time you want 
 to, you know. Keep him there till he promises to 
 give up your daughter, and tell him that as soon as 
 he does you'll have a hunt for the key." 
 
 Mr. Rose regarded him with what the shoemaker 
 easily understood to be speechless admiration. 
 
 "I I'm glad I came to you," said the farmer, at 
 last. 
 
 "You're welcome," said the shoemaker, loftily. 
 "I'm always ready to give advice to them as require 
 it." 
 
 "And good advice it is," said the smiling Mr. 
 Hogg. "Why don't you behave yourself, Joe Garn- 
 ham?" he demanded, turning fiercely on a listener. 
 
 Mr. Garnham, whose eyes were watering with 
 emotion, attempted to explain, but, becoming hyster- 
 ical, thrust a huge red handkerchief to his mouth and 
 was led away by a friend. Mr. Quince regarded his 
 departure with mild disdain. 
 
 "Little things please little minds," he remarked. 
 
 "So they do," said Mr. Hogg. "I never 
 thought What's the matter with you, George 
 Askew?" 
 
 Mr. Askew, turning his back on him, threw up his 
 hands with a helpless gesture and followed in the 
 wake of Mr. Garnham. Mr. Hogg appeared to be 
 
 106
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 about to apologise, and then suddenly altering his 
 mind made a hasty and unceremonious exit, accom- 
 panied by the farmer. 
 
 Mr. Quince raised his eyebrows and then, after a 
 long and meditative pinch of snuff, resumed his work. 
 The sun went down and the light faded slowly; dis- 
 tant voices sounded close on the still evening air, 
 snatches of hoarse laughter jarred upon his ears. It 
 was clear that the story of the imprisoned swain was 
 giving pleasure to Little Haven. 
 
 He rose at last from his chair and, stretching his 
 long, gaunt frame, removed his leather apron, and 
 after a wash at the pump went into the house. Sup- 
 per was laid, and he gazed with approval on the 
 home-made sausage rolls, the piece of cold pork, and 
 the cheese which awaited his onslaught. 
 
 "We won't wait for Ned," said Mrs. Quince, as 
 she brought in a jug of ale and placed it by her hus- 
 band's elbow. 
 
 Mr. Quince nodded and filled his glass. 
 
 "You've been giving more advice, I hear," said 
 Mrs. Quince. 
 
 Her husband, who was very busy, nodded again. 
 
 "It wouldn't make no difference to young Pas- 
 coe's chance, anyway," said Mrs. Quince, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 Mr. Quince continued his labours. "Why?" he 
 inquired, at last. 
 
 107
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 His wife smiled and tossed her head. 
 
 "Young Pascoe's no chance against our Ned," she 
 said, swelling with maternal pride. 
 
 "Eh ?" said the shoemaker, laying down his knife 
 and fork. "Our Ned?" 
 
 "They are as fond of each other as they can be," 
 said Mrs. Quince, "though I don't suppose Farmer 
 Rose'll care for it; not but what our Ned's as good 
 as he is." 
 
 "Is Ned up there now?" demanded the shoemaker, 
 turning pale, as the mirthful face of Mr. Garnham 
 suddenly occurred to him. 
 
 "Sure to be," tittered his wife. "And to think o' 
 poor young Pascoe shut up in that stable while he's 
 courting Celia!" 
 
 Mr. Quince took up his knife and fork again, but 
 his appetite had gone. Whoever might be paying 
 attention to Miss Rose at that moment he felt quite 
 certain that it was not Mr. Ned Quince, and he trem- 
 bled with anger as he saw the absurd situation into 
 which the humorous Mr. Rose had led him. For 
 years Little Haven had accepted his decisions as final 
 and boasted of his sharpness to neighbouring hamlets, 
 and many a cottager had brought his boots to be 
 mended a whole week before their time for the sake 
 of an interview. 
 
 He moved his chair from the table and smoked a 
 pipe. Then he rose, and putting a couple of formi- 
 
 108
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 dable law-books under his arm, walked slowly down 
 the road in the direction of Holly Farm. 
 
 The road was very quiet and the White Swan, 
 usually full at this hour, was almost deserted, but if 
 any doubts as to the identity of the prisoner lingered 
 in his mind they were speedily dissipated by the be- 
 haviour of the few customers who crowded to the 
 door to see him pass. 
 
 A hum of voices fell on his ear as he approached 
 the farm; half the male and a goodly proportion of 
 the female population of Little Haven were leaning 
 against the fence or standing in little knots in the 
 road, while a few of higher social status stood in the 
 farm-yard itself. 
 
 "Come down to have a look at the prisoner?" in- 
 quired the farmer, who was standing surrounded by a 
 little group of admirers. 
 
 "I came down to see you about that advice I gave 
 you this afternoon," said Mr. Quince. 
 
 "Ah !" said the other. 
 
 "I was busy when you came," continued Mr. 
 Quince, in a voice of easy unconcern, "and I gave you 
 advice from memory. Looking up the subject after 
 you'd gone I found that I was wrong." 
 
 "You don't say so?" said the farmer, uneasily. 
 "If I've done wrong I'm only doing what you told 
 me I could do." 
 
 "Mistakes will happen with the best of us," said 
 109
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 the shoemaker, loudly, for the benefit of one or two 
 murmurers. "I've known a man to marry a woman 
 
 * ' Come down to have a look at the prisoner f ' inquired the fanner " 
 
 for her money before now and find out afterward 
 that she hadn't got any." 
 
 One unit of the group detached itself and wan- 
 dered listlessly toward the gate. 
 
 no
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 "Well, I hope I ain't done nothing wrong," said 
 Mr. Rose, anxiously. "You gave me the advice; 
 there's men here as can prove it. I don't want to do 
 nothing agin the law. What had I better do ?" 
 
 "Well, if I was you," said Mr. Quince, concealing 
 his satisfaction with difficulty, "I should let him out 
 at once and beg his pardon, and say you hope he'll 
 do nothing about it. I'll put in a word for you if 
 you like with old Pascoe." 
 
 Mr. Rose coughed and eyed him queerly. 
 
 "You're a Briton," he said, warmly. "I'll go and 
 let him out at once." 
 
 He strode off to the stable, despite the protests of 
 Mr. Hogg, and, standing by the door, appeared to> 
 be deep in thought; then he came back slowly, feeling 
 in his pockets as he walked. 
 
 "William," he said, turning toward Mr. Hogg, 
 "I s'pose you didn't happen to notice where I put 
 that key?" 
 
 "That I didn't," said Mr. Hogg, his face clearing 
 suddenly. 
 
 "I had it in my hand not half an hour ago," 
 said the agitated Mr. Rose, thrusting one hand 
 into his trouser-pocket and groping. "It can't be 
 far." 
 
 Mr. Quince attempted to speak, and, failing, blew 
 his nose violently. 
 
 "My memory ain't what it used to be," said the 
 in
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 farmer. "Howsomever, I dare say it'll turn up in 
 a day or two." 
 
 "You you'd better force the door," suggested 
 Mr. Quince, struggling to preserve an air of judicial 
 calm. 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Rose; "I ain't going to dam- 
 age my property like that. I can lock my stable-door 
 and unlock it when I like; if people get in there as 
 have no business there, it's their look-out." 
 
 "That's law," said Mr. Hogg; "I'll eat my hat 
 if it ain't." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me you've really lost the 
 key?" demanded Mr. Quince, eyeing the farmer 
 sternly. 
 
 "Seems like it," said Mr. Rose. "However, he 
 won't come to no hurt. I'll put in some bread and 
 water for him, same as you advised me to." 
 
 Mr. Quince mastered his wrath by an effort, and 
 with no sign of discomposure moved away without 
 making any reference to the identity of the unfortu- 
 nate in the stable." 
 
 "Good-night," said the farmer, "and thank you 
 for coming and giving me the fresh advice. It ain't 
 everybody that 'ud ha' taken the trouble. If I hadn't 
 lost that key " 
 
 The shoemaker scowled, and with the two fat 
 books under his arm passed the listening neighbours 
 with the air of a thoughtful man out for an evening 
 
 112
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 stroll. Once inside his house, however, his manner 
 changed, the attitude of Mrs. Quince demanding, at 
 any rate, a show of concern. 
 
 "It's no good talking," he said at last. "Ned 
 shouldn't have gone there, and as for going to law 
 about it, I sha'n't do any such thing; I should never 
 hear the end of it. I shall just go on as usual, as if 
 nothing had happened, and when Rose is tired of 
 keeping him there he must let him out. I'll bide my 
 time." 
 
 Mrs. Quince subsided into vague mutterings as to 
 what she would do if she were a man, coupled with 
 sundry aspersions upon the character, looks, and fam- 
 ily connections of Farmer Rose, which somewhat con- 
 soled her for being what she was. 
 
 "He has always made jokes about your advice," 
 she said at length, "and now everybody'll think he's 
 right. I sha'n't be able to look anybody in the face. 
 I should have seen through it at once if it had been 
 me. I'm going down to give him a bit o' my mind." 
 
 "You stay where you are," said Mr. Quince, 
 sharply, "and, mind, you are not to talk about it to 
 anybody. Farmer Rose 'ud like nothing better than 
 to see us upset about it. I ain't done with him yet. 
 You wait." 
 
 Mrs. Quince, having no option, waited, but noth- 
 ing happened. The following day found Ned Quince 
 still a prisoner, and, considering the circumstances, re-
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 markably cheerful. He declined point-blank to re- 
 nounce his preposterous attentions, and said that, liv- 
 ing on the premises, he felt half like a son-in-law 
 already. He also complimented the farmer upon the 
 quality of his bread. 
 
 The next morning found him still unsubdued, and, 
 under interrogation from the farmer, he admitted 
 that he liked it, and said that the feeling of being at 
 home was growing upon him. 
 
 "If you're satisfied, I am," said Mr. Rose, grimly. 
 "I'll keep you here till you promise; mind that." 
 
 "It's a nobleman's life," said Ned, peeping 
 through the window, "and I'm beginning to like you 
 as much as my real father." 
 
 "I don't want none o' yer impudence," said the 
 farmer, reddening. 
 
 "You'll like me better when you've had me here a 
 little longer," said Ned; "I shall grow on you. Why 
 not be reasonable and make up your mind to it? 
 Celia and I have." 
 
 "I'm going to send Celia away on Saturday," said 
 Mr. Rose; "make yourself happy and comfortable in 
 here till then. If you'd like another crust o' bread 
 or an extra half pint o' water you've only got to men- 
 tion it. When she's gone I'll have a hunt for that 
 key, so as you can go back to your father and help 
 him to understand his law-books better." 
 
 He strode off with the air of a conqueror, and hav- 
 
 114
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 ing occasion to go to the village looked in at the shoe- 
 maker's window as he passed and smiled broadly. 
 For years Little Haven had regarded Mr. Quince 
 
 "*' * None o* yer impudence,* said the former." 
 
 with awe, as being far too dangerous a man for the 
 lay mind to tamper with, and at one stroke the farmer 
 had revealed the hollo wness of his pretensions. Only 
 
 115
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 that morning the wife of a labourer had called and 
 asked him to hurry the mending of a pair of boots. 
 She was a voluble woman, and having overcome her 
 preliminary nervousness more than hinted that if he 
 gave less time to the law and more to his trade it 
 would be better for himself and everybody else. 
 
 Miss Rose accepted her lot in a spirit of dutiful 
 resignation, and on Saturday morning after her 
 father's admonition not to forget that the coach left 
 the White Swan at two sharp, set off to pay a few 
 farewell visits. By half-past twelve she had finished, 
 and Lawyer Quince becoming conscious of a shadow 
 on his work looked up to see her standing before the 
 window. He replied to a bewitching smile with a 
 short nod and became intent upon his work again. 
 
 For a short time Celia lingered, then to his aston- 
 ishment she opened the gate and walked past the side 
 of tht house into the garden. With growing aston- 
 ishment he observed her enter his tool-shed and close 
 the door behind her. 
 
 For ten minutes he worked on and then, curiosity 
 getting the better of him, he walked slowly to the 
 tool-shed and, opening the door a little way, peeped 
 in. It was a small shed, crowded with agricultural 
 implements. The floor was occupied by an upturned 
 wheelbarrow, and sitting on the barrow, with her soft 
 cheek leaning against the wall, sat Miss Rose fast 
 asleep. Mr. Quince coughed several times, each 
 
 116
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 cough being louder than the last, and then, treading 
 softly, was about to return to the workshop when the 
 girl stirred and muttered in her sleep. At first she 
 was unintelligible, then he distinctly caught the words 
 "idiot" and "blockhead." 
 
 "She's dreaming of somebody," said Mr. Quince 
 to himself with conviction. "Wonder who it is?" 
 
 "Can't see a thing under his nose," mur- 
 mured the fair sleeper. 
 
 "Celia!" said Mr. Quince, sharply. "Cellar 
 
 He took a hoe from the wall and prodded her gen- 
 tly with the handle. A singularly vicious expression 
 marred the soft features, but that was all. 
 
 "Ce-lia!" said the shoemaker, who feared sun- 
 stroke. 
 
 "Fancy if he had a moment's common sense," 
 murmured Celia, drowsily, "and locked the door." 
 
 Lawyer Quince dropped the hoe with a clatter and 
 stood regarding her open-mouthed. He was a care- 
 ful man with his property, and the stout door boasted 
 a good lock. He sped to the house on tip-toe, and 
 taking the key from its nail on the kitchen dresser re- 
 turned to the shed, and after another puzzled glance 
 at the sleeping girl locked her in. 
 
 For half an hour he sat in silent enjoyment of the 
 situation enjoyment which would have been in- 
 creased if he could have seen Mr. Rose standing at 
 the gate of Holly Farm, casting anxious glances up 
 
 117
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 and down the road. Celia's luggage had gone down 
 to the White Swan, and an excellent cold luncheon 
 was awaiting her attention in the living-room. 
 
 Half-past one came and no Celia, and five minutes 
 later two farm labourers and a boy lumbered off in 
 different directions in search of the missing girl, with 
 instructions that she was to go straight to the White 
 Swan to meet the coach. The farmer himself walked 
 down to the inn, turning over in his mind a heated 
 lecture composed for the occasion, but the coach came 
 and, after a cheerful bustle and the consumption of 
 sundry mugs of beer, sped on its way again. 
 
 He returned home in silent consternation, seeking 
 in vain for a satisfactory explanation of the mystery. 
 For a robust young woman to disappear in broad day- 
 light and leave no trace behind her was extraordinary. 
 Then a sudden sinking sensation in the region of the 
 waistcoat and an idea occurred simultaneously. 
 
 He walked down to the village again, the idea 
 growing steadily all the way. Lawyer Quince was 
 hard at work, as usual, as he passed. He went by 
 the window three times and gazed wistfully at the 
 cottage. Coming to the conclusion at last that two 
 heads were better than one in such a business, he 
 walked on to the mill and sought Mr. Hogg. 
 
 "That's what it is," said the miller, as he breathed 
 his suspicions. '"I thought all along Lawyer Quince 
 would have the laugh of you. He's wonderful deep. 
 
 118
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 Now, let's go to work cautious like. Try and look 
 as if nothing had happened." 
 
 " I thought all along Lawyer Quince would hare the laugh of you.** 
 
 Mr. Rose tried. 
 
 "Try agin," said the miller, with some severity. 
 "Get the red out o' your face and let your eyes go 
 
 119
 
 Lawyer guince 
 
 back and don't look as though you're going to bite 
 somebody." 
 
 Mr. Rose swallowed an angry retort, and with an 
 attempt at careless ease sauntered up the road with 
 the miller to the shoemaker's. Lawyer Quince was 
 still busy, and looked up inquiringly as they passed 
 before him. 
 
 "I s'pose," said the diplomatic Mr. Hogg, who was 
 well acquainted with his neighbour's tidy and method- 
 ical habits "I s'pose you couldn't lend me your 
 barrow for half an hour? The wheel's off mine." 
 
 Mr. Quince hesitated, and then favoured him with 
 a glance intended to remind him of his scurvy be- 
 haviour three days before. 
 
 "You can have it," he said at last, rising. 
 
 Mr. Hogg pinched his friend in his excitement, 
 and both watched Mr. Quince with bated breath as 
 he took long, slow strides toward the tool-shed. He 
 tried the door and then went into the house, and even 
 before his reappearance both gentlemen knew only 
 too well what was about to happen. Red was all too 
 poor a word to apply to Mr. Rose's countenance as 
 the shoemaker came toward them, feeling in his waist- 
 coat pocket with hooked fingers and thumb, while 
 Mr. Hogg's expressive features were twisted into an 
 appearance of rosy appreciation. 
 
 "Did you want the barrow very particular?" in- 
 quired the shoemaker, in a regretful voice, 
 
 1 20
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 "Very particular," said Mr. Hogg. 
 
 Mr. Quince went through the performance of fee* 
 ing in all his pockets, and then stood meditative'^ 
 rubbing his chin. 
 
 "The door's locked," he said, slowly, "and what 
 I've done with that there key " 
 
 "You open that door," vociferated Mr. Rose, "else 
 I'll break it in. You've got my daughter in that shed 
 and I'm going to have her out." 
 
 "Your daughter?" said Mr. Quince, with an air 
 of faint surprise. "What should she be doing in my 
 shed?" 
 
 "You let her out," stormed Mr. Rose, trying to 
 push past him. 
 
 "Don't trespass on my premises," said Lawyer 
 Quince, interposing his long, gaunt frame. "If you 
 want that door opened you'll have to wait till my boy 
 Ned comes home. I expect he knows where to find 
 the key." 
 
 Mr. Rose's hands fell limply by his side and his 
 tongue, turning prudish, refused its office. He 
 turned and stared at Mr. Hogg in silent consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 "Never known him to be beaten yet," said that 
 admiring weather-cock. 
 
 "Ned's been away three days," said the shoemaker, 
 *'but I expect him home soon." 
 
 Mr. Rose made a strange noise in his throat and 
 121
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 then, accepting his defeat, set off at a rapid pace in 
 the direction of home. In a marvellously short space 
 of time, considering his age and figure, he was seen 
 returning with Ned Quince, flushed and dishevelled, 
 walking by his side. 
 
 "Here he is," said the farmer. "Now where's 
 that key?" 
 
 Lawyer Quince took his son by the arm and led 
 him into the house, from whence they almost imme- 
 diately emerged with Ned waving the key. 
 
 "I thought it wasn't far," said the sapient Mr. 
 Hogg. 
 
 Ned put the key in the lock and flinging the door 
 open revealed Celia Rose, blinking and confused in 
 the sudden sunshine. She drew back as she saw 
 her father and began to cry with considerable fer- 
 vour. 
 
 "How did you get in that shed, miss?" demanded 
 her parent, stamping. 
 
 Miss Rose trembled. 
 
 "I I went there," she sobbed. "I didn't want to 
 go away." 
 
 "Well, you'd better stay there," shouted the over- 
 wrought Mr. Rose. "I've done with you. A girl 
 that 'ud turn against her own father I I " 
 
 He drove his right fist into his left palm and 
 stamped out into the road. Lawyer Quince and Mr. 
 Hogg, after a moment's hesitation, followed. 
 
 122
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 "The laugh's agin you, farmer," said the latter 
 gentleman, taking his arm. 
 
 How did you get in that ihed ? ' demanded her parent." 
 
 Mr. Rose shook him off. 
 'Better make the best of it," continued the peace- 
 
 maker. 
 
 123
 
 Lawyer Quince 
 
 "She's a girl to be proud of," said Lawyer Quince, 
 keeping pace with the farmer on the other side. "She's 
 got a head that's worth yours and mine put together, 
 with Hogg's thrown in as a little makeweight." 
 
 "And here's the White Swan," said Mr. Hogg, 
 who had a hazy idea of a compliment, "and all of us 
 as dry as a bone. Why not all go in and have a glass 
 to shut folks' mouths?" 
 
 "And cry quits," said the shoemaker. 
 
 "And let bygones be bygones," said Mr. Hogg, 
 taking the farmer's arm again. 
 
 Mr. Rose stopped and shook his head obstinately, 
 and then, under the skilful pilotage of Mr. Hogg, 
 was steered in the direction of the hospitable doors 
 of the White Swan. He made a last bid for liberty 
 on the step and then disappeared inside. Lawyer 
 Quince brought up the rear. 
 
 124
 
 BREAKING A SPELL
 
 BREAKING A SPELL 
 
 ITCHCRAFT?" said the old man, 
 thoughtfully, as he scratched his scanty 
 whiskers. No, I ain't heard o' none in 
 these parts for a long time. There used to be a little 
 of it about when I was a boy, and there was some 
 talk of it arter I'd growed up, but Claybury folk 
 never took much count of it. The last bit of it I 
 remember was about forty years ago, and that wasn't 
 so much witchcraft as foolishness. 
 
 There was a man in this place then Joe Barlcomb 
 by name who was a firm believer in it, and 'e used 
 to do all sorts of things to save hisself from it. He 
 was a new-comer in Claybury, and there was such a 
 lot of it about in the parts he came from that the 
 people thought o' nothing else hardly. 
 
 He was a man as got 'imself very much liked at 
 fust, especially by the old ladies, owing to his being 
 so perlite to them, that they used to 'old 'im up for 
 an example to the other men, and say wot nice, pretty 
 ways he 'ad. Joe Barlcomb was everything at fust, 
 but when they got to 'ear that his perliteness was be- 
 cause 'e thought 'arf of 'em was witches, and didn't 
 know which 'arf, they altered their minds. 
 
 127
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 In a month or two he was the laughing-stock of 
 the place; but wot was worse to 'im than that was that 
 he'd made enemies of all the old ladies. Some of 'em 
 was free-spoken women, and 'e couldn't sleep for 
 thinking of the 'arm they might do 'im. 
 
 He was terrible uneasy about it at fust, but, as 
 nothing 'appened and he seemed to go on very pros- 
 
 " He got 'imself very much liked, especially by the old ladies." 
 
 perous-like, 'e began to forget 'is fears, when all of a 
 sudden 'e went 'ome one day and found 'is wife in 
 bed with a broken leg. 
 
 She was standing on a broken chair to reach some* 
 thing down from the dresser when it 'appened, and 
 it was pointed out to Joe Barlcomb that it was a thing 
 anybody might ha' done without being bewitched ; but 
 
 128
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 he said 'e knew better, and that they'd kept that 
 broken chair for standing on for years and years to 
 save the others, and nothing 'ad ever 'appened afore. 
 
 In less than a week arter that three of his young 
 'uns was down with the measles, and, 'is wife being 
 laid up, he sent for 'er mother to come and nurse 'em. 
 It's as true as I sit 'ere, but that pore old lady 'adn't 
 been in the house two hours afore she went to bed 
 with the yellow jaundice. 
 
 Joe Barlcomb went out of 'is mind a'most. He'd 
 never liked 'is wife's mother, and he wouldn't 'ave 
 had 'er in the house on'y 'e wanted her to nurse 'is 
 wife and children, and when she came and laid up and 
 wanted waiting on 'e couldn't dislike her enough. 
 
 He was quite certain all along that somebody was 
 putting a spell on 'im, and when 'e went out a morn- 
 ing or two arterward and found 'is best pig lying 
 dead in a corner of the sty he gave up and, going 
 into the 'ouse, told 'em all that they'd 'ave to die 
 'cause he couldn't do anything more for 'em. His 
 wife's mother and 'is wife and the children all started 
 crying together, and Joe Barlcomb, when 'e thought 
 of 'is pig, he sat down and cried too. 
 
 He sat up late that night thinking it over, and, 
 arter looking at it all ways, he made up 'is mind to 
 go and see Mrs. Prince, an old lady that lived all 
 alone by 'erself in a cottage near Smith's farm. He'd 
 set 'er down for wot he called a white witch, which 
 
 129
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 is the best kind and on'y do useful things, such as 
 charming warts away or telling gals about their 
 future 'usbands; and the next arternoon, arter telling 
 'is wife's mother that fresh air and travelling was the 
 best cure for the yellow jaundice, he set off to see 7 er. 
 
 11 Mrs. Prince was sitting at 'cr front door nursing 'er three cats." 
 
 Mrs. Prince was sitting at 'er front door nursing 
 'er three cats when 'e got there. She was an ugly, 
 little old woman with piercing black eyes and a hook 
 nose, and she 'ad a quiet, artful sort of a way with 
 
 130
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 'er that made 'er very much disliked. One thing was 
 she was always making fun of people, and for another 
 she seemed to be able to tell their thoughts, and that 
 don't get anybody liked much, especially when they 
 don't keep it to theirselves. She'd been a lady's maid 
 all 'er young days, and it was very 'ard to be taken 
 for a witch just because she was old. 
 
 "Fine day, ma'am," ses Joe Barlcomb. 
 
 "Very fine," ses Mrs. Prince. 
 
 "Being as I was passing, I just thought I'd look 
 in," ses Joe Barlcomb, eyeing the cats. 
 
 "Take a chair," ses Mrs. Prince, getting up and 
 dusting one down with 'er apron. 
 
 Joe sat down. "I'm in a bit o' trouble, ma'am," 
 he ses, "and I thought p'r'aps as you could help me 
 out of it. My pore pig's been bewitched, and it's 
 dead." 
 
 "Bewitched?" ses Mrs. Prince, who'd 'card of 'is 
 ideas. "Rubbish. Don't talk to me." 
 
 "It ain't rubbish, ma'am," ses Joe Barlcomb; 
 "three o' my children is down with the measles, my 
 wife's broke 'er leg, 'er mother is laid up in my little 
 place with the yellow jaundice, and the pig's dead." 
 
 "Wot, another one?" ses Mrs. Prince. 
 
 "No; the same one," ses Joe. 
 
 "Well, 'ow am I to help you?" ses Mrs. Prince. 
 "Do you want me to come and nurse 'em?" 
 
 "No, no," ses Joe, starting and turning pale; "un-
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 less you'd like to come and nurse my wife's mother," 
 he ses, arter thinking a bit. "I was hoping that you'd 
 know who'd been overlooking me and that you'd 
 make 'em take the spell off." 
 
 Mrs. Prince got up from 'er chair and looked 
 round for the broom she'd been sweeping with, but, 
 not finding it, she set down agin and stared in a 
 curious sort o' way at Joe Barlcomb. 
 
 "Oh, I see," she ses, nodding. "Fancy you guess- 
 ing I was a witch." 
 
 "You can't deceive me," ses Joe; "I've 'ad too 
 much experience; I knew it the fust time I saw you 
 by the mole on your nose." 
 
 Mrs. Prince got up and went into her back-place, 
 trying her 'ardest to remember wot she'd done with 
 that broom. She couldn't find it anywhere, and at 
 last she came back and sat staring at Joe for so long 
 that 'e was 'arf frightened out of his life. And by- 
 and-by she gave a 'orrible smile and sat rubbing the 
 side of 'er nose with 'er finger. 
 
 "If I help you," she ses at last, "will you promise 
 to keep it a dead secret and do exactly as I tell you? 
 If you don't, dead pigs'll be nothing to the misfor- 
 tunes that you will 'ave." 
 
 "I will," ses Joe Barlcomb, very pale. 
 
 "The spell," ses Mrs. Prince, holding up her 'ands 
 and shutting 'er eyes, "was put upon you by a man. 
 It is one out of six men as is jealous of you because 
 
 132
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 you're so clever, but which one it is I can't tell with- 
 out your assistance. Have you got any money?" 
 "A little," ses Joe, anxious-like "a very little. 
 
 Wot with the yellow jaundice and other things, 
 j 
 
 "Fust thing to do," ses Mrs. Prince, still with her 
 eyes shut, "you go up to the Cauliflower to-night; the 
 six men'll all be there, and you must buy six ha'pen- 
 nies off of them; one each." 
 
 "Buy six ha'pennies?" ses Joe, staring at her. 
 
 "Don't repeat wot I say," ses Mrs. Prince; "it's 
 unlucky. You buy six ha'pennies for a shilling each, 
 without saying wot it's for. You'll be able to buy 
 'em all right if you're civil." 
 
 "It seems to me it don't need much civility for 
 that," ses Joe, pulling a long face. 
 
 "When you've got the ha'pennies," ses Mrs. 
 Prince, "bring 'em to me and I'll tell you wot to do 
 with 'em. Don't lose no time, because I can see that 
 something worse is going to 'appen if it ain't pre- 
 vented." 
 
 "Is it anything to do with my wife's mother getting 
 worse?" ses Joe Barlcomb, who was a careful ma-n 
 and didn't want to waste six shillings. 
 
 "No, something to you," ses Mrs. Prince. 
 
 Joe Barlcomb went cold all over, and then he put 
 down a couple of eggs he'd brought round for 'er 
 and went off 'ome agin, and Mrs. Prince stood in 
 
 133
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 the doorway with a cat on each shoulder and watched 
 'im till 'e was out of sight. 
 
 That night Joe Barlcomb came up to this 'ere 
 Cauliflower public-house, same as he'd been told, and 
 by-and-by, arter he 'ad 'ad a pint, he looked round, 
 and taking a shilling out of 'is pocket put it on the 
 table, and he ses, "Who'll give me a ha'penny for 
 that?" he ses. 
 
 None of 'em seemed to be in a hurry. Bill Jones 
 took it up and bit it, and rang it on the table and 
 squinted at it, and then he bit it agin, and turned 
 round and asked Joe Barlcomb wot was wrong 
 with it. 
 
 "Wrong?" ses Joe; "nothing." 
 
 Bill Jones put it down agin. "You're wide awake, 
 Joe," he ses, "but so am I." 
 
 "Won't nobody give me a ha'penny for it?" ses 
 Joe, looking round. 
 
 Then Peter Lamb came up, and he looked at it 
 and rang it, and at last he gave Joe a ha'penny for it 
 and took it round, and everybody 'ad a look at it. 
 
 "It stands to reason it's a bad 'un," ses Bill Jones, 
 "but it's so well done I wish as I'd bought it." 
 
 "H-s-h!" ses Peter Lamb; "don't let the landlord 
 'ear you." 
 
 The landlord 'ad just that moment come in, and 
 Peter walked up and ordered a pint, and took his ten- 
 pence change as bold as brass. Arter that Joe Barl 
 
 134
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 comb bought five more ha'pennies afore you could 
 wink a'most, and every man wot sold one went up 
 to the bar and 'ad a pint and got tenpence change, and 
 drank Joe Rarlcomb's health. 
 
 " He took it round, and everybody 'ad a look at it." 
 
 "There seems to be a lot o' money knocking about 
 to-night," ses the landlord, as Sam Martin, the last 
 of 'em, was drinking 'is pint. 
 
 Sam Martin choked and put 'is pot down on the 
 counter with a bang, and him and the other five was 
 
 135
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 out o* that door and sailing up the road with their 
 tenpences afore the landlord could get his breath. 
 He stood .\n the bar scratching his 'ead and staring, 
 but he couldn't understand it a bit till a man wot was 
 too late to sell his ha'penny up and told 'im all about 
 it. The fuss 'e made was terrible. The shillings was 
 in a little heap on a shelf at the back o' the bar, and 
 he did all sorts o' things to 'em to prove that they was 
 bad, and threatened Joe Barlcomb with the police. 
 At last, however, 'e saw wot a fool he was making 
 of himself, and arter nearly breaking his teeth 'e 
 dropped them into a drawer and stirred 'em up with 
 the others. 
 
 Joe Barlcomb went round the next night to see 
 Mrs. Prince, and she asked 'im a lot o' questions 
 about the men as 'ad sold 'im the ha'pennies. 
 
 "The fust part 'as been done very well," she 
 ses, nodding her 'ead at 'im; "if you do the sec- 
 ond part as well, you'll soon know who your en- 
 emy is." 
 
 "Nothing'll bring the pig back," ses Joe. 
 
 "There's worse misfortunes than that, as I've told 
 you," ses Mrs. Prince, sharply. "Now, listen to wot 
 I'm going to say to you. When the clock strikes 
 twelve to-night " 
 
 "Our clock don't strike," ses Joe. 
 
 "Then you must borrow one that does," ses Mrs. 
 Prince, "and when it strikes twelve you must go round 
 
 136
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 to each o' them six men and sell them a ha'penny for 
 a shilling." 
 
 Joe Barlcomb looked at 'er. "'Ow?" he ses, short- 
 like. 
 
 "Same way as you sold 'em a shilling for a ha'- 
 penny," ses Mrs. Prince; "it don't matter whether 
 they buy the ha'pennies or not. All you've got to do 
 is to go and ask 'em, and the man as makes the most 
 fuss is the man that 'as put the trouble on you." 
 
 "It seems a roundabout way o' going to work," ses 
 Joe. 
 
 "Wot!" screams Mrs. Prince, jumping up and 
 waving her arms about. "Wot! Go your own way; 
 I'll have nothing more to do with you. And don't 
 blame me for anything that happens. It's a very bad 
 thing to come to a witch for advice and then not to do 
 as she tells you. You ought t know that." 
 
 "I'll do it, ma'am," ses Joe Barlcomb, trembling. 
 
 "You'd better," ses Mrs. Prince; "and mind not 
 a word to anybody." 
 
 Joe promised her agin, and 'e went off and bor- 
 rered a clock from Albert Price, and at twelve o'clock 
 that night he jumped up out of bed and began to 
 dress 'imself and pretend not to 'ear his wife when 
 she asked 'im where he was going. 
 
 It was a dark, nasty sort o' night, blowing and 
 raining, and, o' course, everybody 'ad gone to bed 
 long since. The fust cottage Joe came to was Bill 
 
 137
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 Jones's, and, knowing Bill's temper, he stood for 
 some time afore he could make up 'is mind to knock; 
 but at last he up with 'is stick and banged away at 
 the door. 
 
 A minute arterward he 'card the bedroom winder 
 pushed open, and then Bill Jones popped his 'ead out 
 and called to know wot was the matter and who it 
 was. 
 
 "It's me Joe Barlcomb," ses Joe, "and I want to 
 speak to you very partikler." 
 
 "Well, speak away," ses Bill. "You go into the 
 back room," he ses, turning to his wife. 
 
 "Whaffor?" ses Mrs. Jones. 
 
 "'Cos I don't know wot Joe is going to say," ses 
 Bill. "You go in now, afore I make you." 
 
 His wife went off grumbling, and then Bill told 
 Joe Barlcomb to hurry up wot he'd got to say as 'e 
 'adn't got much on and the weather wasn't as warm 
 as it might be. 
 
 "I sold you a shilling for a ha'penny last night, 
 Bill," ses Joe. 
 
 "Do you want to sell any more?" ses Bill Jones, 
 putting his 'and down to where 'is trouser pocket 
 ought to be. 
 
 "Not exactly that," ses Joe Barlcomb. "This time 
 I want you to sell me a shilling for a ha'penny." 
 
 Bill leaned out of the winder and stared down at 
 Joe Barlcomb, and then he ses, in a choking voice, 
 
 138
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 "Is that wot you've come disturbing my sleep for 
 at this time o' night?" he ses. 
 
 "I must 'ave it, Bill," ses Joe. 
 
 "Well, if you'll wait a moment," ses Bill, trying 
 to speak perlitely, "I'll come down and give it to 
 you." 
 
 Joe didn't like 'is tone of voice, but he waited, and 
 all of a sudden Bill Jones came out o' that door like 
 a gun going off and threw 'imself on Joe Barlcomb. 
 Both of 'em was strong men, and by the time they'd 
 finished they was so tired they could 'ardly stand. 
 Then Bill Jones went back to bed, and Joe Barlcomb, 
 arter sitting down on the doorstep to rest 'imself, 
 went off and knocked up Peter Lamb. 
 
 Peter Lamb was a little man and no good as a 
 fighter, but the things he said to Joe Barlcomb as he 
 leaned out o' the winder and shook 'is fist at him was 
 'arder to bear than blows. He screamed away at the 
 top of 'is voice for ten minutes, and then 'e pulled the 
 winder to with a bang and went back to bed. 
 
 Joe Barlcomb was very tired, but he walked on to 
 Jasper Potts's 'ouse, trying 'ard as he walked to de- 
 cide which o' the fust two 'ad made the most fuss. 
 Arter he 'ad left Jasper Potts 'e got more puzzled 
 than ever, Jasper being just as bad as the other two, 
 and Joe leaving 'im at last in the middle of loading 
 Ms gun. 
 
 By the time he'd made 'is last call at Sam Mar- 
 
 139
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 tin's it was past three o'clock, and he could no more 
 tell Mrs. Prince which 'ad made the most fuss than 
 'e could fly. There didn't seem to be a pin to choose 
 between 'em, and, 'arf worried out of 'is life, he went 
 straight on to Mrs. Prince and knocked 'er up to tell 
 'er. She thought the 'ouse was afire at fust, and came 
 screaming out o' the front door in 'er bedgown, and 
 when she found out who it was she was worse to deal 
 with than the men 'ad been. 
 
 She 'ad quieted down by the time Joe went round 
 to see 'er the next evening, and asked 'im to describe 
 exactly wot the six men 'ad done and said. She sat 
 listening quite quiet at fust, but arter a time she 
 scared Joe by making a odd, croupy sort o' noise in 
 'er throat, and at last she got up and walked into the 
 back-place. She was there a long time making funny 
 noises, and at last Joe walked toward the door on tip- 
 toe and peeped through the crack and saw 'er in a 
 sort o' fit, sitting in a chair with 'er arms folded acrost 
 her bodice and rocking 'erself up and down and 
 moaning. Joe stood as if 'e'd been frozen a'most, 
 and then 'e crept back to 'is seat and waited, and when 
 she came into the room agin she said as the trouble 
 'ad all been caused by Bill Jones. She sat still for 
 nearly 'arf an hour, thinking 'ard, and then she 
 turned to Joe and ses : 
 
 "Can you read?" she ses. 
 
 "No," ses Joe, wondering wot was coming next. 
 140
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 "That's all right, then," she ses, "because if you 
 could I couldn't do wot I'm going to do." 
 
 "That shows the 'arm of eddication," ses Joe. "I 
 never did believe in it." 
 
 She sat listening quite quiet at fust." 
 
 Mrs. Prince nodded, and then she went and got 
 a bottle with something in it which looked to Joe like 
 gin, and arter getting out 'er pen and ink and printing 
 some words on a piece o' paper she stuck it on the 
 bottle, and sat looking at Joe and thinking. 
 
 "Take this up to the Cauliflower," she ses, "make 
 241
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 friends with Bill Jones, and give him as much beer 
 as he'll drink, and give 'im a little o' this gin in each 
 mug. If he drinks it the spell will be broken, and 
 you'll be luckier than you 'ave ever been in your life 
 afore. When Vs drunk some, and not before, leave 
 the bottle standing on the table." 
 
 Joe Barlcomb thanked 'er, and with the bottle in 
 'is pocket went off to the Cauliflower, whistling. Bill 
 Jones was there, and Peter Lamb, and two or three 
 more of 'em, and at fust they said some pretty 'ard 
 things to him about being woke up in the night. 
 
 "Don't bear malice, Bill," ses Joe Barlcomb; "'ave 
 ft pint with me." 
 
 He ordered two pints, and then sat down along- 
 side o' Bill, and in five minutes they was like brothers. 
 
 "'Ave a drop o' gin in it, Bill," he ses, taking the 
 bottle out of 'is pocket. 
 
 Bill thanked 'im and had a drop, and then, thought- 
 ful-like, he wanted Joe to 'ave some in his too, but 
 Joe said no, he'd got a touch o' toothache, and it was 
 bad for it. 
 
 "I don't mind 'aving a drop in my beer, Joe," ses 
 Peter Lamb. 
 
 "Not to-night, mate," ses Joe; "it's all for Bill. I 
 bought it on purpose for 'im." 
 
 Bill shook 'ands with him, and when Joe called for 
 another pint and put some more gin in it he said that 
 'e was the noblest-'arted man that ever lived. 
 
 142
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 "You wasn't saying so 'arf an hour ago," ses Peter 
 Lamb. 
 
 '"Cos I didn't know 'im so well then," ses Bill 
 Jones. 
 
 "You soon change your mind, don't you?" ses 
 Peter. 
 
 Bill didn't answer 'im. He was leaning back on 
 the bench and staring at the bottle as if 'e couldn't 
 believe his eyesight. His face was all white and shin- 
 ing, and 'is hair as wet as if it 'ad just been dipped in 
 a bucket o' water. 
 
 "See a ghost, Bill?" ses Peter, looking at 'im. 
 
 Bill made a 'orrible noise in his throat, and kept on 
 staring at the bottle till they thought 'e'd gone crazy. 
 Then Jasper Potts bent his 'ead down and began to 
 read out loud wot was on the bottle. "P-o-i Poisow 
 FOR BILL JONES," he ses, in a voice as if 'e couldn't 
 believe it. 
 
 You might 'ave heard a pin drop. Everybody 
 turned and looked at Bill Jones, as he sat there trem- 
 bling all over. Then those that could read took up 
 the bottle and read it out loud all over agin. 
 
 "Pore Bill," ses Peter Lamb. "I 'ad a feeling 
 come over me that something was wrong." 
 
 "You're a murderer," ses Sam Martin, catching 
 'old of Joe Barlcomb. "You'll be 'ung for this. 
 Look at pore Bill, cut off in 'is prime." 
 
 "Run for the doctor," ses someone. 
 
 143
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 Two of 'em ran off as 'ard as they could go, and 
 then the landlord came round the bar and asked Bill 
 to go and die outside, because 'e didn't want to be 
 brought into it. Jasper Potts told 'im to clear off, 
 and then he bent down and asked Bill where the 
 pain was. 
 
 "I don't think he'll 'ave much pain," ses Peter 
 Lamb, who always pretended to know a lot more than 
 other people. "It'll soon be over, Bill." 
 
 "We've all got to go some day," ses Sam Martin. 
 
 "Better to die young than live to be a trouble to 
 yourself," ses Bob Harris. 
 
 To 'ear them talk everybody seemed to think that 
 Bill Jones was in luck; everybody but Bill Jones 'im- 
 self, that is. 
 
 "I ain't fit to die," he ses, shivering. "You don't 
 know 'ow bad I've been." 
 
 "Wot 'ave you done, Bill?" ses Peter Lamb, in a 
 soft voice. "If it'll ease your feelings afore you go 
 to make a clean breast of it, we're all friends here." 
 
 Bill groaned. 
 
 "And it's too late for you to be punished for any- 
 thing," ses Peter, arter a moment. 
 
 Bill Jones groaned agin, and then, shaking 'is 'ead, 
 began to w'isper 'is wrong-doings. When the doctor 
 came in 'arf an hour arterward all the men was as 
 quiet as mice, and pore Bill was still w'ispering as 
 'ard as he could w'isper. 
 
 144
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 The doctor pushed 'em out of the way in a mo- 
 ment, and then 'e bent over Bill and felt 'is pulse and 
 looked at 'is tongue. Then he listened to his 'art, 
 and in a puzzled way smelt at the bottle, which Jas- 
 per Potts was a-minding of, and wetted 'is finger and 
 tasted it. 
 
 " The doctor felt 'is pulse and looked at is tongue." 
 
 "Somebody's been making a fool of you and me 
 too," he ses, in a angry voice. "It's only gin, and 
 very good gin at that. Get up and go home." 
 
 It all came out next morning, and Joe Barlcomb 
 was the laughing-stock of the place. Most people 
 
 145
 
 Breaking a Spell 
 
 said that Mrs. Prince 'ad done quite right, and they 
 'oped that it ud be a lesson to him, but nobody ever 
 talked much of witchcraft in Claybury agin. One 
 thing was that Bill Jones wouldn't 'ave the word used 
 in 'is hearing. 
 
 146
 
 ESTABLISHING RELATIONS
 
 ESTABLISHING RELATIONS 
 
 MR. RICHARD CATESBY, second officer 
 of the ss. Wizard, emerged from the dock- 
 gates in high good-humour to spend an 
 evening ashore. The bustle of the day had departed, 
 and the inhabitants of Wapping, in search of cool- 
 ness and fresh air, were sitting at open doors and 
 windows indulging in general conversation with any- 
 body within earshot. 
 
 Mr. Catesby, turning into Bashford's Lane, lost 
 in a moment all this life and colour. The hum of dis- 
 tant voices certainly reached there, but that was all, 
 for Bashford's Lane, a retiring thoroughfare facing 
 a blank dock wall, capped here and there by towering 
 spars, set an example of gentility which neighbouring 
 streets had long ago decided crossly was impossible 
 for ordinary people to follow. Its neatly grained 
 shutters, fastened back by the sides of the windows, 
 gave a pleasing idea of uniformity, while its white 
 steps and polished brass knockers were suggestive of 
 almost a Dutch cleanliness. 
 
 Mr. Catesby, strolling comfortably along, stopped 
 suddenly for another look at a girl who was standing 
 in the ground-floor window of No. 5. He went on a 
 
 149
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 few paces and then walked back slowly, trying to look 
 as though he had forgotten something. The girl was 
 still there, and met his ardent glances unmoved: a 
 fine girl, with large, dark eyes, and a complexion 
 which was the subject of much scandalous discussion 
 among neighbouring matrons. 
 
 "It must be something wrong with the glass, or else 
 it's the bad light," said Mr. Catesby to himself; "no 
 girl is so beautiful as that." 
 
 He went by again to make sure. The object of his 
 solicitude was still there and apparently unconscious 
 of his existence. He passed very slowly and sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 "You've got it at last, Dick Catesby," he said, sol- 
 emnly; "fair and square in the most dangerous part 
 of the heart. It's serious this time." 
 
 He stood still on the narrow pavement, pondering, 
 and then, in excuse of his flagrant misbehaviour, mur- 
 mured, "It was meant to be," and went by again. 
 This time he fancied that he detected a somewhat 
 supercilious expression in the dark eyes a faint rais- 
 ing of well-arched eyebrows. 
 
 His engagement to wait at Aldgate Station for the 
 second-engineer and spend an evening together was 
 dismissed as too slow to be considered. He stood for 
 some time in uncertainty, and then turning slowly into 
 the Beehive, which stood at the corner, went into the 
 private bar and ordered a glass of beer. 
 
 ISO
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 He was the only person in the bar, and the land- 
 lord, a stout man in his shirt-sleeves, was the soul of 
 affability. Mr. Catesby, after various general re- 
 
 " Mr. Catesby made a few inquiries." 
 
 marks, made a few inquiries about an uncle aged five 
 minutes, whom he thought was living in Bashford's 
 Lane. 
 
 "I don't know 'im," said the landlord.
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 "I had an idea that he lived at No. 5," said 
 .Catesby. 
 
 The landlord shook his head. "That's Mrs. True- 
 fitt's house," he said, slowly. 
 
 Mr. Catesby pondered. "Truefitt, Truefitt," he 
 repeated; "what sort of a woman is she?" 
 
 "Widder-woman," said the landlord; "she lives 
 there with 'er daughter Prudence." 
 
 Mr. Catesby said "Indeed!" and being a good lis- 
 tener learned that Mrs. Truefitt was the widow of a 
 master-lighterman, and that her son, Fred Truefitt, 
 after an absence of seven years in New Zealand, was 
 now on his way home. He finished his glass slowly 
 and, the landlord departing to attend to another cus- 
 tomer, made his way into the street again. 
 
 He walked along slowly, picturing as he went the 
 home-coming of the long-absent son. Things were 
 oddly ordered in this world, and Fred Truefitt would 
 probably think nothing of his brotherly privileges. 
 He wondered whether he was like Prudence. He 
 wondered 
 
 "By Jove, I'll do it!" he said, recklessly, as he 
 turned. "Now for a row." 
 
 He walked back rapidly to Bashford's Lane, and 
 without giving his courage time to cool plied the 
 knocker of No. 5 briskly. 
 
 The door was opened by an elderly woman, thin, 
 and somewhat querulous in expression. Mr. Catesby 
 
 152
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 had just time to notice this, and then he flung his arm 
 round her waist, and hailing her as "Mother!" sa- 
 luted her warmly. 
 
 The faint scream of the astounded Mrs. Truefitt 
 brought her daughter hastily into the passage. Mr. 
 Catesby's idea was ever to do a thing thoroughly, 
 and, relinquishing Mrs. Truefitt, he kissed Prudence 
 with all the ardour which a seven-years' absence might 
 be supposed to engender in the heart of a devoted 
 brother. In return he received a box on the ears 
 which made his head ring. 
 
 "He's been drinking," gasped the dismayed Mrs. 
 Truefitt. 
 
 "Don't you know me, mother?" inquired Mr. 
 Richard Catesby, in grievous astonishment. 
 
 "He's mad," said her daughter. 
 
 "Am I so altered that you don't know me, Pru- 
 dence?" inquired Mr. Catesby-, with pathos. "Don't 
 you know your Fred?" 
 
 "Go out," said Mrs. Truefitt, recovering; "go out 
 at once." 
 
 Mr. Catesby looked from one to the other in con- 
 sternation. 
 
 "I know I've altered," he said, at last, "but I'd no 
 idea " 
 
 "If you don't go out at once I'll send for the po- 
 lice," said the elder woman, sharply. "Prudence, 
 scream!" 
 
 153
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 "I'm not going to scream," said Prudence, eyeing 
 the intruder with great composure. "I'm not afraid 
 of him." 
 
 Despite her reluctance to have a scene a thing 
 which was strongly opposed to the traditions of Bash- 
 ford's Lane Mrs. Truefitt had got as far as the 
 doorstep in search of assistance, when a sudden ter- 
 rible thought occurred to her: Fred was dead, and 
 the visitor had hit upon this extraordinary fashion of 
 breaking the news gently. 
 
 "Come into the parlour," she said, faintly. 
 
 Mr. Catesby, suppressing his surprise, followed 
 her into the room. Prudence, her fine figure erect 
 and her large eyes meeting his steadily, took up a 
 position by the side of her mother. 
 
 "You have brought bad news?" inquired the 
 latter. 
 
 "No, mother," said Mr. Catesby, simply, "only 
 myself, that's all." 
 
 Mrs. Truefitt made a gesture of impatience, and 
 her daughter, watching him closely, tried to remem- 
 ber something she had once read about detecting in- 
 sanity by the expression of the eyes. Those of Mr. 
 Catesby were blue, and the only expression in them 
 at the present moment was one of tender and respect- 
 ful admiration. 
 
 "When did you see Fred last?" inquired Mrs. 
 Truefitt, making another effort. 
 
 154
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 "Mother," said Mr. Catesby, with great pathos, 
 "don't you know me ?" 
 
 "He has brought bad news of Fred," said Mrs. 
 Truefitt, turning to her daughter; "I am sure he 
 has." 
 
 "I don't understand you," said Mr. Catesby, with 
 a bewildered glance from one to the other. "I am 
 Fred. Am I much changed? You look the same as 
 you always did, and it seems only yesterday since I 
 kissed Prudence good-bye at the docks. You were 
 crying, Prudence." 
 
 Miss Truefitt made no reply; she gazed at him un- 
 flinchingly and then bent toward her mother. 
 
 "He is mad," she whispered; "we must try and get 
 him out quietly. Don't contradict him." 
 
 "Keep close to me," said Mrs. Truefitt, who had a 
 great horror of the insane. "If he turns violent open 
 the window and scream. I thought he had brought 
 bad news of Fred. How did he know about him?" 
 
 Her daughter shook her head and gazed curiously 
 at their afflicted visitor. She put his age down at 
 twenty-five, and she could not help thinking it a pity 
 that so good-looking a young man should have lost 
 his wits. 
 
 "Bade Prudence good-bye at the docks," continued 
 Mr. Catesby, dreamily. "You drew me behind a pile 
 of luggage, Prudence, and put your head on my 
 shoulder. I have thought of it ever since." 
 
 155
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 Miss Truefitt did not deny it, but she bit her lips, 
 and shot a sharp glance at him. She began to think 
 that her pity was uncalled-for. 
 
 " I'm just going as far as the corner.** 
 
 "Tell me all that's happened since I've been 
 away," said Mr. Catesby. 
 
 Mrs. Truefitt turned to her daughter and whis- 
 156
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 pered. It might have been merely the effect of a 
 guilty conscience, but the visitor thought that he 
 caught the word "policeman." 
 
 "I'm just going as far as the corner," said Mrs. 
 Truefitt, rising, and crossing hastily to the door. 
 
 The young man nodded affectionately and sat in 
 doubtful consideration as the front door closed be- 
 hind her. "Where is mother going?" he asked, in a 
 voice which betrayed a little pardonable anxiety. 
 
 "Not far, I hope," said Prudence. 
 
 "I really think," said Mr. Catesby, rising "I 
 really think that I had better go after her. At her 
 age " 
 
 He walked into the small passage and put his hand 
 on the latch. Prudence, now quite certain of his san- 
 ity, felt sorely reluctant to let such impudence go un- 
 punished. 
 
 "Are you going?" she inquired. 
 
 "I think I'd better," said Mr. Catesby, gravely. 
 "Dear mother " 
 
 "You're afraid," said the girl, calmly. 
 
 Mr. Catesby coloured and his buoyancy failed him. 
 He felt a little bit cheap. 
 
 "You are brave enough with two women," con- 
 tinued the girl, disdainfully; "but you had better ga 
 if you're afraid." 
 
 Mr. Catesby regarded the temptress uneasily, 
 "Would you like me to stay?" he asked. 
 
 157
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 "I ?" said Miss Truefitt, tossing her head. "No, 
 I don't want you. Besides, you're frightened." 
 
 Mr. Catesby turned, and with a firm step made his 
 way back to the room; Prudence, with a half-smile, 
 took a chair near the door and regarded her prisoner 
 with unholy triumph. 
 
 "I shouldn't like to be in your shoes," she said, 
 agreeably; "mother has gone for a policeman." 
 
 "Bless her," said Mr. Catesby, fervently. "What 
 had we better say to him when he comes?" 
 
 "You'll be locked up," said Prudence; "and it will 
 serve you right for your bad behaviour." 
 
 Mr. Catesby sighed. "It's the heart," he said, 
 gravely. "I'm not to blame, really. I saw you 
 standing in the window, and I could see at once that 
 you were beautiful, and good, and kind." 
 
 "I never heard of such impudence," continued 
 Miss Truefitt. 
 
 "I surprised myself," admitted Mr. Catesby. "In 
 the usual way I am very quiet and well-behaved, not 
 to say shy." 
 
 Miss Truefitt looked at him scornfully. "I think 
 that you had better stop your nonsense and go," she 
 remarked. 
 
 "Don't you want me to be punished?" inquired the 
 other, in a soft voice. 
 
 "I think that you had better go while you can," 
 said the girl, and at that moment there was a heavy 
 
 158
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 knock at the front-door. Mr. Catesby, despite his 
 assurance, changed colour; the girl eyed him in per- 
 plexity. Then she opened the small folding-doors 
 at the back of the room. 
 
 "You're only stupid," she whispered. "Quick! 
 Go in there. I'll say you've gone. Keep quiet, and 
 I'll let you out by-and-by." 
 
 She pushed him in and closed the doors. From his 
 hiding-place he heard an animated conversation at the 
 street-door and minute particulars as to the time 
 which had elapsed since his departure and the direc- 
 tion he had taken. 
 
 "I never heard such impudence," said Mrs. True- 
 fitt, going into the front-room and sinking into a 
 chair after the constable had taken his departure. 
 "I don't believe he was mad." 
 
 "Only a little weak in the head, I think," said Pru- 
 dence, in a clear voice. "He was very frightened 
 after you had gone; I don't think he will trouble us 
 again." 
 
 "He'd better not," said Mrs. Truefitt, sharply. 
 "I never heard of such a thing never." 
 
 She continued to grumble, while Prudence, in a 
 low voice, endeavoured to soothe her. Her efforts 
 were evidently successful, as the prisoner was, after 
 a time, surprised to hear the older woman laugh 
 at first gently, and then with so much enjoyment that 
 her daughter was at some pains to restrain her. He
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 sat in patience until evening deepened into night, and 
 a line of light beneath the folding-doors announced 
 the lighting of the lamp in the front-room. By a 
 pleasant clatter of crockery he became aware that 
 they were at supper, and he pricked up his ears as 
 Prudence made another reference to him. 
 
 "If he comes to-morrow night while you are out 
 I sha'n't open the door," she said. "You'll be back 
 by nine, I suppose." 
 
 Mrs. Truefitt assented. 
 
 "And you won't be leaving before seven," con- 
 tinued Prudence. "I shall be all right." 
 
 Mr. Catesby's face glowed and his eyes grew ten- 
 der; Prudence was as clever as she was beautiful. 
 The delicacy with which she had intimated the fact 
 of the unconscious Mrs. Truefitt's absence on the fol- 
 lowing evening was beyond all praise. The only de- 
 pressing thought was that such resourcefulness sa- 
 voured of practice. 
 
 He sat in the darkness for so long that even the 
 proximity of Prudence was not sufficient amends for 
 the monotony of it, and it was not until past ten 
 o'clock that the folding-doors were opened and he 
 stood blinking at the girl in the glare of the lamp. 
 
 "Quick!" she whispered. 
 
 Mr. Catesby stepped into the lighted room. 
 
 "The front-door is open," whispered Prudence. 
 "Make haste. I'll close it." 
 
 160
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 She followed him to the door; he made an ineffec- 
 tual attempt to seize her hand, and the next moment 
 was pushed gently outside and the door closed behind 
 him. He stood a moment gazing at the house, and 
 then hastened back to his ship. 
 
 " I'll go and put on a clean collar." 
 
 "Seven to-morrow," he murmured; "seven to-mor- 
 row. After all, there's nothing pays in this world 
 like cheek nothing." 
 
 He slept soundly that night, though the things that 
 the second-engineer said to him about wasting a hard- 
 working man's evening would have lain heavy on the 
 
 161
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 conscience of a more scrupulous man. The only 
 thing that troubled him was the manifest intention of 
 his friend not to let him slip through his fingers on 
 the following evening. At last, in sheer despair at 
 his inability to shake him off, he had to tell him that 
 he had an appointment with a lady. 
 
 "Well, I'll come, too," said the other, glowering at 
 him. "It's very like she'll have a friend with her; 
 they generally do." 
 
 "I'll run round and tell her," said Catesby. "I'd 
 have arranged it before, only I thought you didn't 
 care about that sort of thing." 
 
 "Female society is softening," said the second- 
 engineer. "I'll go and put on a clean collar." 
 
 Catesby watched him into his cabin and then, 
 though it still wanted an hour to seven, hastily quitted 
 the ship and secreted himself in the private bar of the 
 Beehive. 
 
 He waited there until a quarter past seven, and 
 then, adjusting his tie for about the tenth time that 
 evening in the glass behind the bar, sallied out in the 
 direction of No. 5. 
 
 He knocked lightly, and waited. There was no 
 response, and he knocked again. When the fourth 
 knock brought no response, his heart sank within 
 him and he indulged in vain speculations as to the 
 reasons for this unexpected hitch in the programme. 
 He knocked again, and then the door opened sud- 
 
 162
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 denly and Prudence, with a little cry of surprise and 
 dismay, backed into the passage. 
 
 "You !" she said, regarding him with large eyes. 
 
 Mr. Catesby bowed tenderly, and passing in closed 
 the door behind him. 
 
 "I wanted to thank you for your kindness last 
 night," he said, humbly. 
 
 "Very well," said Prudence; "good-bye." 
 
 Mr. Catesby smiled. "It'll take me a long time 
 to thank you as I ought to thank you," he murmured. 
 "And then I want to apologise; that'll take time, 
 too." 
 
 "You had better go," said Prudence, severely; 
 "kindness is thrown away upon you. I ought to have 
 let you be punished." 
 
 "You are too good and kind," said the other, 
 drifting by easy stages into the parlour. 
 
 Miss Truefitt made no reply, but following him 
 into the room seated herself in an easy-chair and sat 
 coldly watchful. 
 
 "How do you know what I am?" she inquired. 
 
 "Your face tells me," said the infatuated Richard. 
 "I hope you will forgive me for my rudeness last 
 night. It was all done on the spur of the moment." 
 
 "I am glad you are sorry," said the girl, softening. 
 
 "All the same, if I hadn't done it," pursued Mr. 
 Catesby, "I shouldn't be sitting here talking to you 
 now." 
 
 163
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 Miss Truefitt raised her eyes to his, and then low- 
 ered them modestly to the ground. "That is true," 
 she said, quietly. 
 
 "And I would sooner be sitting here than any- 
 where," pursued Catesby. "That is," he added, 
 rising, and taking a chair by her side, "except 
 here." 
 
 Miss Truefitt appeared to tremble, and made as 
 though to rise. Then she sat still and took a gentle 
 peep at Mr. Catesby from the corner of her eye. 
 
 "I hope that you are not sorry that I am here?" 
 said that gentleman. 
 
 Miss Truefitt hesitated. "No," she said, at last 
 
 "Are you are you glad?" asked the modest Rich- 
 ard. 
 
 Miss Truefitt averted her eyes altogether. "Yes," 
 she said, faintly. 
 
 A strange feeling of solemnity came over the tri- 
 umphant Richard. He took the hand nearest to him 
 and pressed it gently. 
 
 "I I can hardly believe in my good luck," he 
 murmured. 
 
 "Good luck?" said Prudence, innocently. 
 
 "Isn't it good luck to hear you say that you are 
 glad I'm here?" said Catesby. 
 
 "You're the best judge of that," said the girl, with- 
 drawing her hand. "It doesn't seem to me much to 
 be pleased about." 
 
 164
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 Mr. Catesby eyed her in perplexity, and was about 
 to address another tender remark to her when she 
 was overcome by a slight fit of coughing. At the 
 same moment he started at the sound of a shuffling 
 footstep in the passage. Somebody tapped at the 
 door. 
 
 "Yes?" said Prudence. 
 
 "Can't find the knife-powder, miss," said a harsh 
 voice. The door was pushed open and disclosed a 
 tall, bony woman of about forty. Her red arms were 
 bare to the elbow, and she betrayed several evidences 
 of a long and arduous day's charing. 
 
 "It's in the cupboard," said Prudence. "Why, 
 what's the matter, Mrs. Porter?" 
 
 Mrs. Porter made no reply. Her mouth was wide 
 open and she was gazing with starting eyeballs at Mr. 
 Catesby. 
 
 "Joe!" she said, in a hoarse whisper. "Joe!" 
 
 Mr. Catesby gazed at her in chilling silence. Miss 
 Truefitt, with an air of great surprise, glanced from 
 one to the other. 
 
 "Jo<f/"said Mrs. Porter again. "Ain't you goin' 
 to speak to me?" 
 
 Mr. Catesby continued to gaze at her in speechless 
 astonishment. She skipped clumsily round the table 
 and stood before him with her hands clasped. 
 
 "Where 'ave you been all this long time?" she de- 
 manded, in a higher key. 
 
 165
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 "You you've made a mistake," said the bewil- 
 dered Richard. 
 
 "Mistake?" wailed Mrs. Porter. "Mistake! Oh, 
 where's your 'art?" 
 
 Before he could get out of her way she flung her 
 arms round the horrified young man's neck and em- 
 braced him copiously. Over her bony left shoulder 
 the frantic Richard met the ecstatic gaze of Miss 
 Truefitt, and, in a flash, he realised the trap into 
 which he had fallen. 
 
 11 Mrs. Porter!" *aid Prudence. 
 
 "It's my 'usband, miss," said the Amazon, reluc- 
 tantly releasing the flushed and dishevelled Richard; 
 "'e left me and my five eighteen months ago. For 
 eighteen months I 'aven't 'ad a sight of 'is blessed 
 face." 
 
 She lifted the hem of her apron to her face and 
 broke into discordant weeping. 
 
 "Don't cry," said Prudence, softly; "I'm sure he 
 isn't worth it." 
 
 Mr. Catesby looked at her wanly. He was beyond 
 further astonishment, and when Mrs. Truefitt entered 
 the room with a laudable attempt to twist her features 
 into an expression of surprise, he scarcely noticed her. 
 
 "It's my Joe," said Mrs. Porter, simply. 
 
 "Good gracious!" said Mrs. Truefitt. "Well, 
 you've got him now; take care he doesn't run away 
 from you again." 
 
 166
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 "I'll look after that, ma'am," said Mrs. Porter, 
 with a glare at the startled Richard. 
 
 "She's very forgiving," said Prudence. "She 
 kissed him just now." 
 
 " I'll look after that, ma'am." 
 
 "Did she, though," said the admiring Mrs. True- 
 fitt. "I wish I'd been here." 
 
 "I can do it agin, ma'am," said the obliging Mrs. 
 Porter. 
 
 167
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 "If you come near me again " said the breath- 
 less Richard, stepping back a pace. 
 
 "I shouldn't force his love," said Mrs. Truefitt; 
 "it'll come back in time, I dare say." 
 
 "I'm sure he's affectionate," said Prudence. 
 
 Mr. Catesby eyed his tormentors in silence; the 
 faces of Prudence and her mother betokened much 
 innocent enjoyment, but the austerity of Mrs. Por- 
 ter's visage was unrelaxed. 
 
 "Better let bygones be bygones," said Mrs. True- 
 fitt; "he'll be sorry by-and-by for all the trouble he 
 has caused." 
 
 "He'll be ashamed of himself if you give him 
 time," added Prudence. 
 
 Mr. Catesby had heard enough ; he took up his hat 
 and crossed to the door. 
 
 "Take care he doesn't run away from you again," 
 repeated Mrs. Truefitt. 
 
 "I'll see to that, ma'am," said Mrs. Porter, taking 
 him by the arm. "Come along, Joe." 
 
 Mr. Catesby attempted to shake her off, but in 
 vain, and he ground his teeth as he realised the ab- 
 surdity of his position. A man he could have dealt 
 with, but Mrs. Porter was invulnerable. Sooner than 
 walk down the road with her he preferred the sallies 
 of the parlour. He walked back to his old position 
 by the fireplace, and stood gazing moodily at the 
 floor. 
 
 168
 
 Establishing Relations 
 
 Mrs. Truefitt tired of the sport at last. She wanted 
 her supper, and with a significant glance at her 
 daughter she beckoned the redoubtable and reluctant 
 Mrs. Porter from the room. Catesby heard the 
 kitchen-door close behind them, but he made no move. 
 Prudence stood gazing at him in silence. 
 
 "If you want to go," she said, at last, "now is your 
 chance." 
 
 Catesby followed her into the passage without a 
 word, and waited quietly while she opened the door. 
 Still silent, he put on his hat and passed out into the 
 darkening street. He turned after a short distance 
 for a last look at the house and, with a sudden sense 
 of elation, saw that she was standing on the step. He 
 hesitated, and then walked slowly back. 
 
 "Yes?" said Prudence. 
 
 "I should like to tell your mother that I am sorry," 
 he said, in a low voice. 
 
 "It is getting late," said the girl, softly; "but, if 
 you really wish to tell her Mrs. Porter will not be 
 here to-morrow night." 
 
 She stepped back into the house and the door 
 closed behind her. 
 
 169
 
 THE CHANGING NUMBERS
 
 THE CHANGING NUMBERS 
 
 THE tall clock in the corner of the small liv- 
 ing-room had just struck eight as Mr. 
 Samuel Gunnill came stealthily down the 
 winding staircase and, opening the door at the foot, 
 stepped with an appearance of great care and humil- 
 ity into the room. He noticed with some anxiety 
 that his daughter Selina was apparently engrossed in 
 her task of attending to the plants in the window, and 
 that no preparations whatever had been made for 
 breakfast. 
 
 Miss Gunnill's horticultural duties seemed inter- 
 minable. She snipped off dead leaves with painstak- 
 ing precision, and administered water with the jealous 
 care of a druggist compounding a prescription; then, 
 with her back still toward him, she gave vent to a 
 sigh far too intense in its nature to have reference to 
 such trivialities as plants. She repeated it twice, and 
 at the second time Mr. Gunnill, almost without his 
 knowledge, uttered a deprecatory cough. ' 
 
 His daughter turned with alarming swiftness and, 
 holding herself very upright, favoured him with a 
 glance in which indignation and surprise were very 
 fairly mingled. 
 
 X73
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 "That white one that one at the end," said Mr. 
 Gunnill, with an appearance of concentrated inter- 
 est, "that's my fav'rite." 
 
 Miss Gunnill put her hands together, and a look 
 of infinite long-suffering came upon her face, but she 
 made no reply. 
 
 "Always has been," continued Mr. Gunnill, 
 feverishly, "from a from a cutting." 
 
 "Bailed out," said Miss Gunnill, in a deep and 
 thrilling voice; "bailed out at one o'clock in the 
 morning, brought home singing loud enough for 
 half-a-dozen, and then talking about flowers!" 
 
 Mr. Gunnill coughed again. 
 
 "I was dreaming," pursued Miss Gunnill, plain- 
 tively, "sleeping peacefully, when I was awoke by a 
 horrible noise." 
 
 "That couldn't ha' been me," protested her father. 
 "I was only a bit cheerful. It was Benjamin Ely's 
 birthday yesterday, and after we left the Lion they 
 started singing, and I just hummed to keep 'em 
 company. I wasn't singing, mind you, only hum- 
 ming when up comes that interfering Cooper and 
 takes me off." 
 
 Miss Gunnill shivered, and with her pretty cheek 
 in her hand sat by the window the very picture of 
 despondency. "Why didn't he take the others?" 
 she inquired. 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Gunnill, with great emphasis, 
 
 174
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 "that's what a lot more of us would like to know. 
 P'r'aps if you'd been more polite to Mrs. Cooper, 
 instead o' putting it about that she looked young 
 enough to be his mother, it wouldn't have happened." 
 
 His daughter shook her head impatiently and, on 
 Mr. Gunnill making an allusion to breakfast, ex- 
 pressed surprise that he had got the heart to eat any- 
 thing. Mr. Gunnill pressing the point, however, she 
 arose and began to set the table, the undue care with 
 which she smoothed out the creases of the table- 
 cloth, and the mathematical exactness with which she 
 placed the various articles, all being so many extra 
 smarts in his wound. When she finally placed on 
 the table enough food for a dozen people he began 
 to show signs of a little spirit. 
 
 "Ain't you going to have any?" he demanded, as 
 Miss Gunnill resumed her seat by the window. 
 
 "Me?" said the girl, with a shudder. "Break- 
 fast? The disgrace is breakfast enough for me. 
 I couldn't eat a morsel ; it would choke me." 
 
 Mr. Gunnill eyed her over the rim of his teacup. 
 "I come down an hour ago," he said, casually, as he 
 helped himself to some bacon. 
 
 Miss Gunnill started despite herself. "Oh!" she 
 said, listlessly. 
 
 "And I see you making a very good breakfast all 
 by yourself in the kitchen," continued her father, in 
 a voice not free from the taint of triumph. 
 
 175
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 The discomfited Selina rose and stood regarding 
 him; Mr. Gunnill, after a vain attempt to meet her 
 gaze, busied himself with his meal. 
 
 "The idea of watching every mouthful I eat!" 
 said Miss Gunnill, tragically; "the idea of complain- 
 ing because I have some breakfast! I'd never 
 have believed it of you, never! It's shameful! 
 Fancy grudging your own daughter the food she 
 eats !" 
 
 Mr. Gunnill eyed her in dismay. In his confusion 
 he had overestimated the capacity of his mouth, and 
 he now strove in vain to reply to this shameful per- 
 version of his meaning. His daughter stood watch- 
 ing him with grief in one eye and calculation in the 
 other, and, just as he had put himself into a position 
 to exercise his rights of free speech, gave a pathetic 
 sniff and walked out of the room. 
 
 She stayed indoors all day, but the necessity of 
 establishing his innocence took Mr. Gunnill out a 
 great deal. His neighbours, in the hope of further 
 excitement, warmly pressed him to go to prison 
 rather than pay a fine, and instanced the example of 
 an officer in the Salvation Army, who, in very differ- 
 ent circumstances, had elected to take that course. 
 Mr. Gunnill assured them that only his known antip- 
 athy to the airmy, and the fear of being regarded as 
 one of its followers, prevented him from doing so. 
 He paid instead a fine of ten shillings, and after 
 
 176
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 listening to a sermon, in which his silver hairs served 
 as the text, was permitted to depart. 
 
 His feeling against Police-constable Cooper in- 
 
 The constable watched him with the air of a proprietor." 
 
 creased with the passing of the days. The constable 
 watched him with the air of a proprietor, and Mrs. 
 Cooper's remark that "her husband had had his eye 
 
 177
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 upon him for a long time, and that he had better 
 be careful for the future," was faithfully retailed to 
 him within half an hour of its utterance. Convivial 
 friends counted his cups for him; teetotal friends 
 more than hinted that Cooper was in the employ of 
 his good angel. 
 
 Miss Gunnill's two principal admirers had an ar- 
 duous task to perform. They had to attribute Mr. 
 Gunnill's disaster to the vindictiveness of Cooper, 
 and at the same time to agree with his daughter that 
 it served him right. Between father and daughter 
 they had a difficult time, Mr. Gunnill's sensitiveness 
 having been much heightened by his troubles. 
 
 "Cooper ought not to have taken you," said Her- 
 bert Sims for the fiftieth time. 
 
 "He must ha' seen you like it dozens o' times be- 
 fore," said Ted Drill, who, in his determination not 
 to be outdone by Mr. Sims, was not displaying his 
 usual judgment. "Why didn't he take you then? 
 That's what you ought to have asked the magis- 
 trate." 
 
 "I don't understand you," said Mr. Gunnill, with 
 an air of cold dignity. 
 
 "Why," said Mr. Drill, "what I mean is look 
 at that night, for instance, when " 
 
 He broke off suddenly, even his enthusiasm not 
 being proof against the extraordinary contortions of 
 visage in which Mr. Gunnill was indulging. 
 
 178
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 "When?" prompted Selina and Mr. Sims together. 
 Mr. Gunnill, after first daring him with his eye, fol- 
 lowed suit. 
 
 "That night at the Crown," said Mr. Drill, awk- 
 wardly. "You know; when you thought that Joe 
 Baggs was the landlord. You tell 'em; you tell it 
 best. I've roared over it." 
 
 "I don't know what you're driving at," said the 
 harassed Mr. Gunnill, bitterly. 
 
 "H'm!" said Mr. Drill, with a weak laugh. "I've 
 been mixing you up with somebody else." 
 
 Mr. Gunnill, obviously relieved, said that he ought 
 to be more careful, and pointed out, with some feel- 
 ing, that a lot of mischief was caused that way. 
 
 "Cooper wants a lesson, that's what he wants," 
 said Mr. Sims, valiantly. "He'll get his head broke 
 one of these days." 
 
 Mr. Gunnill acquiesced. " I remember when I 
 was on the Peewit" he said, musingly, "one time 
 when we were lying at Cardiff, there was a policeman 
 there run one of our chaps in, and two nights after- 
 ward another of our chaps pushed the policeman 
 down in the mud and ran off with his staff and his 
 helmet." 
 
 Miss Gunnill's eyes glistened. "What hap- 
 pened?" she inquired. 
 
 "He had to leave the force," replied her father; 
 "he couldn't stand the disgrace of it. The chap that 
 
 179
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 pushed him over was quite a little chap, too. About 
 the size of Herbert here." 
 
 Mr. Sims started. 
 
 "Very much like him in face, too," pursued Mr. 
 Gunnill; "daring chap he was." 
 
 Miss Gunnill sighed. "I wish he lived in Little- 
 stow," she said, slowly. "I'd give anything to take 
 that horrid Mrs. Cooper down a bit. Cooper would 
 be the laughing-stock of the town." 
 
 Messrs. Sims and Drill looked unhappy. It was 
 hard to have to affect an attitude of indifference in 
 the face of Miss Gunnill's lawless yearnings; to stand 
 before her as respectable and law-abiding cravens. 
 Her eyes, large and sorrowful, dwelt on them both. 
 
 "If I I only get a chance at Cooper!" murmured 
 Mr. Sims, vaguely. 
 
 To his surprise, Mr. Gunnill started up from his 
 chair and, gripping his hand, shook it fervently. He 
 looked round, and Selina was regarding him with a 
 glance so tender that he lost his head completely. 
 Before he had recovered he had pledged himself to 
 lay the helmet and truncheon of the redoubtable Mr. 
 Cooper at the feet of Miss Gunnill; exact date not 
 specified. 
 
 "Of course, I shall have to wait my opportunity," 
 he said, at last. 
 
 "You wait as long as you like, my boy," said the 
 thoughtless Mr. Gunnill. 
 
 180
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 Mr. Sims thanked him. 
 
 "Wait till Cooper's an old man," urged Mr. Drill. 
 
 Miss Gunnill, secretly disappointed at the lack of 
 boldness and devotion on the part of the latter gentle- 
 man, eyed his stalwart frame indignantly and ac- 
 cused him of trying to make Mr. Sims as timid as 
 himself. She turned to the valiant Sims and made 
 herself so agreeable to that daring blade that Mr. 
 Drill, a prey to violent jealousy, bade the company 
 a curt good-night and withdrew. 
 
 He stayed away for nearly a week, and then one 
 evening as he approached the house, carrying a 
 carpet-bag, he saw the door just opening to admit 
 the fortunate Herbert. He quickened his pace and 
 arrived just in time to follow him in. Mr. Sims, who 
 bore under his arm a brown-paper parcel, seemed 
 somewhat embarrassed at seeing him, and after a 
 brief greeting walked into the room, and with a 
 triumphant glance at Mr. Gunnill and Selina placed 
 his burden on the table. 
 
 "You you ain't got it?" said Mr. Gunnill, lean- 
 ing forward. 
 
 "How foolish of you to run such a risk!" said 
 Selina. 
 
 "I brought it for Miss Gunnill," said the young 
 man, simply. He unfastened the parcel, and to the 
 astonishment of all present revealed a policeman's 
 helmet and a short boxwood truncheon. 
 
 181
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 "You you're a wonder," said the gloating Mr. 
 Gunnill. "Look at it, Ted !" 
 
 Mr. Drill was looking at it; it may be doubted 
 whether the head of Mr. Cooper itself could have 
 caused him more astonishment. Then his eyes sought 
 
 " He saw the door just opening to admit the fortunate Herbert." 
 
 those of Mr. Sims, but that gentleman was gazing 
 tenderly at the gratified but shocked Selina. 
 
 "How ever did you do it?" inquired Mr. Gun- 
 nill. 
 
 "Came behind him and threw him down," said 
 Mr. Sims, nonchalantly. "He was that scared I be- 
 
 182
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 lieve I could have taken his boots as well if I'd 
 wanted them." 
 
 Mr. Gunnill patted him on the back. "I fancy I 
 can see him running bare-headed through the town 
 calling for help," he said, smiling. 
 
 Mr. Sims shook his head. "Like as not it'll be 
 kept quiet for the credit of the force," he said, 
 slowly, "unless, of course, they discover who did it." 
 
 A slight shade fell on the good-humoured 
 countenance of Mr. Gunnill, but it was chased away 
 almost immediately by Sims reminding him of the 
 chaff of Cooper's brother-constables. 
 
 "And you might take the others away," said Mr. 
 Gunnill, brightening; "you might keep on doing it." 
 
 Mr. Sims said doubtfully that he might, but 
 pointed out that Cooper would probably be on his 
 guard for the future. 
 
 "Yes, you've done your share," said Miss Gun- 
 nill, with a half-glance at Mr. Drill, who was still 
 gazing in a bewildered fashion at the trophies. "You 
 can come into the kitchen and help me draw some 
 beer if you like." 
 
 Mr. Sims followed her joyfully, and reaching 
 down a jug for her watched her tenderly as she drew 
 the beer. All women love valour, but Miss Gunnill, 
 gazing sadly at the slight figure of Mr. Sims, could 
 not help wishing that Mr. Drill possessed a little of 
 his spirit. 
 
 183
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 She had just finished her task when a tremendous 
 bumping noise was heard in the living-room, and 
 the plates on the dresser were nearly shaken off their 
 shelves. 
 
 " What's that? " she cried. 
 
 " Mr. Sims watched her tenderly as she drew the beer." 
 
 They ran to the room and stood aghast in the 
 doorway at the spectacle of Mr. Gunnill, with his 
 clenched fists held tightly by his side, bounding into 
 the air with all the grace of a trained acrobat, while 
 Mr. Drill encouraged him from an easy-chair. Mr. 
 
 184
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 Gunnill smiled broadly as he met their astonished 
 gaze, and with a final bound kicked something along 
 the floor and subsided into his seat panting. 
 
 Mr. Sims, suddenly enlightened, uttered a cry of 
 dismay and, darting under the table, picked up what 
 had once been a policeman's helmet. Then he 
 snatched a partially consumed truncheon from the 
 fire, and stood white and trembling before the aston- 
 ished Mr. Gunnill. 
 
 "What's the matter?" inquired the latter. 
 
 "You you've spoilt 'em," gasped Mr. Sims. 
 
 "What of it?" said Mr. Gunnill, staring. 
 
 "I was going to take 'em away," stammered Mr. 
 Sims. 
 
 "Well, they'll be easier to carry now," said Mr. 
 Drill, simply. 
 
 Mr. Sims glanced at him sharply, and then, to the 
 extreme astonishment of Mr. Gunnill, snatched up 
 the relics and, wrapping them up in the paper, dashed 
 out of the house. Mr. Gunnill turned a look of blank 
 inquiry upon Mr. Drill. 
 
 "It wasn't Cooper's number on the helmet," said 
 that gentleman. 
 
 "Eh?" shouted Mr. Gunnill. 
 
 "How do you know?" inquired Selina. 
 
 "I just happened to notice," replied Mr. Drill. 
 
 He reached down as though to take up the carpet- 
 bag which he had placed by the side of his chair, and
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 then, apparently thinking better of it, leaned back 
 in his seat and eyed Mr. Gunnill. 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me," said the latter, "that 
 he's been and upset the wrong man?" 
 
 Mr. Drill shook his head. "That's the puzzle," 
 he said, softly. 
 
 He smiled over at Miss Gunnill, but that young 
 lady, who found him somewhat mysterious, looked 
 away and frowned. Her father sat and exhausted 
 conjecture, his final conclusion being that Mr. Sims 
 had attacked the first policeman that had come in his 
 way and was now suffering the agonies of remorse. 
 
 He raised his head sharply at the sound of hurried 
 footsteps outside. There was a smart rap at the 
 street door, then the handle was turned, and the next 
 moment, to the dismay of all present, the red and 
 angry face of one of Mr. Cooper's brother-constables 
 was thrust into the room. 
 
 Mr. Gunnill gazed at it in helpless fascination. 
 The body of the constable garbed in plain clothes fol- 
 lowed the face and, standing before him in a men- 
 acing fashion, held out a broken helmet and staff. 
 
 "Have you seen these afore?" he inquired, in a 
 terrible voice. 
 
 "No," said Mr. Gunnill, with an attempt at sur- 
 prise. "What are they?" 
 
 "I'll tell you what they are," said Police-consta- 
 ble Jenkins, ferociously; "they're my helmet and 
 
 186
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 truncheon. You've been spoiling His Majesty's 
 property, and you'll be locked up." 
 
 "Tours?" said the astonished Mr. Gunnill. 
 
 "I lent 'em to young Sims, just for a joke," said 
 the constable. "I felt all along I was doing a silly 
 thing." 
 
 "It's no joke," said Mr. Gunnill, severely. "I'll 
 tell young Herbert what I think of him trying to de- 
 ceive me like that." 
 
 "Never mind about deceiving," interrupted the 
 constable. "What are you going to do about it?" 
 
 "What are you?" inquired Mr. Gunnill, hardily. 
 "It seems to me it's between you and him; you'll very 
 likely be dismissed from the force, and all through 
 trying to deceive. I wash my hands of it." 
 
 "You'd no business to lend it," said Drill, inter- 
 rupting the constable's indignant retort; "especially 
 for Sims to pretend that he had stolen it from 
 Cooper. It's a roundabout sort of thing, but you 
 can't tell of Mr. Gunnill without getting into trouble 
 yourself." 
 
 "I shall have to put up with that," said the con- 
 stable, desperately; "it's got to be explained. It's 
 my day-helmet, too, and the night one's as shabby 
 as can be. Twenty years in the force and never a 
 mark against my name till now." 
 
 "If you'd only keep quiet a bit instead of talking 
 so much," said Mr. Drill, who had been doing some 
 
 187
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 hard thinking, "I might be able to help you, 
 p'r'aps." 
 
 "How?" inquired the constable. 
 
 "Help him if you can, Ted," said Mr. Gunnill, 
 eagerly ; "we ought all to help others when we get a 
 chance." 
 
 Mr. Drill sat bolt upright and looked very wise. 
 
 He took the smashed helmet from the table and 
 examined it carefully. It was broken in at least half- 
 a-dozen places, and he laboured in vain to push it into 
 shape. He might as well have tried to make a silk 
 hat out of a concertina. The only thing that had 
 escaped injury was the metal plate with the number. 
 
 "Why don't you mend it?" he inquired, at last. 
 
 "Mend it?" shouted the incensed Mr. Jenkins. 
 "Why don't you?" 
 
 "I think I could," said Mr. Drill, slowly; "give 
 me half an hour in the kitchen and I'll try." 
 
 "Have as long as you like," said Mr. Gunnill. 
 
 "And I shall want some glue, and Miss Gunnill, 
 and some tin-tacks," said Drill. 
 
 "What do you want me for?" inquired Selina. 
 
 "To hold the things for me," replied Mr. Drill. 
 
 Miss Gunnill tossed her head, but after a little 
 demur consented; and Drill, ignoring the impatience 
 of the constable, picked up his bag and led the way 
 into the kitchen. Messrs. Gunnill and Jenkins, left 
 behind in the living-room, sought for some neutral 
 
 188
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 topic of discourse, but in vain; conversation would 
 revolve round hard labour and lost pensions. 
 
 From the kitchen came sounds of hammering, 
 
 " From the kitchen came sounds of hammering.** 
 189
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 then a loud "Ooh!" from Miss Gunnill, followed 
 by a burst of laughter and a clapping of hands. Mr. 
 Jenkins shifted in his seat and exchanged glances 
 with Mr. Gunnill. 
 
 "He's a clever fellow," said that gentleman, hope- 
 fully. "You should hear him imitate a canary; life- 
 like it is." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins was about to make a hasty and ob- 
 vious rejoinder, when the kitchen door opened and 
 Selina emerged, followed by Drill. The snarl which 
 the constable had prepared died away in a murmur 
 of astonishment as he took the helmet. It looked as 
 good as ever. 
 
 He turned it over and over in amaze, and looked 
 in vain for any signs of the disastrous cracks. It was 
 stiff and upright. He looked at the number: it was 
 his own. His eyes round with astonishment he tried 
 it on, and then his face relaxed. 
 
 "It don't fit as well as it did," he said. 
 
 "Well, upon my word, some people are never sat- 
 isfied," said the indignant Drill. "There isn't 
 another man in England could have done it better." 
 
 "I'm not grumbling," said the constable, hastily; 
 "it's a wonderful piece o' work. Wonderful! I 
 can't even see where it was broke. How on earth 
 did you do it?" 
 
 Drill shook his head. "It's a secret process," he 
 said, slowly. "I might want to go into the hat 
 
 190
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 trade some day, and I'm not going to give things 
 away." 
 
 "Quite right," said Mr. Jenkins. "Still well, it's 
 a marvel, that's what it is; a fair marvel. If you take 
 my advice you'll go in the hat trade to-morrow, my 
 lad." 
 
 "I'm not surprised," said Mr. Gunnill, whose face 
 as he spoke was a map of astonishment. "Not a 
 bit. I've seen him do more surprising things than 
 that. Have a go at the staff now, Teddy." 
 . "I'll see about it," said Mr. Drill, modestly. "I 
 can't do impossibilities. You leave it here, Mr. 
 Jenkins, and we'll talk about it later on." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins, still marvelling over his helmet, as- 
 sented, and, after another reference to the possibili- 
 ties in the hat trade to a man with a born gift for 
 repairs, wrapped his property in a piece of newspaper 
 and departed, whistling. 
 
 "Ted," said Mr. Gunnill, impressively, as he sank 
 into his chair with a sigh of relief. "How you done 
 it I don't know. It's a surprise even to me." 
 
 "He is very clever," said Selina, with a kind smile. 
 
 Mr. Drill turned pale, and then, somewhat em- 
 boldened by praise from such a quarter, dropped into 
 a chair by her side and began to talk in low tones. 
 The grateful Mr. Gunnill, more relieved than he 
 cared to confess, thoughtfully closed his eyes. 
 
 "I didn't think all along that you'd let Herbert 
 outdo you," said Selina. 
 
 IQI
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 "I want to outdo him" said Mr. Drill, in a voice 
 of much meaning. 
 
 Miss Gunnill cast down her eyes and Mr. Drill 
 had just plucked up sufficient courage to take her 
 hand when footsteps stopped at the house, the handle 
 of the door was turned, and, for the second time 
 that evening, the inflamed visage of Mr. Jenkins con- 
 fronted the company. 
 
 "Don't tell me it's a failure," said Mr. Gunnill, 
 starting from his chair. "You must have been hand- 
 ling it roughly. It was as good as new when you 
 took it away." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins waved him away and fixed his eyes 
 upon Drill. 
 
 "You think you're mighty clever, I dare say," he 
 said, grimly; "but I can put two and two together. 
 I've just heard of it." 
 
 "Heard of two and two?" said Drill, looking 
 puzzled. 
 
 "I don't want any of your nonsense," said Mr. 
 Jenkins. "I'm not on duty now, but I warn you 
 not to say anything that may be used against 
 you." 
 
 "I never do," said Mr. Drill, piously. 
 
 "Somebody threw a handful o' flour in poor 
 Cooper's face a couple of hours ago," said Mr. Jen- 
 kins, watching him closely, "and while he was getting 
 it out of his eyes they upset him and made off with 
 
 192
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 his helmet and truncheon. I just met Brown and he 
 says Cooper's been going on like a madman." 
 
 "By Jove ! it's a good job I mended your helmet 
 for you," said Mr. Drill, "or else they might have 
 suspected you." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins stared at him. "I know who did do 
 it," he said, significantly. 
 
 "Herbert Sims?" guessed Mr. Drill, in a stage 
 whisper. 
 
 "You'll be one o' the first to know," said Mr. Jen- 
 kins, darkly; "he'll be arrested to-morrow. Fancy 
 the impudence of it! It's shocking." 
 
 Mr. Drill whistled. "Well, don't let that little 
 affair o' yours with Sims be known," he said, quietly. 
 "Have that kept quiet if you can.' 1 ' 1 
 
 Mr. Jenkins started as though he had been stung. 
 In the joy of a case he had overlooked one or two 
 things. He turned and regarded the young man wist- 
 fully. 
 
 "Don't call on me as a witness, that's all," con- 
 tinued Mr. Drill. "I never was a mischief-maker, 
 and I shouldn't like to have to tell how you lent your 
 helmet to Sims so that he could pretend he had 
 knocked Cooper down and taken it from him." 
 
 "Wouldn't look at all well," said Mr. Gunnill, 
 nodding his head sagely. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins breathed hard and looked from one 
 to the other. It was plain that it was no good re- 
 
 193
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 minding them that he had not had a case for five 
 years. 
 
 "When I say that I know who did it," he said, 
 slowly, "I mean that I have my suspicions." 
 
 Don't call on me as a witness, that's all,* continued Mr. Drill." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mr. Drill, "that's a very different 
 thing." 
 
 "Nothing like the same," said Mr. Gunnill, pour- 
 ing the constable a glass of ale. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins drank it and smacked his lips feebly. 
 194
 
 The Changing Numbers 
 
 "Sims needn't know anything about that helmet 
 being repaired," he said at last. 
 
 "Certainly not," said everybody. 
 
 Mr. Jenkins sighed and turned to Drill. 
 
 "It's no good spoiling the ship for a ha'porth o* 
 tar," he said, with a faint suspicion of a wink. 
 
 "No," said Drill, looking puzzled. 
 
 "Anything that's worth doing at all is worth do- 
 ing well," continued the constable, "and while I'm 
 drinking another glass with Mr. Gunnill here, sup- 
 pose you go into the kitchen with that useful bag o* 
 yours and finish repairing my truncheon?" 
 
 195
 
 THE PERSECUTION OF 
 BOB PRETTY
 
 THE PERSECUTION OF 
 BOB PRETTY 
 
 THE old man sat on his accustomed bench out- 
 side the Cauliflower. A generous measure 
 of beer stood in a blue and white jug by 
 his elbow, and little wisps of smoke curled slowly 
 upward from the bowl of his churchwarden pipe. 
 The knapsacks of two young men lay where they 
 were flung on the table, and the owners, taking a 
 noon-tide rest, turned a polite, if bored, ear to the 
 reminiscences of grateful old age. 
 
 Poaching, said the old man, who had tried topics 
 ranging from early turnips to horseshoeing poach- 
 ing ain't wot it used to be in these 'ere parts. Noth- 
 ing is like it used to be, poaching nor anything else; 
 but that there man you might ha' noticed as went out 
 about ten minutes ago and called me "Old Truthful- 
 ness" as 'e passed is the worst one I know. Bob 
 Pretty 'is name is, and of all the sly, artful, deceiving 
 men that ever lived in Claybury 'e is the worst 
 never did a honest day's work in Ms life and never 
 wanted the price of a glass of ale. 
 
 Bob Pretty's worst time was just after old Squire 
 199
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 Brown died. The old squire couldn't afford to pre- 
 serve much, but by-and-by a gentleman with plenty o' 
 money, from London, named Rockett, took 'is place 
 and things began to look up. Pheasants was 'is 
 
 " Poaching," said the old man, ' ain't wot it used to be in these 'ere parts." 
 
 favourites, and 'e spent no end o' money rearing of 
 'em, but anything that could be shot at suited 'im, 
 too. 
 
 He started by sneering at the little game that 
 Squire Brown 'ad left, but all 'e could do didn't seem 
 
 200
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 to make much difference; things disappeared in a 
 most eggstrordinary way, and the keepers went pretty 
 near crazy, while the things the squire said about 
 Claybury and Claybury men was disgraceful. 
 
 Everybody knew as it was Bob Pretty and one or 
 two of 'is mates from other places, but they couldn't 
 prove it. They couldn't catch 'im nohow, and at last 
 the squire 'ad two keepers set off to watch 'im by night 
 and by day. 
 
 Bob Pretty wouldn't believe it; he said 'e couldn't. 
 And even when it was pointed out to 'im that Keeper 
 Lewis was follering of 'im he said that it just 'ap- 
 pened he was going the same way, that was all. And 
 sometimes 'e'd get up in the middle of the night and 
 go for a fifteen-mile walk 'cos 'e'd got the toothache, 
 and Mr. Lewis, who 'adn't got it, had to tag along 
 arter 'im till he was fit to drop. O' course, it was one 
 keeper the less to look arter the game, and by-and-by 
 the squire see that and took 'im off. 
 
 All the same they kept a pretty close watch on Bob, 
 and at last one arternoon they sprang out on 'im as 
 he was walking past Gray's farm, and asked him wot 
 it was he 'ad in his pockets. 
 
 "That's my bisness, Mr. Lewis," ses Bob Pretty. 
 
 Mr. Smith, the other keeper, passed 'is hands over 
 Bob's coat and felt something soft and bulgy. 
 
 "You take your 'ands off of me," ses Bob; "you 
 don't know 'ow partikler I am." 
 
 201
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 He jerked 'imself away, but they caught 'old of 
 'im agin, and Mr. Lewis put 'is hand in his inside 
 pocket and pulled out two brace o' partridges. 
 
 "You'll come along of us," he ses, catching 'im by 
 the arm. 
 
 "We've been looking for you a long time," ses 
 Keeper Smith, "and it's a pleasure for us to 'ave your 
 company." 
 
 Bob Pretty said 'e wouldn't go, but they forced 
 'im along and took 'im all the way to Cudford, four 
 miles off, so that Policeman White could lock 'im up 
 for the night. Mr. White was a'most as pleased as 
 the keepers, and 'e warned Bob solemn not to speak 
 becos all 'e said would be used agin 'im. 
 
 "Never mind about that," ses Bob Pretty. "I've 
 got a clear conscience, and talking can't 'urt me. I'm 
 very glad to see you, Mr. White; if these two clever, 
 experienced keepers hadn't brought me I should 'ave 
 looked you up myself. They've been and stole my 
 partridges." 
 
 Them as was standing round laughed, and even 
 Policeman White couldn't 'elp giving a little smile. 
 
 "There's nothing to laugh at," ses Bob, 'olding 
 his 'ead up. "It's a fine thing when a working man 
 a 'ardworking man can't take home a little game 
 for 'is family without being stopped and robbed." 
 
 "I s'pose they flew into your pocket?" ses Police- 
 man White. 
 
 202
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 u No, they didn't," ses Bob. "I'm not going to 
 tell any lies about it ; I put 'em there. The partridges 
 in my inside coat-pocket and the bill in my waist- 
 coat-pocket." 
 
 "The bill?" ses Keeper Lewis, staring at 'im. 
 
 "Yes, the bill," ses Bob Pretty, staring back at 'im; 
 "the bill from Mr. Keen, the poulterer, at Wick- 
 ham." 
 
 He fetched it out of 'is pocket and showed it to 
 Mr. White, and the keepers was like madmen a'most 
 'cos it was plain to see that Bob Pretty 'ad been and 
 bought them partridges just for to play a game on 
 'em. 
 
 "I was curious to know wot they tasted like," he 
 ses to the policeman. "Worst of it is, I don't s'pose 
 my pore wife'll know 'ow to cook 'em." 
 
 "You get off 'ome," ses Policeman White, staring 
 at 'im. 
 
 "But ain't I goin' to be locked up?" ses Bob. 
 "'Ave I been brought all this way just to 'ave a lit- 
 tle chat with a policeman I don't like." 
 
 "You go 'ome," ses Policeman White, handing the 
 partridges back to Mm. 
 
 "All right," ses Bob, "and I may 'ave to call you 
 to witness that these 'ere two men laid hold o' me and 
 tried to steal my partridges. I shall go up and see 
 my loryer about it.'' 
 
 He walked off 'ome with his 'ead up as high as 'c 
 203
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty- 
 could hold it, and the airs 'e used to give 'imself arter 
 this was terrible for to behold. He got 'is eldest boy 
 to write a long letter to the squire about it, saying 
 that Vd overlook it this time, but 'e couldn't promise 
 for the future. Wot with Bob Pretty on one side 
 and Squire Rockett on the other, them two keepers' 
 lives was 'ardly worth living. 
 
 Then the squire got a head-keeper named Cutts, 
 a man as was said to know more about the ways of 
 poachers than they did themselves. He was said to 
 'ave cleared out all the poachers for miles round the 
 place 'e came from, and pheasants could walk into 
 people's cottages and not be touched. 
 
 He was a sharp-looking man, tall and thin, with 
 screwed-up eyes and a little red beard. The second 
 day 'e came 'e was up here at this 'ere Cauliflower, 
 having a pint o' beer and looking round at the chaps 
 as he talked to the landlord. The odd thing was that 
 men who'd never taken a hare or a pheasant in their 
 lives could 'ardly meet 'is eye, while Bob Pretty stared 
 at 'im as if 'e was a wax-works. 
 
 "I 'ear you 'ad a little poaching in these parts afore 
 I came," ses Mr. Cutts to the landlord. 
 
 "I think I 'ave 'card something o' the kind," ses 
 the landlord, staring over his 'ead with a far-away 
 look in 'is eyes. 
 
 "You won't hear of much more," ses the keeper. 
 "I've invented a new way of catching the dirty ras- 
 
 204
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 cals; afore I came 'ere I caught all the poachers on 
 three estates. I clear 'em out just like a ferret clears 
 out rats." 
 
 "Sort o' man-trap?" ses the landlord. 
 
 "Ah, that's tellings," ses Mr. Cutts. 
 
 " *I shall 'ave 'em afore long," ses Mr. Cutts." 
 
 "Well, I 'ope you'll catch 'em here," ses Bob 
 Pretty; "there's far too many of 'em about for my 
 liking. Far too many." 
 
 "I shall 'ave 'em afore long." ses Mr. Cutts, nod- 
 ding his 'ead. 
 
 "Your good 'ealth," ses Bob Pretty, holding up 'is 
 205
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 mug. "We've been wanting a man like you for a 
 long time." 
 
 "I don't want any of your impidence, my man," 
 ses the keeper. "I've 'card about you, and nothing 
 good either. You be careful." 
 
 "I am careful," ses Bob, winking at the others. 
 "I 'ope you'll catch all them low poaching chaps; 
 they give the place a bad name, and I'm a'most afraid 
 to go out arter dark for fear of meeting 'em." 
 
 Peter Gubbins and Sam Jones began to laugh, but 
 Bob Pretty got angry with 'em and said he didn't see 
 there was anything to laugh at. He said that poach- 
 ing was a disgrace to their native place, and instead 
 o' laughing they ought to be thankful to Mr. Cutts 
 for coming to do away with it all. 
 
 "Any help I can give you shall be given cheerful," 
 he ses to the keeper. 
 
 "When I want your help I'll ask you for it," ses 
 Mr. Cutts. 
 
 "Thankee," ses Bob Pretty. "I on'y 'ope I sha'n't 
 get my face knocked about like yours 'as been, that's 
 all; 'cos my wife's so partikler." 
 
 "Wot d'ye mean?" ses Mr. Cutts, turning on him. 
 4 'My face ain't been knocked about." 
 
 "Oh, I beg your pardin," ses Bob; "I didn't know 
 it was natural." 
 
 Mr. Cutts went black in the face a'most and stared 
 at Bob Pretty as if 'e was going to eat 'im, and Bob 
 
 206
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 stared back, looking fust at the keeper's nose and 
 then at 'is eyes and mouth, and then at 'is nose 
 agin. 
 
 "You'll know me agin, I s'pose?" ses Mr. Cutts, 
 at last. 
 
 "Yes," ses Bob, smiling; "I should know you a 
 mile off on the darkest night." 
 
 "We shall see," ses Mr. Cutts, taking up 'is beer 
 and turning 'is back on him. "Those of us as live 
 the longest'll see the most." 
 
 "I'm glad I've lived long enough to see 'im," ses 
 Bob to Bill Chambers. "I feel more satisfied with 
 myself now." 
 
 Bill Chambers coughed, and Mr. Cutts, arter fin- 
 ishing 'is beer, took another look at Bob Pretty, and 
 went off boiling a'most. 
 
 The trouble he took to catch Bob Pretty arter that 
 you wouldn't believe, and all the time the game 
 seemed to be simply melting away, and Squire Rock- 
 ett was finding fault with 'im all day long. He was 
 worn to a shadder a'most with watching, and Bob 
 Pretty seemed to be more prosperous than ever. 
 
 Sometimes Mr. Cutts watched in the plantations, 
 and sometimes 'e hid 'imself near Bob's house, and 
 at last one night, when 'e was crouching behind the 
 fence of Frederick Scott's front garden, 'e saw Bob 
 Pretty come out of 'is house and, arter a careful look 
 round, walk up the road. He held 'is breath as Bob 
 
 207
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 passed 'im, and was just getting up to foller 'im when 
 Bob stopped and walked slowly back agin, sniffing. 
 
 "Wot a delicious smell o' roses !" he ses, out loud. 
 
 He stood in the middle o' the road nearly opposite 
 where the keeper was hiding, and sniffed so that you 
 could ha' 'card him the other end o' the village. 
 
 "It can't be roses," he ses, in a puzzled voice, "be- 
 cos there ain't no roses hereabouts, and, besides, it's 
 late for 'em. It must be Mr. Cutts, the clever new 
 keeper." 
 
 He put his 'ead over the fence and bid 'im good 
 evening, and said wot a fine night for a stroll it was, 
 and asked 'im whether 'e was waiting for Frederick 
 Scott's aunt. Mr. Cutts didn't answer 'im a word; 
 'e was pretty near bursting with passion. He got up 
 and shook 'is fist in Bob Pretty's face, and then 'e 
 went off stamping down the road as if 'e was going 
 mad. 
 
 And for a time Bob Pretty seemed to 'ave all the 
 luck on 'is side. Keeper Lewis got rheumatic fever, 
 which 'e put down to sitting about night arter night 
 in damp places watching for Bob, and, while 'e was 
 in the thick of it, with the doctor going every day, 
 Mr. Cutts fell in getting over a fence and broke 'is 
 leg. Then all the work fell on Keeper Smith, and 
 to 'ear Mm talk you'd think that rheumatic fever and 
 broken legs was better than anything else in the 
 world. He asked the squire for 'elp, but the squire 
 
 208
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 wouldn't give it to 'im, and he kept telling 'im wot 
 a feather in 'is cap it would be if 'e did wot the other 
 two couldn't do, and caught Bob Pretty. It was all 
 very well, but, as Smith said, wot 'e wanted was 
 feathers in 'is piller, instead of 'aving to snatch a bit 
 o' sleep in 'is chair or sitting down with his 'ead agin 
 a tree. When I tell you that 'e fell asleep in this 
 public-'ouse one night while the landlord was draw- 
 ing a pint o' beer he 'ad ordered, you'll know wot 'e 
 suffered. 
 
 O' course, all this suited Bob Pretty as well as 
 could be, and 'e was that good-tempered Vd got a 
 nice word for everybody, and when Bill Chambers 
 told 'im 'e was foolhardy 'e only laughed and said 'e 
 knew wot 'e was about. 
 
 But the very next night 'e had reason to remember 
 Bill Chambers's words. He was walking along 
 Farmer Hall's field the one next to the squire's 
 plantation and, so far from being nervous, 'e was 
 actually a-whistling. He'd got a sack over 'is shoul- 
 der, loaded as full as it could be, and 'e 'ad just 
 stopped to light 'is pipe when three men burst out 
 o' the plantation and ran toward 'im as 'ard as they 
 could run. 
 
 Bob Pretty just gave one look and then 'e dropped 
 'is pipe and set off like a hare. It was no good drop- 
 ping the sack, because Smith, the keeper, 'ad recog- 
 nised 'im and called 'im by name, so 'e just put 'is 
 
 209
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 teeth together and did the best he could, and there's 
 no doubt that if it 'adn't ha' been for the sack 'e 
 could 'ave got clear away. 
 
 As it was, 'e ran for pretty near a mile, and they 
 
 * Three men burst out o' the plantation.* 
 2IO
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 could 'ear 'im breathing like a pair o' bellows; but 
 at last 'e saw that the game was up. He just man- 
 aged to struggle as far as Farmer Pinnock's pond, 
 and then, waving the sack round his 'ead, 'e flung it 
 into the middle of it, and fell down gasping for 
 breath. 
 
 "Got you this time Bob Pretty," ses one o' 
 the men, as they came up. 
 
 "Wot Mr. Cutts?" ses Bob, with a start. 
 
 "That's me, my man," ses the keeper. 
 
 "Why I thought you was . Is that Mr. 
 
 Lewis? It can't be." 
 
 "That's me," ses Keeper Lewis. "We both got 
 well sudden-like, Bob Pretty, when we 'card you 
 was out. You ain't so sharp as you thought you 
 was." 
 
 Bob Pretty sat still, getting 'is breath back and 
 doing a bit o' thinking at the same time. 
 
 "You give me a start," he ses, at last. "I thought 
 you was both in bed, and, knowing 'ow hard worked 
 Mr. Smith 'as been, I just came round to 'elp 'im keep 
 watch like. I promised to 'elp you, Mr. Cutts, if you 
 remember." 
 
 "Wot was that you threw in the pond just now?" 
 ses Mr. Cutts. 
 
 "A sack," ses Bob Pretty ; " a sack I found in 
 Farmer Hall's field. It felt to me as though it 
 might 'ave birds in it, so I picked it up, and I was 
 
 211
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 just on my way to your 'ouse with it, Mr. Cutts, 
 when you started arter me." 
 
 "Ah!" ses the keeper, "and wot did you run for?" 
 
 Bob Pretty tried to laugh. "Becos I thought it 
 was the poachers arter me," he ses. "It seems ridiki- 
 lous, don't it?" 
 
 "Yes, it does," ses Lewis. 
 
 "I thought you'd know me a mile off," ses Mr. 
 Cutts. "I should ha' thought the smell o' roses would 
 ha' told you I was near." 
 
 Bob Pretty scratched 'is 'ead and looked at 'im out 
 of the corner of 'is eye, but he 'adn't got any answer. 
 Then 'e sat biting his finger-nails and thinking while 
 the keepers stood argyfying as to who should take 'is 
 clothes off and go into the pond arter the pheasants. 
 It was a very cold night and the pond was pretty 
 deep in places, and none of 'em seemed anxious. 
 
 "Make 'im go in for it," ses Lewis, looking at 
 Bob ;"'e chucked it in." 
 
 "On'y becos I thought you was poachers," ses Bob. 
 "I'm sorry to 'ave caused so much trouble." 
 
 "Well, you go in and get it out," ses Lewis, who 
 pretty well guessed who'd 'ave to do it if Bob didn't. 
 "It'll look better for you, too." 
 
 "I've got my defence all right," ses Bob Pretty. 
 "I ain't set a foot on the squire's preserves, and I 
 found this sack a 'undred yards away from it." 
 
 "Don't waste more time," ses Mr. Cutts to Lewi's. 
 212
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 "Off with your clothes and in with you. Anybody'd 
 think you was afraid of a little cold water." 
 
 "Whereabouts did 'e pitch it in?" ses Lewis. 
 
 Bob Pretty pointed with 'is finger exactly where 'c 
 
 " Bob Pretty pointed with 'is finger." 
 
 thought it was, but they wouldn't listen to 'im, and 
 then Lewis, arter twice saying wot a bad cold he'd 
 got, took 'is coat off very slow and careful. 
 
 "I wouldn't mind going in to oblige you," ses Bob 
 213
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 Pretty, "but the pond is so full o' them cold, slimy 
 efts; I don't fancy them crawling up agin me, and, 
 besides that, there's such a lot o' deep holes in it. 
 And wotever you do don't put your 'ead under; you 
 know 'ow foul that water is." 
 
 Keeper Lewis pretended not to listen to 'im. He 
 took off 'is clothes very slowly and then 'e put one 
 foot in and stood shivering, although Smith, who felt 
 the water with his 'and, said it was quite warm. 
 Then Lewis put the other foot in and began to walk 
 about careful, 'arf-way up to 'is knees. 
 
 "I can't find it," he ses, with 'is teeth chattering. 
 
 "You 'aven't looked," ses Mr. Cutts; "walk about 
 more ; you can't expect to find it all at once. Try the 
 middle." 
 
 Lewis tried the middle, and 'e stood there up to 'is 
 neck, feeling about with his foot and saying things 
 out loud about Bob Pretty, and other things under 
 'is breath about Mr. Cutts. 
 
 "Well, I'm going off 'ome," ses Bob Pretty, get- 
 ting up. "I'm too tender-'arted to stop and see a 
 man drownded." 
 
 "You stay 'ere," ses Mr. Cutts, catching 'old of 
 him. 
 
 "Wot for?" ses Bob; "you've got no right to keep 
 
 me 'ere." 
 
 "Catch 'old of 'im, Joe," ses Mr. Cutts, quick- 
 like. 
 
 214
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 Smith caught 'old of his other arm, and Lewis left 
 off trying to find the sack to watch the struggle. Bob 
 Pretty fought 'ard, and once or twice 'e nearly tum- 
 bled Mr. Cutts into the pond, but at last 'e gave in 
 and lay down panting and talking about 'is loryer. 
 Smith 'eld him down on the ground while Mr. Cutts 
 kept pointing out places with 'is finger for Lewis to 
 walk to. The last place 'e pointed to wanted a much 
 taller man, but it wasn't found out till too late, and 
 the fuss Keeper Lewis made when 'e could speak agin 
 was terrible. 
 
 "You'd better come out," ses Mr. Cutts; "you ain't 
 doing no good. We know where they are and we'll 
 watch the pond till daylight that is, unless Smith 
 'ud like to 'ave a try." 
 
 "It's pretty near daylight now, I think," ses 
 Smith. 
 
 Lewis came out and ran up and down to dry 'im- 
 self, and finished off on 'is pocket-'andkerchief, and 
 then with 'is teeth chattering 'e began to dress 'imself. 
 He got 'is shirt on, and then 'e stood turning over 
 'is clothes as if 'e was looking for something. 
 
 "Never mind about your stud now," ses Mr. Cutts; 
 "hurry up and dress." 
 
 "Stud?" ses Lewis, very snappish. "I'm looking 
 for my trowsis." 
 
 "Your trowsis?" ses Smith, 'elping 'im look. 
 
 "I put all my clothes together," ses Lewis, a'most 
 
 215
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 shouting. "Where are they? I'm 'arf perished with 
 cold. Where are they ?" 
 
 "He 'ad 'em on this evening," ses Bob Pretty, 
 '"cos I remember noticing 'em." 
 
 "They must be somewhere about," ses Mr. Cutts; 
 "why don't you use your eyes?" 
 
 He walked up and down, peering about, and as 
 for Lewis he was 'opping round 'arf crazy. 
 
 "I wonder," ses Bob Pretty, in a thoughtful voice, 
 to Smith "I wonder whether you or Mr. Cutts 
 kicked 'em in the pond while you was struggling with 
 me. Come to think of it, I seem to remember 'earing 
 a splash." 
 
 "He's done it, Mr. Cutts," ses Smith; "nevermind, 
 it'll go all the 'arder with Mm." 
 
 "But I do mind," ses Lewis, shouting. "I'll be 
 even with you for this, Bob Pretty. I'll make you 
 feel it. You wait till I've done with you. You'll 
 get a month extra for this, you see if you don't." 
 
 "Don't you mind about me," ses Bob; "you run 
 off 'ome and cover up them legs of yours. I found 
 that sack, so my conscience is clear." 
 
 Lewis put on 'is coat and waistcoat and set off, 
 and Mr. Cutts and Smith, arter feeling about for a 
 dry place, set theirselves down and began to smoke. 
 
 "Look 'ere," ses Bob Pretty, "I'm not going to sit 
 'ere all night to please you; I'm going off 'ome. If 
 you want me you'll know where to find me." 
 
 216
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 "You stay where you are," ses Mr. Cutts. "We 
 ain't going to let you out of our sight." 
 
 "Very well, then, you take me 'ome," ses Bob. 
 "I'm not going to catch my death o' cold sitting 'ere. 
 I'm not used to being out of a night like you are. I 
 was brought up respectable." 
 
 "I dare say," ses Mr. Cutts. "Take you 'ome, and 
 then 'ave one o' your mates come and get the sack 
 while we're away." 
 
 Then Bob Pretty lost 'is temper, and the things 
 'e said about Mr. Cutts wasn't fit for Smith to 'ear. 
 He threw 'imself down at last full length on the 
 ground and sulked till the day broke. 
 
 Keeper Lewis was there a'most as soon as it was 
 light, with some long hay-rakes he'd borrowed, and I 
 should think that pretty near 'arf the folks in Clay- 
 bury 'ad turned up to see the fun. Mrs. Pretty was 
 crying and wringing 'er 'ands; but most folks seemed 
 to be rather pleased that Bob 'ad been caught at last. 
 
 In next to no time 'arf-a-dozen rakes was at work, 
 and the things they brought out o' that pond you 
 wouldn't believe. The edge of it was all littered with 
 rusty tin pails and saucepans and such-like, and by- 
 and-by Lewis found the things he'd 'ad to go 'ome 
 without a few hours afore, but they didn't seem to 
 find that sack, and Bob Pretty, wot was talking to 
 'is wife, began to look 'opeful. 
 
 But just then the squire came riding up with two 
 217
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 friends as was staying with 'im, and he offered a 
 reward of five shillings to the man wot found it. 
 Three or four of 'em waded in up to their middle 
 then and raked their 'ardest, and at last Henery 
 Walker give a cheer and brought it to the side, all 
 heavy with water. 
 
 "That's the sack I found, sir," ses Bob, starting 
 up. "It wasn't on your land at all, but on the field 
 next to it. I'm an honest, 'ardworking man, and I've 
 never been in trouble afore. Ask anybody 'ere and 
 they'll tell you the same." 
 
 Squire Rockett took no notice of 'im. "Is that the 
 sack?" he asks, turning to Mr. Cutts. 
 
 "That's the one, sir," ses Mr. Cutts. "I'd swear 
 to it anywhere." 
 
 "You'd swear a man's life away," ses Bob. "'Ow 
 can you swear to it when it was dark?" 
 
 Mr. Cutts didn't answer 'im. He went down on 
 'is knees and cut the string that tied up the mouth o' 
 the sack, and then 'e started back as if 'e'd been shot, 
 and 'is eyes a'most started out of 'is 'ead. 
 
 "Wot's the matter?" ses the squire. 
 
 Mr. Cutts couldn't speak; he could only stutter and 
 point at the sack with 'is finger, and Henery Walker, 
 as was getting curious, lifted up the other end of it 
 and out rolled a score of as fine cabbages as you could 
 wish to see. 
 
 I never see people so astonished afore in all my 
 218
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 born days, and as for Bob Pretty, 'e stood staring at 
 them cabbages as if 'e couldn't believe 'is eyesight. 
 
 "And that's wot I've been kept 'ere all night for," 
 he ses, at last, shaking his 'ead. "That's wot comes 
 
 " ' You ought to be more careful,' ses Bob." 
 
 o' trying to do a kindness to keepers, and 'elping of 
 'em in their difficult work. P'r'aps that ain't the sack 
 arter all, Mr. Cutts. I could ha' sworn they was 
 pheasants in the one I found, but I may be mistook, 
 
 219
 
 The Persecution of Bob Pretty 
 
 never 'aving 'ad one in my 'ands afore. Or p'r'aps 
 somebody was trying to 'ave a game with you, Mr. 
 Cutts, and deceived me instead." 
 
 The keepers on'y stared at 'im. 
 
 "You ought to be more careful," ses Bob. "Very 
 likely while you was taking all that trouble over me, 
 and Keeper Lewis was catching 'is death o' cold, the 
 poachers was up at the plantation taking all they 
 wanted. And, besides, it ain't right for Squire Rock- 
 ett to 'ave to pay Henery Walker five shillings for 
 finding a lot of old cabbages. I shouldn't like it my- 
 self." 
 
 He looked out of the corner of 'is eye at the squire, 
 as was pretending not to notice Henery Walker touch- 
 ing 'is cap to him, and then 'e turns to 'is wife and he 
 ses : 
 
 "Come along, old gal," 'e ses. "I want my break- 
 fast bad, and arter that I shall 'ave to lose a honest 
 day's work in bed." 
 
 220
 
 DIXON'S RETURN
 
 DIXON'S RETURN 
 
 TALKING about eddication, said the night- 
 watchman, thoughtfully, the finest eddica- 
 tion you can give a lad is to send 'im to sea. 
 School is all right up to a certain p'int, but arter that 
 comes the sea. I've been there myself and I know 
 wot I'm talking about. All that I am I owe to 'av- 
 ing been to sea. 
 
 There's a saying that boys will be boys. That's 
 all right till they go to sea, and then they 'ave to be 
 men, and good men too. They get knocked about a 
 bit, o' course, but that's all part o' the eddication, and 
 when they get bigger they pass the eddication they've 
 received on to other boys smaller than wot they are. 
 Arter I'd been at sea a year I spent all my fust time 
 ashore going round and looking for boys wot 'ad 
 knocked me about afore I sailed, and there was only 
 one out o' the whole lot that I wished I 'adn't found. 
 Most people, o' course, go to sea as boys or else 
 not at all, but I mind one chap as was pretty near 
 thirty years old when 'e started. It's a good many 
 years ago now, and he was landlord of a public-'ouse 
 as used to stand in Wapping, called the Blue Lion. 
 
 223
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 His mother, wot had 'ad the pub afore '5m, 'ad 
 brought 'im up very quiet and genteel, and when she 
 died 'e went and married a fine, handsome young 
 woman who 'ad got her eye on the pub without think- 
 ing much about 'im. I got to know about it through 
 knowing the servant that lived there. A nice, quiet 
 gal she was, and there wasn't much went on that she 
 didn't hear. I've known 'er to cry for hours with 
 the ear-ache, pore gal. 
 
 Not caring much for 'er 'usband, and being spoiled 
 by 'im into the bargain, Mrs. Dixon soon began to 
 lead 'im a terrible life. She was always throwing his 
 meekness and mildness up into 'is face, and arter they 
 'ad been married two or three years he was no more 
 like the landlord o' that public-'ouse than I'm like a 
 lord. Not so much. She used to get into such ter- 
 rible tempers there was no doing anything with 'er, 
 and for the sake o' peace and quietness he gave way 
 to 'er till 'e got 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 the Blue Lion 
 up a bit and make 'em look smart, so that they'd get 
 
 224
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 more trade. He was one o' these 'ere fust-class 'ouse- 
 painters that can go to sleep on a ladder holding a 
 brush in one hand and a pot o' paint in the other, 
 and by the time he 'ad finished painting the 'ouse it 
 was ready to be done all over agin. 
 
 I dare say that George Dixon that was 'is name 
 wouldn't ha' minded so much if 'is wife 'ad only 
 been civil, but instead o' that she used to make fun 
 of 'im and order 'im about, and by-and-by the others 
 began to try the same thing. As I said afore, Dixon 
 was a very quiet man, and if there 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 it at last by telling me that somebody 'ad 
 gone off and left a pot o' beer standing on the pave- 
 ment. They was both of 'em fairly strong young 
 chaps with a lot of bounce in 'em, and she used to 
 say to her 'usband wot fine young 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 up careful by 'is mother, and 
 keeping a very quiet, respectable 'ouse I used it my- 
 self he cert'nly was soft, and I remember 'im tell- 
 ing me once that he didn't believe in fighting, and 
 that instead of hitting people you 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 the bar, he up and spoke sharp to her. 
 
 225
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 "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 with rage. "Wot d'ye mean by 
 it?" 
 
 "Because you seem to forget who is master 'ere," 
 ses Dixon, in a trembling voice. 
 
 "JWAf&r/V she ses, firing up. "I'll soon show you 
 who's master. Go out o' 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, "and don'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' the bar to give a customer 
 change out of 'arf a crown, and ran 'im kicking and 
 struggling into the parlour. George gave 'im a silly 
 little punch in the chest, and got such a bang on the 
 'ead back that at fust he thought it was knocked off. 
 
 226
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 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 finding fault with 'ira 
 for waking 'im up. 
 
 " Go and sleep somewhere else, then,* ses DLcon." 
 
 "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 the back- 
 door, and this is the second time I've been woke up 
 since dinner. You're old enough to know better." 
 
 227
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 "Go and sleep somewhere else, then," ses Dixon. 
 "I don't want you 'ere at 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' that room," she said to her 
 'usband; "mind that." 
 
 George Dixon didn't say a word; the shame of it 
 was a'most more than 'e could 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 satisfying you. 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 suit you." 
 
 "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 
 228
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 look anybody in the face arter being pushed out o 1 
 my own bar." 
 
 They kept 'im there all the rest o' the day, and, as 
 'e was still obstinate when bedtime came, Mrs. Dixon, 
 who wasn't to be beat, brought down some bedclothes 
 and 'ad a bed made up for 'im on the sofa. Some 
 men would ha' 'ad the police in for less than that, 
 but George Dixon 'ad got a 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 the side-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 with 
 telling 'er to be careful that her uncle and cousins 
 didn't eat 'er out of house and 'ome. 
 
 She got another letter two days arterward, saying 
 that he 'ad shipped as ordinary seaman on an Amer- 
 ican barque called the Seabird, bound for California, 
 and that 'e expected to be away a year, or there- 
 abouts. 
 
 "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 'e comes back 
 to it agin. He don't know when 'e's well off. It's 
 as comfortable a 'ome as a man could wish to 'ave." 
 
 It was surprising wot a little difference George 
 229
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 Dixon's being away made to the Blue Lion. Nobody 
 seemed to miss 'im much, and things went on just the 
 same as afore he went. Mrs. Dixon was all right 
 with most people, and 'er relations 'ad a very good 
 time of it; old Burge began to put on flesh at such a 
 rate that the sight of a ladder made 'im ill a'most, 
 and Charlie and Bob went about as if the place be- 
 longed to 'em. 
 
 They 'card nothing for eight months, and then a 
 letter came for Mrs. Dixon from her 'usband in 
 which he said that 'e had left the Seabird after 'aving 
 had a time which made 'im shiver to think of. He 
 said that the men was the roughest of the rough and 
 the officers was worse, and that he 'ad hardly 'ad a 
 day without a blow from one or the other since he'd 
 been aboard. He'd been knocked down with a hand- 
 spike by the second mate, and had 'ad a week in his 
 bunk with a kick given 'im by the boatswain. He 
 said 'e was now on the Rochester Castle, bound for 
 Sydney, and he 'oped for better times. 
 
 That was all they 'card for some months, and then 
 they got another letter saying that the men on the 
 Rochester Castle was, if anything, worse than those 
 on the Seabird, and that he'd begun to think that run- 
 ning away to sea was diff'rent to wot he'd expected, 
 and that he supposed 'e'd done it too late in life. He 
 sent 'is love to 'is wife and asked 'er as a favour to 
 send Uncle Burge and 'is boys away, as 'e didn't want 
 
 230
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 to find them there when 'e came home, because they 
 was the cause of all his sufferings. 
 
 "He don't know 'is best friends," ses old Burge. 
 *"E's got a nasty sperrit I don't like to see." 
 
 "I'll 'ave a word with 'im when 'e does come 
 home," ses Bob. "I s'pose he thinks 'imself safe 
 writing letters thousands o' miles away." 
 
 The last letter they 'ad came from Auckland, and 
 said that he 'ad shipped on the Monarch, bound for 
 the Albert Docks, and he 'oped soon to be at 'ome 
 and managing the Blue Lion, same as in the old 
 happy days afore he was fool enough to go to sea. 
 
 That was the very last letter, and some time arter- 
 ward the Monarch was in the missing list, and by- 
 and-by it became known that she 'ad gone down with 
 all hands not long arter leaving New Zealand. The 
 only difference it made at the Blue Lion was that 
 Mrs. Dixon 'ad two of 'er dresses dyed black, and 
 the others wore black neckties for a fortnight and 
 spoke of Dixon as pore George, and said it was a 
 funny world, but they supposed everything was for 
 the best. 
 
 It must ha' been pretty near four years since 
 George Dixon 'ad run off to sea when Charlie, who 
 was sitting in the bar one arternoon reading the paper, 
 things being dull, saw a man's head peep through the 
 door for a minute and then disappear. A'most di- 
 
 231
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 reckly arterward it looked in at another door and 
 then disappeared agin. When it looked in at the 
 third door 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 peep- 
 bo, or wot?" 
 
 The man coughed and smiled, and then 'e pushed 
 the door open gently and came in, and stood there 
 fingering 'is beard as though 'e didn't know wot to 
 say. 
 
 "I've come back, Charlie," he ses at last. 
 
 "Wot, George!" ses Charlie, starting. "Why, I 
 didn't know you in that beard. 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 
 
 "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 been me." 
 
 "I'm wore out," ses Dixon, leaning agin the bar. 
 "I've got no pride left; 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 lay- 
 ing his 'and on his arm. "Don't let 'er know too 
 sudden; break it to 'er gently." 
 
 232
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" ses Charlie, throwing his 'and off 
 and calling, "Here, Julia! He's come back." 
 
 Mrs. Dixon came running downstairs and into tke 
 bar. "Good gracious!" she ses, staring at her 'us- 
 band. "Whoever'd ha' thought o' seeing you agin? 
 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 then writing 
 them letters, telling me to get rid of my relations?" 
 
 "That's a long time ago, Julia," ses Dixon, raising 
 the flap in the counter 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 any feeling 
 left in me; I've been shipwrecked, and I've 'ad to 
 fight for my life with savages," 
 
 "Nobody asked you to run away," ses his wife, 
 edging away as he went to put his arm round 'er 
 waist. "You'd better go upstairs and put on some 
 decent 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 went away, Julia," he ses. "You'd 
 be the same to me if you was dressed in rags." 
 
 He went upstairs without another word, and old 
 233
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 Burge, who was coming down, came down five of 'em 
 at once owing to Dixon speaking to 'im afore he 
 knew who 'e was. The old man was still grumbling 
 
 * You'd better go upstairs and put on wme decent clothes." 
 
 when Dixon came down agin, and said he believed 
 he'd done it a-purpose. 
 
 "You run away from a good 'ome," he ses, "and 
 
 234
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 the best wife in Wapping, and you come back and 
 frighten people 'arf out o' their lives. I never see 
 such a feller in all my born days." 
 
 "I was so glad to get 'ome agin I didn't think," 
 ses Dixon. "I hope you'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 the sea 
 was all right for men, and that other people were 
 sure not to like it. 
 
 "And you brought it all on yourself," ses Charlie. 
 "You've only got yourself to thank for it. I *ad 
 thought o' picking a bone with you over those letters 
 you wrote." 
 
 "Let's 'ope Vs come back more sensible than wot 
 'e was when 'e went away," 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 any notice of 
 'im or wot he said, and at last, arter a word or two 
 with Charlie about the rough way he spoke to some 
 o' the customers, Charlie came in to Mrs. Dixon and 
 said that he was at 'is old tricks of interfering, 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 was away." 
 
 235
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 "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 to please 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 come messing 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 sitting still 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 the 
 shoulder and shoved '5m back into the parlour agin. 
 
 "I told you wot it would be," ses Mrs. Dixon, 
 looking up from 'er sewing. "You've only got your 
 interfering ways to thank for it." 
 
 "This is a fine state of affairs in my own 'ouse," 
 ses Dixon, 'ardly able 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 'is wife. 
 
 "I think I 'ad," ses Dixon. "If I can't be master 
 in my own 'ouse I'm better at sea, hard as it is. You 
 must choose between us, Julia me or your relations. 
 I won't sleep under the same roof as them for another 
 night. Am I to go?" 
 
 236
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 "Please yourself," ses 'is wife. "I don't mind your 
 staying 'ere so long as you behave yourself, but the 
 others won't go; you can make your mind easy 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 clothes 
 packed into a chest for me so as I can go away de- 
 cent." 
 
 He looked round at 'is wife, as though 'e expected 
 she'd ask 'im not to go, 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 was saying, trotted off upstairs to pack 'is chest 
 for 'im. 
 
 In two hours 'e was back agin and more cheerful 
 than he 'ad been since he 'ad come 'ome. Bob was in 
 the bar and the others were just sitting down to tea, 
 and a big chest, nicely corded, stood on the floor in 
 the corner of the rooml 
 
 "That's right," he ses, looking at it; "that's just 
 wot I wanted." 
 
 "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 this time. I've got a berth 
 as captain." 
 
 "Wot?" ses 'is wife. "Captain? You!" 
 
 237
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 "Yes," ses Dixon, smiling at her. "You can sail 
 with me if you like." 
 
 "Thankee," ses Mrs. Dixon, "I'm quite comfort- 
 able where I am." 
 
 "Do you mean to say you've got a master's berth?" 
 ses Charlie, staring at 'im. 
 
 "I do," ses Dixon; "master and owner." 
 
 Charlie coughed. "Wot's the name of the ship?" 
 he asks, winking at the others. 
 
 "The BLUE LION," ses Dixon, in a voice that 
 made 'em all start. "I'm shipping a new crew and 
 I pay off the old one to-night. You first, my lad." 
 
 "Pay off," ses Charlie, leaning back in 'is chair and 
 staring at 'im in a puzzled way. "Blue Lion?* 1 
 
 "Yes," ses Dixon, in the same loud voice. **When 
 I came 'ome the other day I thought p'r'aps I'd let 
 bygones be bygones, and I laid low for a bit to see 
 whether any of you deserved it. I went to sea to get 
 hardened 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, you fat-faced land- 
 lubber." 
 
 He walked to the door leading to the bar, where 
 Bob was doing 'is best to serve customers and listen 
 at the same time, and arter locking it put the key in 
 'is pocket. Then 'e put his 'and in 'is pocket and 
 slapped some money down on the table in front o 1 
 Charlie. 
 
 238
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 "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 'is mouth 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 by locking that door?" 
 
 "Wot!" roars Dixon. "Hang it! I mustn't lock 
 a door without asking my barman 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 down on the floor with the 'ard- 
 est bang in the face that he'd ever 'ad in 'is life. Mrs. 
 Dixon screamed and ran into the kitchen, follered by 
 old Burge, who went in to tell 'er not to be frightened. 
 Charlie got up and went for Dixon agin; but he 'ad 
 come back as 'ard as nails and 'ad a rushing style o* 
 fighting that took Charlie's breath away. By the 
 time Bob 'ad left the bar to take care of itself, and 
 run round and got in the back way, Charlie had 'ad 
 as much as 'e wanted and was lying on the sea-chest 
 in the corner trying to get 'is breath. 
 
 "Yes? Wot d'ye want?" ses Dixon, with a growl, 
 as Bob came in at the door. 
 
 He was such a 'orrible figure, with the blood on 'is 
 face and 'is beard sticking out all ways, that Bob, 
 
 239
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 instead of doing wot he 'ad come round for, stood 
 in the doorway staring at 'im without a word. 
 
 Charlie had 'ad as much as 'e wanted and was lying on the sea-chest.** 
 
 "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 
 240
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 out some money. "The old man can stay on for a 
 month to give 'im time to look round. Don't look 
 at me that way, else I'll knock your 'ead off." 
 
 '* The way she answered her 'usband was a pleasure to every married I 
 in the bar." 
 
 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,** 
 241
 
 Dixon's Return 
 
 he ses, turning to 'is wife; "it's child's play to wot 
 I've been used to. I'll just see these two mistaken 
 young fellers off the premises, and then we'll 'ave a 
 cup o' tea while the old man minds the bar." 
 
 Mrs. Dixon tried to speak, but 'er temper was too 
 much for 'er. She looked from her 'usband to 
 Charlie and Bob and then back at 'im agin and caught 
 'er breath. 
 
 "That's right," ses Dixon, nodding his 'ead at her. 
 "I'm master and owner of the Blue Lion and you're 
 first mate. When I'm speaking you keep quiet; that's 
 dis-sipline." 
 
 I was in that bar about three months arterward, 
 and I never saw such a change in any woman as there 
 was in Mrs. Dixon. Of all the nice-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 'er was a pleasure to every married 
 man in the bar. 
 
 242
 
 A SPIRIT OF AVARICE
 
 A SPIRIT OF AVARICE 
 
 MR. JOHN BLOWS stood listening to the 
 foreman with an air of lofty disdain. He 
 was a free-born Englishman, and yet he 
 had been summarily paid off at eleven o'clock in the 
 morning and told that his valuable services would no 
 longer be required. More than that, the foreman 
 had passed certain strictures upon his features which, 
 however true they might be, were quite irrelevant to 
 the fact that Mr. Blows had been discovered slumber- 
 ing in a shed when he should have been laying bricks. 
 
 "Take your ugly face off these 'ere works," said 
 the foreman; "take it 'ome and bury it in the back- 
 yard. Anybody'll be glad to lend you a spade." 
 
 Mr. Blows, in a somewhat fluent reply, reflected 
 severely on the foreman's immediate ancestors, and 
 the strange lack of good-feeling and public spirit they 
 had exhibited by allowing him to grow up. 
 
 "Take it 'ome and bury it," said the foreman 
 again. "Not under any plants you've got a liking 
 for." 
 
 "I suppose," said Mr. Blows, still referring to his 
 foe's parents, and now endeavouring to make excuses 
 
 245
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 for them "I s'pose they was so pleased, and so sur- 
 prised when they found that you was a 'uman being, 
 that they didn't mind anything else." 
 
 He walked off with his head in the air, and the 
 other men, who had partially suspended work to 
 listen, resumed their labours. A modest pint at the 
 Rising Sun revived his drooping spirits, and he 
 walked home thinking of several things which he 
 might have said to the foreman if he had only 
 thought of them in time. 
 
 He paused at the open door of his house and, 
 looking in, sniffed at the smell of mottled soap and 
 dirty water which pervaded it. The stairs were wet, 
 and a pail stood in the narrow passage. From the 
 kitchen came the sounds of crying children and a 
 scolding mother. Master Joseph Henry Blows, aged 
 three, was "holding his breath," and the family were 
 all aghast at the length of his performance. He re- 
 covered it as his father entered the room, and 
 drowned, without distressing himself, the impotent 
 efforts of the others. Mrs. Blows turned upon her 
 husband a look of hot inquiry. 
 
 "I've got the chuck," he said, surlily. 
 
 "What, again?" said the unfortunate woman. 
 
 "Yes, again," repeated her husband. 
 
 Mrs. Blows turned away, and dropping into a 
 chair threw her apron over her head and burst into 
 discordant weeping. Two little Blows, who had 
 
 246
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 ceased their outcries, resumed them again from sheer 
 sympathy. 
 
 "Stop it," yelled the indignant Mr. Blows; "stop 
 it at once; d'ye hear?" 
 
 "I wish I'd never seen you," sobbed his wife from 
 behind her apron. "Of all the lazy, idle, drunken, 
 good-for-nothing " 
 
 "Go on," said Mr. Blows, grimly. 
 
 "You're more trouble than you're worth," declared 
 Mrs. Blows. "Look at your father, my dears," she 
 continued, taking the apron away from her face; 
 "take a good look at him, and mind you don't grow 
 up like it." 
 
 Mr. Blows met the combined gaze of his innocent 
 offspring with a dark scowl, and then fell to moodily 
 walking up and down the passage until he fell over 
 the pail. At that his mood changed, and, turning 
 fiercely, he kicked that useful article up and down 
 the passage until he was tired. 
 
 "I've 'ad enough of it," he muttered. He stopped 
 at the kitchen-door and, putting his hand in his pocket, 
 threw a handful of change on to the floor and swung 
 out of the house. 
 
 Another pint of beer confirmed him in his resolu- 
 tion. He 'would go far away and make a fresh start 
 in the world. The morning was bright and the air 
 fresh, and a pleasant sense of freedom and adventure 
 possessed his soul as he walked. At a swinging pace 
 
 247
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 he soon left Gravelton behind him, and, coming to 
 the river, sat down to smoke a final pipe before turn- 
 ing his back forever on a town which had treated him 
 so badly. 
 
 The river murmured agreeably and the rushes 
 stirred softly in the breeze; Mr. Blows, who could 
 fall asleep on an upturned pail, succumbed to the in- 
 fluence at once; the pipe dropped from his mouth 
 and he snored peacefully. 
 
 He was awakened by a choking scream, and, start- 
 ing up hastily, looked about for the cause. Then in 
 the water he saw the little white face of Billy Clem- 
 ents, and wading in up to his middle he reached out 
 and, catching the child by the hair, drew him to the 
 bank and set him on his feet. Still screaming with 
 terror, Billy threw up some of the water he had swal- 
 lowed, and without turning his head made off in the 
 direction of home, calling piteously upon his mother. 
 
 Mr. Blows, shivering on the bank, watched him 
 out of sight, and, missing his cap, was just in time to 
 see that friend of several seasons slowly sinking in the 
 middle of the river. He squeezed the water from his 
 trousers and, crossing the bridge, set off across the 
 meadows. 
 
 His self-imposed term of bachelorhood lasted just 
 three months, at the end of which time he made up his 
 mind to enact the part of the generous husband and 
 
 248
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 forgive his wife everything. He would not go into 
 details, but issue one big, magnanimous pardon. 
 
 Full of these lofty ideas he set off in the direction 
 of home again. It was a three-days' tramp, and the 
 evening of the third day saw him but a bare two 
 miles from home. He clambered up the bank at the 
 side of the road and, sprawling at his ease, smoked 
 quietly in the moonlight. 
 
 A waggon piled up with straw came jolting and 
 creaking toward him. The driver sat dozing on the 
 shafts, and Mr. Blows smiled pleasantly as he recog- 
 nised the first face of a friend he had seen for three 
 months. He thrust his pipe in his pocket and, rising 
 to his feet, clambered on to the back of the waggon, 
 and lying face downward on the straw peered down 
 at the unconscious driver below. 
 
 "I'll give old Joe a surprise," he said to himself. 
 "He'll be the first to welcome me back." 
 
 "Joe," he said, softly. "'Ow goes it, old pal?" 
 
 Mr. Joe Carter, still dozing, opened his eyes at the 
 sound of his name and looked round; then, coming 
 to the conclusion that he had been dreaming, closed 
 them again. 
 
 "I'm a-looking at you, Joe," said Mr. Blows, wag- 
 gishly. "I can see you." 
 
 Mr. Carter looked up sharply and, catching sight 
 of the grinning features of Mr. Blows protruding 
 over the edge of the straw, threw up his arms with a 
 
 249
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 piercing shriek and fell off the shafts on to the road. 
 The astounded Mr. Blows, raising himself on his 
 hands, saw him pick himself up and, giving vent to 
 a series of fearsome yelps, run clumsily back along 
 the road. 
 
 " 'Joe! ' shouted Mr. Blows. J-O-O-OE ! ' " 
 
 "Joe!" shouted Mr. Blows. "J-O-O-OE!" 
 Mr. Carter put his hands to his ears and ran on 
 blindly, while his friend, sitting on the top of the 
 straw, regarded his proceedings with mixed feelings 
 of surprise and indignation. 
 
 250
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 "It can't be that tanner 'e owes me," he mused, 
 "and yet I don't know what else it can be. I never 
 see a man so jumpy." 
 
 He continued to speculate while the old horse, un- 
 disturbed by the driver's absence, placidly continued 
 its journey. A mile farther, however, he got down 
 to take the short cut by the fields. 
 
 "If Joe can't look after his 'orse and cart," he said, 
 primly, as he watched it along the road, "it's not my 
 business." 
 
 The footpath was not much used at that time of 
 night, and he only met one man. They were in the 
 shadow of the trees which fringed the new cemetery 
 as they passed, and both peered. The stranger was 
 satisfied first and, to Mr. Blows's growing indigna- 
 tion, first gave a leap backward which would not have 
 disgraced an acrobat, and then made off across the 
 field with hideous outcries. 
 
 "If I get 'old of some of you," said the offended 
 Mr. Blows, "I'll give you something to holler 
 for." 
 
 He pursued his way grumbling, and insensibly 
 slackened his pace as he drew near home. A remnant 
 of conscience which had stuck to him without encour- 
 agement for thirty-five years persisted in suggesting 
 that he had behaved badly. It also made a few ill- 
 bred inquiries as to how his wife and children had 
 subsisted for the last three months. He stood out- 
 
 251
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 side the house for a short space, and then, opening 
 the door softly, walked in. 
 
 The kitchen-door stood open, and his wife in a 
 black dress sat sewing by the light of a smoky lamp. 
 She looked up as she heard his footsteps, and then, 
 without a word, slid from the chair full length to the 
 floor. 
 
 "Go on," said Mr. Blows, bitterly; "keep it up. 
 Don't mind me." 
 
 Mrs. Blows paid no heed; her face was white and 
 her eyes were closed. Her husband, with a dawning 
 perception of the state of affairs, drew a mug of 
 water from the tap and flung it over her. She opened 
 her eyes and gave a faint scream, and then, scram- 
 bling to her feet, tottered toward him and sobbed on 
 his breast. 
 
 "There, there," said Mr. Blows. "Don't take on; 
 I forgive you." 
 
 "Oh, John," said his wife, sobbing convulsively, 
 "I thought you was dead. I thought you was dead. 
 It's only a fortnight ago since we buried you !" 
 
 "Buried me?" said the startled Mr. Blows. 
 "Buried me?" 
 
 "I shall wake up and find I'm dreaming," wailed 
 Mrs. Blows; "I know I shall. I'm always dreaming 
 that you're not dead. Night before last I dreamt 
 that you was alive, and I woke up sobbing as if my 
 'art would break." 
 
 252
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 "Sobbing?" said Mr. Blows, with a scowl. 
 
 "For joy, John," explained his wife. 
 
 Mr. Blows was about to ask for a further explana- 
 tion of the mystery when he stopped, and regarded 
 with much interest a fair-sized cask which stood in 
 one corner. 
 
 "A cask o' beer," he said, staring, as he took a 
 glass from the dresser and crossed over to it. "You 
 don't seem to 'ave taken much 'arm during mymy; 
 going after work." 
 
 "We 'ad it for the funeral, John," said his wife; 
 "leastways, we 'ad two; this is the second." 
 
 Mr. Blows, who had filled the glass, set it down 
 on the table untasted ; things seemed a trifle uncanny. 
 
 "Go on," said Mrs. Blows; "you've got more right 
 to it than anybody else. Fancy 'aving you here drink- 
 ing up the beer for your own funeral." 
 
 "I don't understand what you're a-driving at," re- 
 torted Mr. Blows, drinking somewhat gingerly from 
 the glass. "'Ow could there be a funeral without 
 me?" 
 
 "It's all a mistake," said the overjoyed Mrs. 
 Blows; "we must have buried somebody else. But 
 such a funeral, John; you would ha' been proud if 
 you could ha' seen it. All Gravelton followed, 
 nearly. There was the boys' drum and fife band, and 
 the Ancient Order of Camels, what you used to be- 
 long to, turned out with their brass band and banners 
 
 253
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 all the people marching four abreast and some- 
 times five." 
 
 Mr. Blows's face softened; he had no idea that 
 he had established himself so firmly in the affections 
 of his fellow-townsmen. 
 
 "Four mourning carriages," continued his wife, 
 "and the the hearse, all covered in flowers so that 
 you couldn't see it 'ardly. One wreath cost two 
 pounds." 
 
 Mr. Blows endeavoured to conceal his gratification 
 beneath a mask of surliness. "Waste o' money," he 
 growled, and stooping to the cask drew himself an- 
 other glass of beer. 
 
 "Some o' the gentry sent their carriages to fol- 
 low," said Mrs. Blows, sitting down and clasping her 
 hands in her lap. 
 
 "I know one or two that 'ad a liking for me," said 
 Mr. Blows, almost blushing. 
 
 "And to think that it's all a mistake," continued 
 his wife. "But I thought it was you; it was dressed 
 like you, and your cap was found near it." 
 
 "H'm," said Mr. Blows; "a pretty mess you've 
 been and made of it. Here's people been giving two 
 pounds for wreaths and turning up with brass bands 
 and banners because they thought it was me, and it's 
 all been wasted." 
 
 "It wasn't my fault," said his wife. "Little Billy 
 Clements came running 'ome the day you went away 
 
 254
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 and said 'e'd fallen in the water, and you'd gone in 
 and pulled 'im out. He said 'e thought you was 
 drownded, and when you didn't come 'ome I natu- 
 rally thought so too. What else could I think?" 
 
 * 'They dragged the river,' resumed his wife, ' and found the cap." ' 
 
 Mr. Blows coughed, and holding his glass up to 
 the light regarded it with a preoccupied air. 
 
 "They dragged the river," resumed his wife, "and 
 found the cap, but they didn't find the body till nine 
 
 255
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 weeks afterward. There was a inquest at the Peal 
 o' Bells, and I identified you, and all that grand 
 funeral was because they thought you'd lost your life 
 saving little Billy. They said you was a hero." 
 
 "You've made a nice mess of it," repeated Mr. 
 Blows. 
 
 "The rector preached the sermon," continued his 
 wife; "a beautiful sermon it was, too. I wish you'd 
 been there to hear it; I should 'ave enjoyed it ever so 
 much better. He said that nobody was more sur- 
 prised than what 'e was at your doing such a thing, 
 and that it only showed 'ow little we knowed our 
 fellow-creatures. He said that it proved there was 
 good in all of us if we only gave it a chance to come 
 out." 
 
 Mr. Blows eyed her suspiciously, but she sat think- 
 ing and staring at the floor. 
 
 "I s'pose we shall have to give the money back 
 now," she said, at last. 
 
 "Money!" said the other; "what money?" 
 
 "Money that was collected for us," replied his 
 wife. "One 'undered and eighty-three pounds seven 
 shillings and fourpence." 
 
 Mr. Blows took a long breath. "'Ow much?" he 
 said, faintly; "say it agin." 
 
 His wife obeyed. 
 
 "Show it to me," said the other, in trembling tones; 
 "let's 'ave a look at it. Let's 'old some of it." 
 
 256
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 "I can't," was the reply; "there's a committee of 
 the Camels took charge of it, and they pay my rent 
 and allow me ten shillings a week. Now I s'pose it'll 
 have to be given back?" 
 
 "Don't you talk nonsense," said Mr. Blows, vio- 
 lently. "You go to them interfering Camels and say 
 you want your money all of it. Say you're going 
 to Australia. Say it was my last dying wish." 
 
 Mrs. Blows puckered her brow. 
 
 "I'll keep quiet upstairs till you've got it," con- 
 tinued her husband, rapidly. "There was only two 
 men saw me, and I can see now that they thought I 
 was my own ghost. Send the kids off to your mother 
 for a few days." 
 
 His wife sent them off next morning, and a little 
 later was able to tell him that his surmise as to his 
 friends' mistake was correct. All Gravelton was 
 thrilled by the news that the spiritual part of Mr. 
 John Blows was walking the earth, and much exer- 
 cised as to his reasons for so doing. 
 
 "Seemed such a monkey trick for 'im to do," com- 
 plained Mr. Carter, to the listening circle at the Peal 
 o' Bells. " 'I'm a-looking at you, Joe,' he ses, and 
 he waggled his 'ead as if it was made of india- 
 rubber." 
 
 "He'd got something on 'is mind what he wanted 
 to tell you," said a listener, severely; "you ought to 
 *ave stopped, Joe, and asked 'irn what it was." 
 
 257
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 "I think I see myself," said the shivering Mr. Car- 
 ter. "I think I see myself." 
 
 "Then he wouldn't 'ave troubled you any more," 
 said the other. 
 
 Mr. Carter turned pale and eyed him fixedly. 
 
 "PYaps it was only a death-warning," said 
 another man. 
 
 "What d'ye mean, 'only a death-warning' ?" de- 
 manded the unfortunate Mr. Carter; "you don't 
 know what you're talking about." 
 
 "I 'ad an uncle o' mine see a ghost once," said a 
 third man, anxious to relieve the tension. 
 
 "And what 'appened?" inquired the first speaker. 
 
 "I'll tell you after Joe's gone," said the other, with 
 rare consideration. 
 
 Mr. Carter called for some more beer and told the 
 barmaid to put a little gin in it. In a pitiable state 
 of "nerves" he sat at the extreme end of a bench, and 
 felt that he was an object of unwholesome interest 
 to his acquaintances. The finishing touch was put to 
 his discomfiture when a well-meaning friend in a 
 vague and disjointed way advised him to give up 
 drink, swearing, and any other bad habits which he 
 might have contracted. 
 
 The committee of the Ancient Order of Camels 
 took the news calmly, and classed it with pink rats 
 and other abnormalities. In reply to Mrs. Blov.Vs 
 request for the capital sum, they expressed astonish- 
 
 258
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 ment that she could be willing to tear herself away 
 from the hero's grave, and spoke of the pain which 
 such an act on her part would cause him in the event 
 of his being conscious of it. In order to show that 
 
 f< In a pitiable state of ' nerves ' he sat at the extreme end of a bench.** 
 
 they were reasonable men, they allowed her an extra 
 shilling that week. 
 
 The hero threw the dole on the bedroom floor, and 
 in a speech bristling with personalities, consigned the 
 committee to perdition. The confinement was begin- 
 
 259
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 ning to tell upon him, and two nights afterward, just 
 before midnight, he slipped out for a breath of fresh 
 air. 
 
 It was a clear night, and all Gravelton with one 
 exception, appeared to have gone to bed. The ex- 
 ception was Police-constable Collins, and he, aftef 
 tracking the skulking figure of Mr. Blows and finally 
 bringing it to bay in a doorway, kept his for a fort- 
 night. As a sensible man, Mr. Blows took no credit 
 to himself for the circumstance, but a natural feeling 
 of satisfaction at the discomfiture of a member of a 
 force for which he had long entertained a strong ob- 
 jection could not be denied. 
 
 Gravelton debated this new appearance with bated 
 breath, and even the purblind committee of the Cam- 
 els had to alter their views. They no longer denied 
 the supernatural nature of the manifestations, but, 
 with a strange misunderstanding of Mr. Blows's de- 
 sires, attributed his restlessness to dissatisfaction with 
 the projected tombstone, and, having plenty of funds, 
 amended their order for a plain stone at ten guineas 
 to one in pink marble at twenty-five. 
 
 "That there committee," said Mr. Blows to his 
 wife, in a trembling voice, as he heard of the altera- 
 tion "that there committee seem to think that they 
 can play about with my money as they like. You go 
 and tell 'em you won't 'ave it. And say you've given 
 up the idea of going to Australia and you want the 
 
 260
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 money to open a shop with. We'll take a little pub 
 somewhere." 
 
 Mrs. Blows went, and returned in tears, and for 
 two entire days her husband, a prey to gloom, sat 
 trying to evolve fresh and original ideas for the 
 possession of the money. On the evening of the 
 second day he became low-spirited, and going down 
 to the kitchen took a glass from the dresser and sat 
 down by the beer-cask. 
 
 Almost insensibly he began to take a brighter view 
 of things. It was Saturday night and his wife was 
 out. He shook his head indulgently as he thought 
 of her, and began to realise how foolish he had been 
 to entrust such a delicate mission to a woman. The 
 Ancient Order of Camels wanted a man to talk to 
 them a man who knew the world and could assail 
 them with unanswerable arguments. Having applied 
 every known test to make sure that the cask was 
 empty, he took his cap from a nail and sallied out 
 into the street. 
 
 Old Mrs. Martin, a neighbour, saw him first, and 
 announced the fact with a scream that brought a 
 dozen people round her. Bereft of speech, she 
 mouthed dumbly at Mr. Blows. 
 
 "I ain't touch touched her," said that gentleman, 
 earnestly. "I ain't been near 'er." 
 
 The crowd regarded him wild-eyed. Fresh mem- 
 bers came running up, and pushing for a front place 
 
 261
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 fell back hastily on the main body and watched 
 breathlessly. Mr. Blows, disquieted by their silence, 
 renewed his protestations. 
 
 "I was coming 'long " 
 
 He broke off suddenly and, turning round, gazed 
 with some heat at a gentleman who was endeavouring 
 to ascertain whether an umbrella would pass through 
 him. The investigator backed hastily into the crowd 
 again, and a faint murmur of surprise arose as the 
 indignant Mr. Blows rubbed the place. 
 
 "He's alive, I tell you," said a voice. "What 
 cheer, Jack!" 
 
 "Ullo, Bill," said Mr. Blows, genially. 
 
 Bill came forward cautiously, and, first shaking 
 hands, satisfied himself by various little taps and 
 prods that his friend was really alive. 
 
 "It's all right," he shouted; "come and feel." 
 
 At least fifty hands accepted the invitation, and, 
 ignoring the threats and entreaties of Mr. Blows, 
 who was a highly ticklish subject, wandered briskly 
 over his anatomy. He broke free at last and, sup- 
 ported by Bill and a friend, set off for the Peal o' 
 Bells. 
 
 By the time he arrived there his following had 
 swollen to immense proportions. Windows were 
 thrown up, and people standing on their doorsteps 
 shouted inquiries. Congratulations met him on all 
 sides, and the joy of Mr. Joseph Carter was so great 
 that Mr. Blows was quite affected. 
 
 262
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 In high feather at the attention he was receiving, 
 Mr. Blows pushed his way through the idlers at the 
 door and ascended the short flight of stairs which led 
 to the room where the members of the Ancient Order 
 of Camels were holding their lodge. The crowd 
 swarmed up after him. 
 
 The door was locked, but in response to his knock- 
 ing it opened a couple of inches, and a gruff voice de- 
 manded his business. Then, before he could give it, 
 the doorkeeper reeled back into the room, and Mr. 
 Blows with a large following pushed his way in. 
 
 The president and his officers, who were sitting in 
 state behind a long table at the end of the room, 
 started to their feet with mingled cries of indignation 
 and dismay at the intrusion. Mr. Blows, conscious 
 of the strength of his position, walked up to them. 
 
 "Mr. Blows!" gasped the president. 
 
 "Ah, you didn't expec' see me," said Mr. Blows, 
 with a scornful laugh. "They're trying do me, do 
 me out o' my lill bit o' money, Bill." 
 
 "But you ain't got no money," said his bewildered 
 friend. 
 
 Mr. Blows turned and eyed him haughtily; then 
 he confronted the staring president again. 
 
 "I've come for my money," he said, impressively 
 "one 'undereighty pounds." 
 
 "But look 'ere," said the scandalised Bill, rugging 
 at his sleeve; "you ain't dead, Jack." 
 
 263
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 "You don't understanV' said Mr. Blows, impa- 
 tiently. "They know wharri mean ; one 'undereighty 
 pounds. They want to buy me a tombstone, an' I 
 don't want it. I want the money. Here, stop it! 
 Wye hear?" The words were wrung from him by 
 
 a ** Mr. Blows, conscious of the strength of hk position, walked up to them.** 
 
 (he action of the president, who, after eyeing him 
 doubtfully during his remarks, suddenly prodded him 
 with the butt-end of one of the property spears which 
 leaned against his chair. The solidity of Mr. Blows 
 was unmistakable, and with a sudden resumption of 
 
 264
 
 A Spirit of Avarice 
 
 dignity the official seated himself and called for si- 
 lence. 
 
 "I'm sorry to say there's been a bit of a mistake 
 made," he said, slowly, "but I'm glad to say that Mr. 
 Blows has come back to support his wife and family 
 with the sweat of his own brow. Only a pound or 
 two of the money so kindly subscribed has been spent, 
 and the remainder will be handed back to the sub- 
 scribers." 
 
 "Here," said the incensed Mr. Blows, "listen me." 
 
 "Take him away," said the president, with great 
 dignity. "Clear the room. Strangers outside." 
 
 Two of the members approached Mr. Blows and, 
 placing their hands on his shoulders, requested him to 
 withdraw. He went at last, the centre of a dozen 
 panting men, and becoming wedged on the narrow 
 staircase, spoke fluently on such widely differing sub- 
 jects as the rights of man and the shape of the presi- 
 dent's nose. 
 
 He finished his remarks in the street, but, becom- 
 ing aware at last of a strange lack of sympathy on 
 the part of his audience, he shook off the arm of the 
 faithful Mr. Carter and stalked moodily home. 
 
 265
 
 THE THIRD STRING
 
 THE THIRD STRING 
 
 LOVE ? said the night-watchman, as he watched 
 in an abstracted fashion the efforts of a skip- 
 per to reach a brother skipper on a passing 
 barge with a boathook. Don't talk to me about love, 
 because I've suffered enough through it. There 
 ought to be teetotalers for love the same as wot there 
 is for drink, and they ought to wear a piece o' ribbon 
 to show it, the same as the teetotalers do ; but not an 
 attractive piece o' ribbon, mind you. I've seen as 
 much mischief caused by love as by drink, and the 
 funny thing is, one often leads to the other. Love, 
 arter it is over, often leads to drink, and drink often 
 leads to love and to a man committing himself for 
 life afore it is over. 
 
 Sailormen give way to it most; they see so little 
 o' wimmen that they naturally 'ave a high opinion 
 of 'em. Wait till they become night-watchmen and, 
 having to be at 'ome all day, see the other side of 'em. 
 If people on'y started life as night-watchmen there 
 wouldn't be one 'arf the falling in love that there is 
 now. 
 
 I remember one chap, as nice a fellow as you could 
 269
 
 The Third String 
 
 wish to meet, too. He always carried his sweet- 
 heart's photograph about with 'im, and it was the 
 on'y thing that cheered 'im up during the fourteen 
 years he was cast away on a deserted island. He was 
 picked up at last and taken 'ome, and there she was 
 still single and waiting for 'im; and arter spending 
 fourteen years on a deserted island he got another 
 ten in quod for shooting 'er because she 'ad altered so 
 much in 'er looks. 
 
 Then there was Ginger Dick, a red-'aired man I've 
 spoken about before. He went and fell in love one 
 time when he was lodging in Wapping 'ere with old 
 Sam Small and Peter Russet, and a nice mess 'e made 
 of it. 
 
 They was just back from a v'y'ge, and they 'adn't 
 been ashore a week afore both of 'em noticed a 
 change for the worse in Ginger. He turned quiet and 
 peaceful and lost 'is taste for beer. He used to play 
 *with 'is food instead of eating it, and in place of 
 going out of an evening with Sam and Peter took to 
 going off by 'imself. 
 
 "It's love," ses Peter Russet, shaking his 'ead, 
 "and he'll be worse afore he's better." 
 
 "Who's the gal?" ses old Sam. 
 
 Peter didn't know, but when they came 'ome that 
 night 'e asked. Ginger, who was sitting up in bed 
 with a far-off look in 'is eyes, cuddling 'is knees, went 
 on staring but didn't answer. 
 
 270
 
 The Third String 
 
 "Who is it making a fool of you this time, Gin- 
 ger?" ses old Sam. 
 
 "You mind your bisness and I'll mind mine," ses 
 Ginger, suddenly waking up and looking very fierce. 
 
 "No offence, mate," ses Sam, winking at Peter. 
 "I on'y asked in case I might be able to do you a 
 good turn." 
 
 "Well, you can do that by not letting her know 
 you're a pal o' mine," ses Ginger, very nasty. 
 
 Old Sam didn't understand at fust, and when Peter 
 explained to 'im he wanted to hit Mm for trying to 
 twist Ginger's words about. 
 
 "She don't like fat old men," ses Ginger. 
 
 "Ho!" ses old Sam, who couldn't think of any- 
 thing else to say. "Ho! don't she? Ho! Ho! in- 
 deed!" 
 
 He undressed 'imself and got into the bed he 
 shared with Peter, and kept 'im awake for hours by 
 telling 'im in a loud voice about all the gals he'd made 
 love to in his life, and partikler about one gal that 
 always fainted dead away whenever she saw either a 
 red-'aired man or a monkey. 
 
 Peter Russet found out all about it next day, and 
 told Sam that it was a barmaid with black 'air and 
 eyes at the Jolly Pilots, and that she wouldn't 'ave 
 anything to say to Ginger. 
 
 He spoke to Ginger about it agin when they were 
 going to bed that night, and to 'is surprise found that 
 
 271
 
 The Third String 
 
 he was quite civil. When 'e said that he would do 
 anything he could for 'im, Ginger was quite affected. 
 
 "I can't eat or drink," he ses, in a miserable voice; 
 "I lay awake all last night thinking of her. She's so 
 diff'rent to other gals; she's got If I start on you, 
 Sam Small, you'll know it. You go and make that 
 choking noise to them as likes it." 
 
 "It's a bit o' egg-shell I got in my throat at break- 
 fast this morning, Ginger," ses Sam. "I wonder 
 whether she lays awake all night thinking of you?" 
 
 "I dare say she does," ses Peter Russet, giving 'im 
 a little push. 
 
 "Keep your 'art up, Ginger," ses Sam; "I've 
 known gals to 'ave the most ext'ordinary likings afore 
 now." 
 
 "Don't take no notice of 'im," ses Peter, holding 
 Ginger back. "'Ow are you getting on with her?" 
 
 Ginger groaned and sat down on 'is bed and looked 
 at the floor, and Sam went and sat on his till it shook 
 so that Ginger offered to step over and break 'is neck 
 for 'im. 
 
 "I can't 'elp the bed shaking," ses Sam; "it ain't 
 my fault. I didn't make it. If being in love is going 
 to make you so disagreeable to your best friends, 
 Ginger, you'd better go and live by yourself." 
 
 "I 'card something about her to-day, Ginger," ses 
 Peter Russet. "I met a chap I used to know at Bull's 
 Wharf, and he told me that she used to keep com- 
 
 272
 
 The Third String 
 
 pany with a chap named Bill Lumm, a bit of a prize- 
 fighter, and since she gave 'im up she won't look at 
 anybody else." 
 
 "Was she very fond of 'im, then?" asks Ginger. 
 
 "I don't know," ses Peter; "but this chap told me 
 that she won't walk out with anybody agin, unless it's 
 another prize-fighter. Her pride won't let her, I 
 s'pose." 
 
 "Well, that's all right, Ginger," ses Sam; "all 
 you've got to do is to go and be a prize-fighter." 
 
 "If I 'ave any more o' your nonsense " ses Gin- 
 ger, starting up. 
 
 "That's right," ses Sam; "jump down anybody's 
 throat when they're trying to do you a kindness. 
 That's you all over, Ginger, that is. Wot's to pre- 
 vent you telling 'er that you're a prize-fighter from 
 Australia or somewhere? She won't know no bet- 
 ter." 
 
 He got up off the bed and put his 'ands up as 
 Ginger walked across the room to 'im, but Ginger 
 on'y wanted to shake 'ands, and arter he 'ad done 
 that 'e patted 'im on the back and smiled at 'im. 
 
 "I'll try it," he ses. "I'd tell any lies for 'er sake. 
 Ah ! you don't know wot love is, Sam." 
 
 "I used to," ses Sam, and then he sat down agin 
 and began to tell 'em all the love-affairs he could re- 
 member, until at last Peter Russet got tired and said 
 it was 'ard to believe, looking at 'im now, wot a per- 
 
 273
 
 The Third String 
 
 fick terror he'd been with gals, and said that the face 
 he'd got now was a judgment on Mm. Sam shut up 
 arter that, and got into trouble with Peter in the 
 middle o' the night by waking 'im up to tell 'im some- 
 thing that he 'ad just thought of about his face. 
 
 The more Ginger thought o' Sam's idea the more 
 he liked it, and the very next evening 'e took Peter 
 Russet into the private bar o' the Jolly Pilots. He 
 ordered port wine, which he thought seemed more 
 'igh-class than beer, and then Peter Russet started 
 talking to Miss Tucker and told her that Ginger was 
 a prize-fighter from Sydney, where he'd beat every- 
 body that stood up to 'im. 
 
 The gal seemed to change toward Ginger all in a 
 flash, and 'er beautiful black eyes looked at 'im so 
 admiring that he felt quite faint. She started talking 
 to 'im about his fights at once, and when at last 'e 
 plucked up courage to ask 'er to go for a walk with 
 'im on Sunday arternoon she seemed quite delighted. 
 
 "It'll be a nice change for me," she ses, smiling. 
 "I used to walk out with a prize-fighter once before, 
 and since I gave 'im up I began to think I was never 
 going to 'ave a young man agin. You can't think 
 'ow dull it's been." 
 
 "Must ha' been," ses Ginger. 
 
 "I s'pose you've got a taste for prize-fighters, 
 miss," ses Peter Russet. 
 
 "No," ses Miss Tucker; "I don't think that it's 
 274
 
 The Third String 
 
 that exactly, but, you see, I couldn't 'ave anybody 
 else. Not for their own sakes." 
 
 " Mi Tucker." 
 275
 
 The Third String 
 
 "Why not?" ses Ginger, looking puzzled. 
 
 "Why not?" ses Miss Tucker. "Why, because o' 
 Bill. He's such a 'orrid jealous disposition. After I 
 gave 'im up I walked out with a young fellow named 
 Smith; fine, big, strapping chap 'e was, too, and I 
 never saw such a change in any man as there was in 
 'im after Bill 'ad done with 'im. I couldn't believe 
 it was 'im. I told Bill he ought to be ashamed of 
 'imself." 
 
 "Wot did 'e say?" asks Ginger. 
 
 "Don't ask me wot 'e said," ses Miss Tucker, toss- 
 ing her 'ead. "Not liking to be beat, I 'ad one more 
 try with a young fellow named Charlie Webb." 
 
 "Wot 'appened to 'im?" ses Peter Russet, arter 
 waiting a bit for 'er to finish. 
 
 "I can't bear to talk of it," ses Miss Tucker, hold- 
 ing up Ginger's glass and giving the counter a wipe 
 down. "He met Bill, and I saw 'im six weeks after- 
 ward just as 'e was being sent away from the 'ospital 
 to a seaside home. Bill disappeared after that." 
 
 "Has he gone far away?" ses Ginger, trying to 
 speak in a off-'and way. 
 
 "Oh, he's back now," ses Miss Tucker. "You'll 
 see 'im fast enough, and, wotever you do, don't let 
 'im know you're a prize-fighter." 
 
 "Why not?" ses pore Ginger. 
 
 "Because o' the surprise it'll be to 'im," ses Miss 
 Tucker. "Let 'im rush on to 'is doom. He'll get a 
 
 276
 
 The Third String 
 
 lesson 'e don't expect, the bully. Don't be afraid of 
 'urting 'im. Think o' pore Smith and Charlie 
 Webb." 
 
 "I am thinkin' of 'em," ses Ginger, slow-like. "Is 
 is Bill very quick with his 'ands?" 
 
 "Rather^ ses Miss Tucker; "but o' course he ain't 
 up to your mark; he's on'y known in these parts." 
 
 She went off to serve a customer, and Ginger Dick 
 tried to catch Peter's eye, but couldn't, and when 
 Miss Tucker came back he said 'e must be going. 
 
 "Sunday afternoon at a quarter past three sharp, 
 outside 'ere," she ses. "Never mind about putting on 
 your best clothes, because Bill is sure to be hanging 
 about. I'll take care o' that." 
 
 She reached over the bar and shook 'ands with 'im, 
 and Ginger felt a thrill go up 'is arm which lasted 
 'im all the way 'ome. 
 
 He didn't know whether to turn up on Sunday or 
 not, and if it 'adn't ha' been for Sam and Peter Rus- 
 set he'd ha' most likely stayed at home. Not that 'e 
 was a coward, being always ready for a scrap and 
 gin'rally speaking doing well at it, but he made a 
 few inquiries about Bill Lumm and 'e saw that 'e had 
 about as much chance with 'im as a kitten would 'ave 
 with a bulldog. 
 
 Sam and Peter was delighted, and they talked 
 about it as if it was a pantermime, and old Sam said 
 that when he was a young man he'd ha' fought six 
 
 277
 
 The Third String 
 
 Bill Lumms afore he'd ha' given a gal up. He 
 brushed Ginger's clothes for 'im with 'is own hands 
 on Sunday arternoon, and, when Ginger started, 'im 
 and Peter follered some distance behind to sec fair 
 play. 
 
 The on'y person outside the Jolly Pilots when Gin- 
 ger got there was a man; a strong-built chap with a 
 thick neck, very large 'ands, and a nose which 'ad 
 seen its best days some time afore. He looked 'ard 
 at Ginger as 'e came up, and then stuck his 'ands in 
 'is trouser pockets and spat on the pavement. Ginger 
 walked a little way past and then back agin, and just 
 as he was thinking that 'e might venture to go off, 
 as Miss Tucker 'adn't come, the door opened and 
 out she came. 
 
 "I couldn't find my 'at-pins," she ses, taking Gin- 
 ger's arm and smiling up into 'is face. 
 
 Before Ginger could say anything the man he 'ad 
 noticed took his 'ands out of 'is pockets and stepped 
 up to 'im. 
 
 "Let go o' that young lady's arm," he ses. 
 
 "Sha'n't," ses Ginger, holding it so tight that Miss 
 Tucker nearly screamed. 
 
 "Let go 'er arm and put your 'ands up," ses the 
 chap agin. 
 
 "Not 'ere," ses Ginger, who 'ad laid awake the 
 night afore thinking wot to do if he met Bill Lumm. 
 "If you wish to 'ave a spar with me, my lad, you 
 
 278
 
 The Third String 
 
 must 'ave it where we can't be interrupted. When 
 I start on a man I like to make a good job of it," 
 
 " ' Let go o* that young lady's arm,* he ses." 
 
 "Good job of it!" ses the other, starting. "Do 
 you know who I am?" 
 
 "No, I don't," ses Ginger, "and, wot's more, I 
 don't care."
 
 The Third String 
 
 "My name," ses the chap, speaking in a slow, care- 
 ful voice, "is Bill Lumm." 
 
 "Wot a 'orrid name!" ses Ginger. 
 
 "Otherwise known as the Wapping Basher," ses 
 Bill, shoving 'is face into Ginger's and glaring at 'im. 
 
 "Ho !" ses Ginger, sniffing, "a amatoor." 
 
 "Amatoor?" ses Bill, shouting. 
 
 "That's wot we should call you over in Australia," 
 ses Ginger; "my name is Dick Duster, likewise known 
 as the Sydney Puncher. I've killed three men in the 
 ring and 'ave never 'ad a defeat." 
 
 "Well, put 'em up," ses Bill, doubling up 'is fists 
 and shaping at 'im. 
 
 "Not in the street, I tell you," ses Ginger, still 
 clinging tight to Miss Tucker's arm. "I was fined five 
 pounds the other day for punching a man in the 
 street, and the magistrate said it would be 'ard 
 labour for me next time. You find a nice, quiet spot 
 for some arternoon, and I'll knock your 'ead off with 
 pleasure." 
 
 "I'd sooner 'ave it knocked off now," ses Bill; "I 
 don't like waiting for things." 
 
 "Thursday arternoon," ses Ginger, very firm; 
 "there's one or two gentlemen want to see a bit o* 
 my work afore backing me, and we can combine bis- 
 ness with pleasure." 
 
 He walked off with Miss Tucker, leaving Bill 
 Lumm standing on the pavement scratching his 'ead 
 
 280
 
 The Third String 
 
 and staring arter 'im as though 'e didn't quite know 
 wot to make of it. Bill stood there for pretty near 
 five minutes, and then arter asking Sam and Peter, 
 who 'ad been standing by listening, whether they 
 wanted anything for themselves, walked off to ask 
 'is pals wot they knew about the Sydney Puncher. 
 
 Ginger Dick was so quiet and satisfied about the 
 fight that old Sam and Peter couldn't make 'im out at 
 all. He wouldn't even practise punching at a bolster 
 that Peter rigged up for 'im, and when 'e got a mes- 
 sage from Bill Lumm naming a quiet place on the 
 Lea Marshes he agreed to it as comfortable as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 "Well, I must say, Ginger, that I like your pluck,'* 
 ses Peter Russet. 
 
 "I always 'ave said that for Ginger; Vs got 
 pluck," ses Sam. 
 
 Ginger coughed and tried to smile at 'em in a 
 superior sort o' way. "I thought you'd got more 
 sense," he ses, at last. "You don't think I'm going, 
 do you ?" 
 
 "/F<?/. ? " ses old Sam, in a shocked voice. 
 
 "You're never going to back out of it, Ginger?'* 
 ses Peter. 
 
 "I am," ses Ginger. "If you think I'm going to 
 be smashed up by a prize-fighter just to show my 
 pluck you're mistook." 
 
 "You must go, Ginger," ses old Sam, very severe, 
 281
 
 The Third String 
 
 "It's too late to back out of it now. Think of the 
 gal. Think of 'er feelings." 
 
 "For the sake of your good name," ses Peter. 
 
 "I should never speak to you agin, Ginger," ses 
 old Sam, pursing up 'is lips. 
 
 "Nor me neither," ses Peter Russet. 
 
 "To think of our Ginger being called a coward," 
 ses old Sam, with a shudder, "and afore a gal, too." 
 
 "The loveliest gal in Wapping," ses Peter. 
 
 "Look 'ere," ses Ginger, "you can shut up, both of 
 you. I'm not going, and that's the long and short of 
 it. I don't mind an ordinary man, but I draw the 
 line at prize-fighters." 
 
 Old Sam sat down on the edge of 'is bed and 
 looked the picture of despair. "You must go, Gin- 
 ger," he ses, "for my sake." 
 
 "Your sake?" ses Ginger, staring. 
 
 "I've got money on it," ses Sam, "so's Peter. If 
 you don't turn up all bets'll be off." 
 
 "Good job for you, too," ses Ginger. "If I did 
 turn up you'd lose it, to a dead certainty." 
 
 Old Sam coughed and looked at Peter, and Peter 
 *e coughed and looked at Sam. 
 
 "You don't understand, Ginger," said Sam, in a 
 soft voice; "it ain't often a chap gets the chance o' 
 making a bit o' money these 'ard times." 
 
 "So we've put all our money on Bill Lumm," ses 
 Peter. "It's the safest and easiest way o' making 
 
 282
 
 The Third String 
 
 money I ever 'card of. You see, we know you're not 
 a prize-fighter and the others don't." 
 
 Pore Ginger looked at 'em, and then 'e called 'em 
 all the names he could lay 'is tongue to, but, with the 
 idea o' the money they was going make, they didn't 
 mind a bit. They let him 'ave 'is say, and that night 
 they brought 'ome two other sailormen wot 'ad bet 
 agin Ginger to share their room, and, though they 
 'ad bet agin 'im, they was so fond of 'im that it was 
 evident that they wasn't going to leave 'im till the 
 fight was over. 
 
 Ginger gave up then, and at twelve o'clock next 
 day they started off to find the place. Mr. Webson, 
 the landlord of the Jolly Pilots, a short, fat man o' 
 fifty, wot 'ad spoke to Ginger once or twice, went 
 with 'em, and all the way to the station he kept say- 
 ing wot a jolly spot it was for that sort o' thing. Per- 
 fickly private; nice soft green grass to be knocked 
 down on, and larks up in the air singing away as if 
 they'd never leave off. 
 
 They took the train to Homerton, and, being a 
 slack time o' the day, the porters was surprised to see 
 wot a lot o' people was travelling by it. So was Gin- 
 ger. There was the landlords of 'arf the public- 
 'ouses in Wapping, all smoking big cigars; two dock 
 policemen in plain clothes, wot 'ad got the arternoon 
 off one with a raging toothache and the other with 
 a baby wot wasn't expected to last the day out. They 
 
 283
 
 The Third String 
 
 was as full o' fun as kittens, and the landlord o' the 
 Jolly Pilots pointed out to Ginger wot reasonable 
 'uman beings policemen was at 'art. Besides them 
 there was quite a lot o' sailormen, even skippers and 
 mates, nearly all of 'em smoking big cigars, too, and 
 looking at Ginger out of the corner of one eye and 
 at the Wapping Basher out of the corner of the 
 other. 
 
 "Hit 'ard and hit straight," ses the landlord to 
 Ginger in a low voice, as they got out of the train 
 and walked up the road. "'Ow are you feeling?" 
 
 "I've got a cold coming on," ses pore Ginger, 
 looking at the Basher, who was on in front, "and a 
 splitting 'eadache, and a sharp pain all down my left 
 leg. I don't think " 
 
 "Well, it's a good job it's no worse," ses the land- 
 lord; "all you've got to do is to hit 'ard. If you win 
 it's a 'undered pounds in my pocket, and I'll stand 
 you a fiver of it. D'ye understand?" 
 
 They turned down some little streets, several of 
 'em going diff'rent ways, and arter crossing the River 
 Lea got on to the marshes, and, as the landlord said, 
 the place might ha' been made for it. 
 
 A little chap from Mile End was the referee, and 
 Bill Lumm, 'aving peeled, stood looking on while 
 Ginger took 'is things off and slowly and carefully 
 folded 'em up. Then they stepped toward each 
 other, Bill taking longer steps than Ginger, and 
 
 284
 
 The Third String 
 
 shook 'ands; immediately arter which Bill knocked 
 Ginger head over 'eels. 
 
 "Time !" was called, and the landlord o' the Jolly 
 Pilots, who was nursing Ginger on 'is knee, said that 
 
 " Bill Lumm, 'aving peeled, stood looking on while Ginger took 'is things off.** 
 
 it was nothing at all, and that bleeding at the nose 
 was a sign of 'ealth. But as it happened Ginger was 
 that mad 'e didn't want any encouragement, he on'y 
 wanted to kill Bill Lumm. 
 
 He got two or three taps in the next round which 
 
 285
 
 The Third String 
 
 made his 'ead ring, and then he got 'ome on the mark 
 and follered it up by a left-'anded punch on Bill's 
 jaw that surprised 'em both Bill because he didn't 
 think Ginger could hit so 'ard, and Ginger because 'e 
 didn't think that prize-fighters 'ad any feelings. 
 
 They clinched and fell that round, and the land- 
 lord patted Ginger on the back and said that if he 
 ever 'ad a son he 'oped he'd grow up like 'im. 
 
 Ginger was surprised at the way 'e was getting on, 
 and so was old Sam and Peter Russet, and when 
 Ginger knocked Bill down in the sixth round Sam 
 went as pale as death. Ginger was getting marked 
 all over, but he stuck to 'is man, and the two dock 
 policemen, wot 'ad put thier money on Bill Lumm, 
 began to talk of their dooty, and say as 'ow the fight 
 ought to be stopped. 
 
 At the tenth round Bill couldn't see out of 'is eyes, 
 and kept wasting 'is strength on the empty air, and 
 once on the referee. Ginger watched 'is opportunity, 
 and at last, with a terrific smash on the point o' Bill's 
 jaw, knocked 'im down and then looked round for 
 the landlord's knee. 
 
 Bill made a game try to get up when "Time!" was 
 called, but couldn't; and the referee, who was 'olding 
 a 'andkerchief to 'is nose, gave the fight to Ginger. 
 
 It was the proudest moment o* Ginger Dick's life. 
 He sat there like a king, smiling 'orribly, and Sam's 
 voice as he paid 'is losings sounded to 'im like music, 
 
 286
 
 The Third String 
 
 in spite o' the words the old man see fit to use. It 
 was so 'ard to get Peter Russet's money that it a'most 
 looked as though there was going to be another prize- 
 fight, but 'e paid up at last and went off, arter fust 
 telling Ginger part of wot he thought of 'im. 
 
 There was a lot o' quarrelling, but the bets was all 
 settled at last, and the landlord o' the Jolly Pilots, 
 who was in 'igh feather with the money he'd won, 
 gave Ginger the five pounds he'd promised and took 
 him 'ome in a cab. 
 
 "You done well, my lad," he ses. "No, don't 
 smile. It looks as though your 'ead's coming off." 
 
 "I 'ope you'll tell Miss Tucker 'ow I fought," ses 
 Ginger. 
 
 "I will, my lad," ses the landlord; "but you'd bet- 
 ter not see 'er for some time, for both your sakes." 
 
 "I was thinking of 'aving a day or two in bed,'* 
 ses Ginger. 
 
 "Best thing you can do," ses the landlord; "and 
 mind, don't you ever fight Bill Lumm agin. Keep 
 out of 'is way." 
 
 "Why? I beat 'im once, an' I can beat 'im agin," 
 ses Ginger, offended. 
 
 "Beat *im?" ses the landlord. He took 'is cigar 
 out of 'is mouth as though 'e was going to speak, and 
 then put it back agin and looked out of the window. 
 
 "Yes, beat 'im," ses Ginger. "You was there and 
 saw it." 
 
 287
 
 The Third String 
 
 "He lost the fight a-purpose," ses the landlord, 
 whispering. "Miss Tucker found out that you 
 wasn't a prize-fighter leastways, I did for 'er and 
 she told Bill that, if 'e loved 'er so much that he'd 
 'ave 'is sinful pride took down by letting you beat 
 'im, she'd think diff'rent of 'im. Why, 'e could 'ave 
 settled you in a minute if he'd liked. He was on'y 
 playing with you." 
 
 Ginger stared at 'im as if 'e couldn't believe 'is 
 eyes. "Playing?" he ses, feeling 'is face very gently 
 with the tips of his fingers. 
 
 "Yes," ses the landlord; "and if he ever hits you 
 agin you'll know I'm speaking the truth." 
 
 Ginger sat back all of a heap and tried to think. 
 "Is Miss Tucker going to keep company with 'im 
 agin, then ?" he ses, in a faint voice. 
 
 "No," ses the landlord; "you can make your mind 
 easy on that point." 
 
 "Well, then, if I walk out with 'er I shall 'ave to 
 fight Bill all over agin," ses Ginger. 
 
 The landlord turned to 'im and patted 'im on the 
 shoulder. "Don't you take up your troubles afore 
 they come, my lad," he ses, kindly; "and mind and 
 keep wot I've told you dark, for all our sakes." 
 
 He put 'im down at the door of 'is lodgings and, 
 arter shaking 'ands with 'im, gave the landlady a shil- 
 ling and told 'er to get some beefsteak and put on 'is 
 face, and went home. Ginger went straight off to 
 
 288
 
 The Third String 
 
 bed, and the way he carried on when the landlady 
 fried the steak afore bringing it up showed 'ow upset 
 he was. 
 
 * The way he carried on when the landlady fried the steak showed 
 upset he was." 
 
 289
 
 The Third String 
 
 It was over a week afore he felt 'e could risk let- 
 ting Miss Tucker see 'im, and then at seven o'clock 
 one evening he felt 'e couldn't wait any longer, and 
 arter spending an hour cleaning 'imself he started 
 out for the Jolly Pilots. 
 
 He felt so 'appy at the idea o' seeing her agin that 
 'e forgot all about Bill Lumm, and it gave 'im quite 
 a shock when 'e saw 'im standing outside the Pilots. 
 Bill took his 'ands out of 'is pockets when he saw 'im 
 and came toward 'im. 
 
 "It's no good to-night, mate," he ses; and to Gin- 
 ger's great surprise shook 'ands with 'im. 
 
 "No good?" ses Ginger, staring. 
 
 "No," ses Bill; "he's in the little back-parlour, like 
 a whelk in 'is shell; but we'll 'ave 'im sooner or 
 later." 
 
 "Him? Who?" ses Ginger, more puzzled than 
 ever. 
 
 "Who?" ses Bill; "why, Webson, the landlord. 
 You don't mean to tell me you ain't heard about it?" 
 
 "Heard wot?" ses Ginger. "I haven't 'card any- 
 thing. I've been indoors with a bad cold all the 
 week." 
 
 "Webson and Julia Tucker was married at eleven 
 o'clock yesterday morning," ses Bill Lumm, in a 
 hoarse voice. "When I think of the way I've been 
 done, and wot I've suffered, I feel 'arf crazy. He 
 won a 'undered pounds through me, and then got the 
 
 290
 
 The Third String 
 
 gal I let myself be disgraced for. I 'ad an idea some 
 time ago that he'd got 'is eye on her." 
 
 Ginger Dick didn't answer 'im a word. He stag- 
 gered back and braced 'imself up agin the wall for a 
 bit, and arter staring at Bill Lumm in a wild way for 
 pretty near three minutes he crawled back to 'is lodg- 
 ings and went straight to bed agin.
 
 ODD CHARGES
 
 ODD CHARGES 
 
 SEATED at his ease in the warm tap-room of the 
 Cauliflower, the stranger had been eating and 
 drinking for some time, apparently unconscious 
 of the presence of the withered ancient who, huddled 
 up in that corner of the settle which was nearer to 
 the fire, fidgeted restlessly with an empty mug and 
 blew with pathetic insistence through a churchwar- 
 den pipe which had long been cold. The stranger 
 finished his meal with a sigh of content and then, ris- 
 ing from his chair, crossed over to the settle and, 
 placing his mug on the time-worn table before him, 
 began to fill his pipe. 
 
 The old man took a spill from the table and, hold- 
 ing it with trembling fingers to the blaze, gave him a 
 light. The other thanked him, and then, leaning 
 back in his corner of the settle, watched the smoke 
 of his pipe through half-closed eyes, and assented 
 drowsily to the old man's remarks upon the weather. 
 "Bad time o' the year for going about," said the 
 latter, "though I s'pose if you can eat and drink as 
 much as you want it don't matter. I s'pose you 
 mightn't be a conjurer from London, sir?" 
 
 295
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 The traveller shook his head. 
 
 "I was 'oping you might be," said the old man. 
 
 The other manifested no curiosity. 
 
 "If you 'ad been," said the old man, with a sigh, 
 "I should ha' asked you to ha' done something use- 
 ful. Gin'rally speaking, conjurers do things that are 
 no use to anyone; wot I should like to see a conjurer 
 do would be to make this 'ere empty mug full o' beer 
 and this empty pipe full o' shag tobacco. That's wot 
 I should ha' made bold to ask you to do if you'd been 
 one." 
 
 The traveller sighed, and, taking his short briar 
 pipe from his mouth by the bowl, rapped three times 
 upon the table with it. In a very short time a mug 
 of ale and a paper cylinder of shag appeared on the 
 table before the old man. 
 
 "Wot put me in mind o' your being a conjurer," 
 said the latter, filling his pipe after a satisfying 
 draught from the mug, "is that you're uncommon 
 like one that come to Claybury some time back and 
 give a performance in this very room where we're 
 now a-sitting. So far as looks go, you might be his 
 brother." 
 
 The traveller said that he never had a brother. 
 
 We didn't know 'e was a conjurer at fust, said 
 the old man. He 'ad come down for Wickham 
 Fair and, being a day or two before'and, 'e was going 
 to different villages round about to give perform- 
 
 296
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 ances. He came into the bar 'ere and ordered a mug 
 o' beer, and while 'e was a-drinking of it stood talk- 
 ing about the weather. Then 'e asked Bill Chambers 
 
 " Putting his 'and to Bill's mug, he took out a live frog." 
 
 to excuse Mm for taking the liberty, and, putting riis 
 'and to Bill's mug, took out a live frog. Bill was 
 a very partikler man about wot 'e drunk, and I 
 
 297
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 thought he'd ha' had a fit. He went on at Smith, 
 the landlord, something shocking, and at last, for the 
 sake o' peace and quietness, Smith gave 'im another 
 pint to make up for it. 
 
 "It must ha' been asleep in the mug," he ses. 
 
 Bill said that 'e thought 'e knew who must ha' been 
 asleep, and was just going to take a drink, when the 
 conjurer asked Mm to excuse 'im agin. Bill put down 
 the mug in a 'urry, and the conjurer put his 'and to 
 the mug and took out a dead mouse. It would ha' 
 been a 'ard thing to say which was the most upset, 
 Bill Chambers or Smith, the landlord, and Bill, who 
 was in a terrible state, asked why it was everything 
 seemed to get into his mug. 
 
 "P'r'aps you're fond o' dumb animals, sir," ses the 
 conjurer. "Do you 'appen to notice your coat-pocket 
 is all of a wriggle?" 
 
 He put his 'and to Bill's pocket and took out a 
 little green snake; then he put his 'and to Bill's trou- 
 ser-pocket and took out a frog, while pore Bill's eyes 
 looked as if they was coming out o' their sockets. 
 
 "Keep still," ses the conjurer; "there's a lot more 
 to come yet." 
 
 Bill Chambers gave a 'owl that was dreadful to 
 listen to, and then 'e pushed the conjurer away and 
 started undressing 'imself as fast as he could move 'is 
 fingers. I believe he'd ha' taken off 'is shirt if it 'ad 
 'ad pockets in it, and then 'e stuck 'is feet close to- 
 
 298
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 gether and 'e kept jumping into the air, and coming 
 down on to 'is own clothes in his hobnailed boots. 
 
 "He aint fond o' dumb animals, then," ses the 
 conjurer. Then he put his 'and on his 'art and 
 bowed. 
 
 "Gentlemen all," he ses. '"Aving given you this 
 specimen of wot I can do, I beg to give notice that 
 with the landlord's kind permission I shall give my 
 celebrated conjuring entertainment in the tap-room 
 this evening at seven o'clock; ad mission, three- 
 pence each." 
 
 They didn't understand Mm at fust, but at last they 
 see wot 'e meant, and arter explaining to Bill, who 
 was still giving little jumps, they led Mm up into a 
 corner and coaxed 'im into dressing 'imself agin. He 
 wanted to fight the conjurer, but 'e was that tired 'e 
 could scarcely stand, and by-and-by Smith, who 'ad 
 said 'e wouldn't 'ave anything to do with it, gave way 
 and said he'd risk it. 
 
 The tap-room was crowded that night, but we all 
 'ad to pay threepence each coining money, I call it. 
 Some o' the things wot he done was very clever, but 
 a'most from the fust start-off there was unpleasant- 
 ness. When he asked somebody to lend 'im a pocket- 
 'andkercher to turn into a white rabbit, Henery 
 Walker rushed up and lent 'im 'is, but instead of a 
 white rabbit it turned into a black one with two white 
 spots on it, and arter Henery Walker 'ad sat for some 
 
 299
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 time puzzling over it 'e got up and went off 'ome 
 without saying good-night to a soul. 
 
 Then the conjurer borrowed Sam Jones's hat, and 
 arter looking into it for some time 'e was that sur- 
 prised and astonished that Sam Jones lost 'is temper 
 and asked 'im whether he 'adn't seen a hat afore. 
 
 "Not like this," ses the conjurer. And 'e pulled 
 out a woman's dress and jacket and a pair o' boots. 
 Then 'e took out a pound or two o' taters and some 
 crusts o' bread and other things, and at last 'e gave 
 it back to Sam Jones and shook 'is head at 'im, and 
 told 'im if he wasn't very careful he'd spoil the shape 
 of it. 
 
 Then 'e asked somebody to lend 'im a watch, and, 
 arter he 'ad promised to take the greatest care of it, 
 Dicky Weed, the tailor, lent 'im a gold watch wot 
 'ad been left 'im by 'is great-aunt when she died. 
 Dicky Weed thought a great deal o' that watch, and 
 when the conjurer took a flat-iron and began to smash 
 it up into little bits it took three men to hold 'im down 
 in 'is seat. 
 
 "This is the most difficult trick o' the lot," ses 
 the conjurer, picking off a wheel wot 'ad stuck to 
 the flat-iron. "Sometimes I can do it and sometimes 
 I can't. Last time I tried it it was a failure, and it 
 cost me eighteenpence and a pint o' beer afore the 
 gentleman the watch 'ad belonged to was satisfied. 
 I gave 'im the bits, too." 
 
 300
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 "If you don't give me my watch back safe and 
 sound," ses Dicky Weed, in a trembling voice, "it'll 
 cost you twenty pounds." 
 
 "'Ow much?" ses the conjurer, with a start. 
 "Well, I wish you'd told me that afore you lent it to 
 me. Eighteenpence is my price." 
 
 He stirred the broken bits up with 'is finger and 
 shook his 'ead. 
 
 "I've never tried one o' these old-fashioned 
 watches afore," he ses. "'Owever, if I fail, gentle- 
 men, it'll be the fust and only trick I've failed in to- 
 night. You can't expect everything to turn out right> 
 but if I do fail this time, gentlemen, I'll try it agin, 
 if anybody else'll lend me another watch." 
 
 Dicky Weed tried to speak but couldn't, and 'e sat 
 there, with 'is face pale, staring at the pieces of 'is 
 watch on the conjurer's table. Then the conjurer 
 took a big pistol with a trumpet-shaped barrel out of 
 'is box, and arter putting in a charge o' powder 
 picked up the pieces o' watch and rammed them in 
 arter it. We could hear the broken bits grating agin 
 the ramrod, and arter he 'ad loaded it 'e walked 
 round and handed it to us to look at. 
 
 "It's all right," he ses to Dicky Weed; "it's going 
 to be a success; I could tell in the loading." 
 
 He walked back to the other end of the room and 
 held up the pistol. 
 
 "I shall now fire this pistol," 'e ses, "and in so 
 301
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 doing mend the watch. The explosion of the powder 
 makes the bits o' glass join together agin; in flying 
 through the air the wheels go round and round col- 
 lecting all the other parts, and the watch as good as 
 new and ticking away its 'ardest will be found in the 
 coat-pocket o' the gentleman I shoot at." 
 
 He pointed the pistol fust at one and then at 
 another, as if 'e couldn't make up 'is mind, and none 
 of 'em seemed to 'ave much liking for it. Peter Gub- 
 bins told 'im not to shoot at 'im because he 'ad a 'ole 
 in his pocket, and Bill Chambers, when it pointed at 
 'im, up and told 'im to let somebody else 'ave a turn. 
 The only one that didn't flinch was Bob Pretty, the 
 biggest poacher and the greatest rascal in Claybury. 
 He'd been making fun o' the tricks all along, saying 
 out loud that he'd seen 'em all afore and done bet- 
 ter. 
 
 "Go on," he ses; "I ain't afraid of you; you can't 
 shoot straight." 
 
 The conjurer pointed the pistol at 'irn. Then 'e 
 pulled the trigger and the pistol went off bang, and 
 the same moment o' time Bob Pretty jumped up with 
 a 'orrible scream, and holding his 'ands over 'is eyes 
 danced about as though he'd gone mad. 
 
 Everybody started up at once and got round 'im, 
 and asked 'im wot was the matter; but Bob didn't 
 answer Vm. He kept on making a dreadful noise, 
 and at last 'e broke out of the room apd, holding 'is 
 
 302
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 'andkercher to 'is face, 'ran off 'ome as 'ard as he 
 could run. 
 
 "You've done it now, mate," ses Bill Chambers to 
 the conjurer. "I thought you wouldn't be satisfied 
 till you'd done some 'arm. You've been and blinded 
 pore Bob Pretty." 
 
 "Nonsense," ses the conjurer. "He's frightened, 
 that's all." 
 
 "Frightened!" ses Peter Gubbins. "Why, you 
 fired Dicky Weed's watch straight into 'is face." 
 
 "Rubbish," ses the conjurer; "it dropped into 'is 
 pocket, and he'll find it there when 'e comes to 'is 
 senses." 
 
 "Do you mean to tell me that Bob Pretty 'as gone 
 off with my watch in 'is pocket?" screams Dicky 
 Weed. 
 
 "I do," ses the other. 
 
 "You'd better get 'old of Bob afore 'e finds it out 
 Dicky," ses Bill Chambers. 
 
 Dicky Weed didn't answer 'im; he was alreadj 
 running along to Bob Pretty's as fast as 'is legs would 
 take 'im, with most of us follering behind to see wot 
 'appened. 
 
 The door was fastened when we got to it, but 
 Dicky Weed banged away at it as 'ard as he could 
 bang, and at last the bedroom winder went up and 
 Mrs. Pretty stuck her 'ead out. 
 
 " she ses, in a whisper. "Go away." 
 
 303
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 "I want to see Bob," ses Dicky Weed. 
 
 "You can't see 'im," ses Mrs. Pretty. "I'm get- 
 
 " He was running along to Bob Pretty's as fast as 'Is legs would take Mm." 
 
 ting 'im t bed. He's been shot, pore dear. Can't 
 you 'ear 'im groaning?" 
 
 We 'adn't up to then, but a'most direckly artcr she 
 304
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 f ad spoke you could ha' heard Bob's groans a mile 
 away. Dreadful, they was. 
 
 "There, there, pore dear," ses Mrs. Pretty. 
 
 "Shall I come in and 'elp you get 'im to bed?" ses 
 Dicky Weed, 'arf crying. 
 
 "No, thank you, Mr. Weed," ses Mrs. Pretty. 
 "It's very kind of you to offer, but 'e wouldn't like 
 any hands but mine to touch 'im. I'll send in and let 
 you know 'ow he is fust thing in the morning." 
 
 "Try and get 'old of the coat, Dicky," ses Bill 
 Chambers, in a whisper. "Offer to mend it for 'im. 
 It's sure to want it." 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry I can't be no 'elp to you," ses 
 Dicky Weed, "but I noticed a rent in Bob's coat and, 
 as 'e's likely to be laid up a bit, it ud be a good oppor- 
 tunity for me to mend it for 'im. I won't charge 'im 
 nothing. If you drop it down I'll do it now." 
 
 "Thankee," ses Mrs. Pretty; "if you just wait a 
 moment I'll clear the pockets out and drop it down to 
 you." 
 
 She turned back into the bedroom, and Dicky 
 Weed ground 'is teeth together and told Bill Cham- 
 bers that the next time he took 'is advice he'd remem- 
 ber it. He stood there trembling all over with tem- 
 per, and when Mrs. Pretty came to the winder agin 
 and dropped the coat on his 'ead and said that Bob 
 felt his kindness very much, and he 'oped Dicky ud 
 make a good job of it, because it was 'is fav-rite coat- 
 
 305
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 he couldn't speak. He stood there shaking all over 
 till Mrs. Pretty 'ad shut the winder down agin, and 
 then 'e turned to the conjurer, as 'ad come up with 
 the rest of us, and asked 'im wot he was going to 
 do about it now. 
 
 "I tell you he's got the watch," ses the conjurer, 
 pointing up at the winder. "It went into 'is pocket. 
 I saw it go. He was no more shot than you were. 
 If 'e was, why doesn't he send for the doctor?" 
 
 "I can't 'elp that," ses Dicky Weed. "I want my 
 watch or else twenty pounds." 
 
 "We'll talk it over in a day or two," ses the con- 
 jurer. "I'm giving my celebrated entertainment at 
 Wickham Fair on Monday, but I'll come back 'ere 
 to the Cauliflower the Saturday before and give 
 another entertainment, and then we'll see wot's to be 
 done. I can't run away, because in any case I can't 
 afford to miss the fair." 
 
 Dicky Weed gave way at last and went off 'ome 
 to bed and told 'is wife about it, and listening to 'er 
 advice he got up at six o'clock in the morning and 
 went round to see 'ow Bob Pretty was. 
 
 Mrs. Pretty was up when 'e got there, and arter 
 calling up the stairs to Bob told Dicky Weed to go 
 upstairs. Bob Pretty was sitting up in bed with 'is 
 face covered in bandages, and he seemed quite 
 pleased to see Mm. 
 
 "It ain't everybody that ud get up at six o'clock 
 306
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 to see 'ow I'm getting on," he ses. "You've got a 
 feeling 'art, Dicky." 
 
 Dicky Weed coughed and looked round, wonder- 
 ing whether the watch was in the room, and, if so, 
 where it was hidden. 
 
 "Now I'm 'ere I may as well tidy up the room for 
 you a bit," he ses, getting up. "I don't like sitting 
 idle." 
 
 "Thankee, mate," ses Bob; and 'e lay still and 
 watched Dicky Weed out of the corner of the eye 
 that wasn't covered with the bandages. 
 
 I don't suppose that room 'ad ever been tidied up 
 so thoroughly since the Prettys 'ad lived there, but 
 Dicky Weed couldn't see anything o' the watch, and 
 wot made 'im more angry than anything else was 
 Mrs. Pretty setting down in a chair with 'er 'ands 
 folded in her lap and pointing out places that he 
 'adn't done. 
 
 "You leave 'im alone," ses Bob. "//<? knows wot 
 'cs arter. Wot did you do with those little bits o' 
 watch you found when you was bandaging me up, 
 missis?" 
 
 "Don't ask me," ses Mrs. Pretty. "I was in such 
 a state I don't know wot I was doing 'ardly." 
 
 "Well, they must be about somewhere," ses Bob. 
 "You 'ave a look for 'em, Dicky, and if you find 'em, 
 keep 'em. They belong to you." 
 
 Dicky Weed tried to be civil and thank 'im, and 
 
 307
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 then he went off 'ome and talked it over with 'is wife 
 agin. People couldn't make up their minds whether 
 Bob Pretty 'ad found the watch in 'is pocket and was 
 shamming, or whether 'e was really shot, but they 
 was all quite certain that, whichever way it was, 
 Dicky Weed would never see 'is watch agin. 
 
 On the Saturday evening this 'ere Cauliflower 
 public-'ouse was crowded, everybody being anxious to 
 see the watch trick done over agin. We had 'eard 
 that it 'ad been done all right at Cudford and Monks- 
 ham; but Bob Pretty said as 'ow he'd believe it when 
 'e saw it, and not afore. 
 
 He was one o' the fust to turn up that night, be- 
 cause 'e said 'e wanted to know wot the conjurer was 
 going to pay him for all 'is pain and suffering and 
 having things said about 'is character. He came in 
 leaning on a stick, with 'is face still bandaged, and sat 
 right up close to the conjurer's table, and watched 
 him as 'ard as he could as 'e went through 'is tricks. 
 
 "And now," ses the conjurer, at last, "I come to 
 my celebrated watch trick. Some of you as wos 'ere 
 last Tuesday when I did it will remember that the 
 man I fired the pistol at pretended that 'e'd been shot 
 and run off 'ome with it in 'is pocket." 
 
 "You're a liar!" ses Bob Pretty, standing up. 
 
 "Very good," ses the conjurer; "you take that 
 bandage off and show us all where you're hurt." 
 
 308
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 "I shall do nothing o' the kind," ses Bob. "I 
 don't take my orders from you." 
 
 "Take the bandage off," ses the conjurer, "and if 
 there's any shot marks I'll give you a couple o' sov- 
 ereigns." 
 
 "I'm afraid of the air getting to it," ses Bob 
 Pretty. 
 
 "You don't want to be afraid o' that, Bob," ses 
 John Biggs, the blacksmith, coming up behind and 
 putting 'is great arms round 'im. "Take off that 
 rag, somebody; I've got hold of 'im." 
 
 Bob Pretty started to struggle at fust, but then, 
 seeing it was no good, kept quite quiet while they 
 took off the bandages. 
 
 "There! look at Mm," ses the conjurer, pointing. 
 "Not a mark on 'is face, not one." 
 
 "Wot!" ses Bob Pretty. "Do you mean to say 
 there's no marks?" 
 
 "I do," ses the conjurer. 
 
 "Thank goodness," ses Bob Pretty, clasping his 
 'ands. "Thank goodness! I was afraid I was dis- 
 figured for life. Lend me a bit o' looking-glass, 
 somebody. I can 'ardly believe it." 
 
 "You stole Dicky Weed's watch," ses John Biggs. 
 "I 'ad my suspicions of you all along. You're a 
 thief, Bob Pretty. That's wot you are." 
 
 "Prove it," ses Bob Pretty. "You 'card wot the 
 conjurer said the other night, that the last time he 
 
 309
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 tried 'e failed, and 'ad to give eighteenpence to the 
 man wot the watch 'ad belonged to." 
 
 "That was by way of a joke like," ses the conjurer 
 to John Biggs. "I can always do it. I'm going to 
 do it now. Will somebody 'ave the kindness to lend 
 me a watch?" 
 
 He looked all round the room, but nobody offered 
 except other men's watches, wot wouldn't lend 'em. 
 
 "Come, come," he ses; "ain't none of you got any 
 trust in me? It'll be as safe as if it was in your 
 pocket. I want to prove to you that this man is a 
 thief." 
 
 He asked 'em agin, and at last John Biggs took 
 out 'is silver watch and offered it to 'im on the under- 
 standing that 'e was on no account to fire it into Bob 
 Pretty's pocket. 
 
 "Not likely," ses the conjurer. "Now, everybody 
 take a good look at this watch, so as to make sure 
 there's no deceiving." 
 
 He 'anded it round, and arter everybody 'ad taken 
 a look at it 'e took it up to the table and laid it down. 
 
 "Let me 'ave a look at it," ses Bob Pretty, going 
 up to the table. "I'm not going to 'ave my good 
 name took away for nothing if I can 'elp it." 
 
 He took it up and looked at it, and arter 'olding 
 it to 'is ear put it down agin. 
 
 "Is that the flat-iron it's going to be smashed 
 with?" he ses. 
 
 310
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 "It is," ses the conjurer, looking at 'im nasty like; 
 'p'r'aps you'd like to examine it." 
 Bob Pretty took it and looked at it. 
 
 " Afore anybody could move, he brought it down bang on the face o' the watch.** 
 
 "Yes, mates," he ses, "it's a ordinary flat-iron. 
 You couldn't 'ave anything better for smashing a 
 watch with." 
 
 3"
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 He 'eld it up in the 'air and, afore anybody could 
 move,. brought it down bang on the face o' the watch. 
 The conjurer sprang at 'im and caught at 'is arm, 
 but it was too late, and in a terrible state o' mind 'e 
 turned round to John Biggs. 
 
 "He's smashed your watch," he ses; "he's smashed 
 your watch." 
 
 "Well," ses John Biggs, "it 'ad got to be smashed, 
 'adn't it?" 
 
 "Yes, but not by 'im," ses the conjurer, dancing 
 about. "I wash my 'ands of it now." 
 
 "Look 'ere," ses John Biggs; "don't you talk to me 
 about washing your 'ands of it. You finish your trick 
 and give me my watch back agin same as it was 
 afore." 
 
 "Not now he's been interfering with it," ses the 
 conjurer. "He'd better do the trick now as he's so 
 clever." 
 
 "I'd sooner 'ave you do it," ses John Biggs. "Wot 
 did you let 'im interfere for?" 
 
 "'Ow was I to know wot 'e was going to do?" ses 
 the conjurer. "You must settle it between you now. 
 I'll 'ave nothing more to do with it." 
 
 "All right, John Biggs," ses Bob Pretty; "if 'e 
 won't do it, I will. If it can be done, I don't s'pose 
 it matters who does it. I don't think anybody could 
 smash up a watch better than that." 
 
 312
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 John Biggs looked at it, and then 'e asked the con- 
 jurer once more to do the trick, but 'e wouldn't. 
 
 "It can't be done now," he ses; "and I warn you 
 that if that pistol is fired I won't be responsible for 
 what'll 'appen." 
 
 "George Kettle shall load the pistol and fire it if 
 'e won't," ses Bob Pretty. "'Aving been in the Mili- 
 tia, there couldn't be a better man for the job." 
 
 George Kettle walked up to the table as red as fire 
 at being praised like that afore people and started 
 loading the pistol. He seemed to be more awkward 
 about it than the conjurer 'ad been the last time, and 
 he 'ad to roll the watch-cases up with the flat-iron 
 afore 'e could get 'em in. But 'e loaded it at last and 
 stood waiting. 
 
 "Don't shoot at me, George Kettle," ses Bob. 
 "I've been called a thief once, and I don't want to 
 be agin." 
 
 "Put that pistol down, you fool, afore you do mis- 
 chief," ses the conjurer. 
 
 "Who shall I shoot at?" ses George Kettle, raising 
 the pistol. 
 
 "Better fire at the conjurer, I think," ses Bob 
 Pretty; "and if things 'appen as he says they will 
 'appen, the watch ought to be found in 'is coat- 
 pocket." 
 
 "Where is he?" ses George, looking round.
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 Bill Chambers laid 'old of 'im just as he was going 
 through the door to fetch the landlord, and the 
 scream 'e gave as he came back and George Kettle 
 pointed the pistol at 'im was awful. 
 
 T1*E scream *e gave as George Kettle pointed the pistol at Mm was awful." 
 
 "Don't be silly," ses George. "Nobody's going 
 to hurt you."
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 "It's no worse for you than it was for me," ses 
 Bob. 
 
 "Put it down," screams the conjurer; "put it down. 
 You'll kill 'arf the men in the room if it goes off." 
 
 "Be careful where you aim, George," ses Sam 
 Jones. "P'r'aps he'd better 'ave a chair all by hisself 
 in the middle of the room." 
 
 It was all very well for Sam Jones to talk, but the 
 conjurer wouldn't sit on a chair by 'imself. He 
 wouldn't sit on it at all. He seemed to be all legs 
 and arms, and the way 'e struggled it took four or 
 five men to 'old 'im. 
 
 "Why don't you keep still?" ses John Biggs. 
 "George Kettle'll shoot it in your pocket all right. 
 He's the best shot in Claybury." 
 
 "Help! Murder!" says the conjurer, struggling. 
 "He'll kill me. Nobody can do the trick but me." 
 
 "But you say you won't do it," ses John Biggs. 
 
 "Not now," ses the conjurer; "I can't." 
 
 "Well, I'm not going to 'ave my watch lost 
 through want of trying," ses John Biggs. "Tie 'im 
 to the chair, mates." 
 
 "All right, then," ses the conjurer, very pale. 
 "Don't tie me; I'll sit still all right if you like, but 
 you'd better bring the chair outside in case of acci- 
 dents. Bring it in the front." 
 
 George Kettle said it was all nonsense, but the con- 
 jurer said the trick was always better done in the open 
 
 315
 
 Odd Charges 
 
 air, and at last they gave way and took 'im and the 
 chair outside. 
 
 "Now," ses the conjurer, as 'e sat down, "all of 
 you go and stand near the man wot's going to shoot. 
 When I say 'Three,' fire. Why! there's the watch 
 on the ground there !" 
 
 He pointed with 'is finger, and as they all looked 
 down he jumped up out o' that chair and set off on 
 the road to Wickham as 'ard as 'e could run. It was 
 so sudden that nobody knew wot 'ad 'appened for a 
 moment, and then George Kettle, wot 'ad been look- 
 ing with the rest, turned round and pulled the trig- 
 ger. 
 
 There was a bang that pretty nigh deafened us, 
 and the back o' the chair was blown nearly out. By 
 the time we'd got our senses agin the conjurer was 
 a'most out o' sight, and Bob Pretty was explaining 
 to John Biggs wot a good job it was 'is watch 'adn't 
 been a gold one. 
 
 "That's wot comes o' trusting a foreigner afore 
 a man wot you've known all your life," he ses, shak- 
 ing his 'ead. "I 'ope the next man wot tries to take 
 my good name away won't get off so easy. I felt all 
 along the trick couldn't be done; it stands to reason it 
 couldn't. I done my best, too." 
 
 316
 
 ADMIRAL PETERS
 
 m
 
 ADMIRAL PETERS 
 
 MR. GEORGE BURTON, naval pensioner, 
 sat at the door of his lodgings gazing in 
 placid content at the sea. It was early 
 summer, and the air was heavy with the scent of 
 flowers; Mr. Burton's pipe was cold and empty, and 
 his pouch upstairs. He shook his head gently as he 
 realised this, and, yielding to the drowsy quiet of his 
 surroundings, laid aside the useless pipe and fell into 
 a doze. 
 
 He was awakened half an hour later by the sound 
 of footsteps. A tall, strongly built man was ap- 
 proaching from the direction of the town, and Mr. 
 Burton, as he gazed at him sleepily, began to wonder 
 where he had seen him before. Even when the 
 stranger stopped and stood smiling down at him his 
 memory proved unequal to the occasion, and he sat 
 staring at the handsome, shaven face, with its lit- 
 tle fringe of grey whisker, waiting for enlighten- 
 ment. 
 
 "George, my buck," said the stranger, giving him 
 a hearty slap on the shoulder, "how goes it?" 
 
 Bless my eyes, I mean," said Mr. Bur-
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 ton, correcting himself, "if it ain't Joe Stiles. I 
 didn't know you without your beard." 
 
 "That's me," said the other. "It's quite by acci- 
 dent I heard where you were living, George ; I offered 
 to go and sling my hammock with old Dingle for a 
 week or two, and he told me. Nice quiet little place, 
 Seacombe. Ah, you were lucky to get your pension, 
 George." 
 
 "I deserved it," said Mr. Burton, sharply, as he 
 fancied he detected something ambiguous in his 
 friend's remark. 
 
 "Of course you did," said Mr. Stiles; "so did I, 
 but I didn't get it. Well, it's a poor heart that never 
 rejoices. What about that drink you were speaking 
 of, George?" 
 
 "I hardly ever touch anything now," replied his 
 friend. 
 
 "I was thinking about myself," said Mr. Stiles. "I 
 can't bear the stuff, but the doctor says I must have it. 
 You know what doctors are, George !" 
 
 Mr. Burton did not deign to reply, but led the way 
 indoors. 
 
 "Very comfortable quarters, George," remarked 
 Mr. Stiles, gazing round the room approvingly; 
 "ship-shape and tidy. I'm glad I met old Dingle. 
 Why, I might never ha' seen you again ; and us such 
 pals, too." 
 
 His host grunted, and from the back of a small cup- 
 
 320
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 board produced a bottle of whisky and a glass, and 
 set them on the table. After a momentary hesitation 
 he found another glass. 
 
 "Our noble selves," said Mr. Stiles, with a tinge 
 of reproach in his tones, "and may we never forget 
 old friendships." 
 
 Mr. Burton drank the toast. "I hardly know what 
 it's like now, Joe," he said, slowly. "You wouldn't 
 believe how soon you can lose the taste for it." 
 
 Mr. Stiles said he would take his word for it. 
 "You've got some nice little public-houses about here, 
 too," he remarked. "There's one I passed called the 
 Cock and Flowerpot; nice cosy little place it would 
 be to spend the evening in." 
 
 "I never go there," said Mr. Burton, hastily. "I 
 a friend o' mine here doesn't approve o' public- 
 'ouses." 
 
 "What's the matter with him?" inquired his friend, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "It's it's a 'er," said Mr. Burton, in some con- 
 fusion. 
 
 Mr. Stiles threw himself back in his chair and 
 eyed him with amazement. Then, recovering his 
 presence of mind, he reached out his hand for the 
 bottle. 
 
 "We'll drink her health," he said, in a deep voice. 
 "What's her name?" 
 
 "Mrs. Button," was the reply. 
 321
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 Mr. Stiles, with one hand on his heart, toasted her 
 feelingly; then, filling up again, he drank to the 
 "happy couple." 
 
 "She's very strict about drink," said Mr. Burton, 
 eyeing these proceedings with some severity. 
 
 "Any dibs?" inquired Mr. Stiles, slapping a 
 pocket which failed to ring in response. 
 
 "She's comfortable," replied the other, awkwardly. 
 "Got a little stationer's shop in the town; steady, old- 
 fashioned business. She's chapel, and very strict." 
 
 "Just what you want," remarked Mr. Stiles, plac- 
 ing his glass on the table. "What d'ye say to a 
 stroll?" 
 
 Mr. Burton assented, and, having replaced the 
 black bottle in the cupboard, led the way along the 
 cliffs toward the town some half-mile distant, Mr. 
 Stiles beguiling the way by narrating his adventures 
 since they had last met. A certain swagger and rich- 
 ness of deportment were explained by his statement 
 that he had been on the stage. 
 
 "Only walking on," he said, with a shake of his 
 head. "The only speaking part I ever had was a 
 cough. You ought to ha' heard that cough, George I" 
 
 Mr. Burton politely voiced his regrets and watched 
 him anxiously. Mr. Stiles, shaking his head over a 
 somewhat unsuccessful career, was making a bee-line 
 for the Cock and Flowerpot. 
 
 "Just for a small soda," he explained, and, once 
 322
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 inside, changed his mind and had whisky instead. 
 Mr. Burton, sacrificing principle to friendship, had 
 one with him. The bar more than fulfilled Mr. 
 Stiles's ideas as to its cosiness, and within the space of 
 ten minutes he was on excellent terms with the regu- 
 lar clients. Into the little, old-world bar, with its 
 loud-ticking clock, its Windsor-chairs, and its cracked 
 jug full of roses, he brought a breath of the bustle of 
 the great city and tales of the great cities beyond the 
 seas. Refreshment was forced upon him, and Mr. 
 Burton, pleased at his friend's success, shared mildly 
 in his reception. It was nine o'clock before they de- 
 parted, and then they only left to please the land- 
 lord. 
 
 "Nice lot o' chaps," said Mr. Stiles, as he stumbled 
 out into the sweet, cool air. "Catch hold o' my 
 arm, George. Brace me up a bit." 
 
 Mr. Burton complied, and his friend, reassured as 
 to his footing, burst into song. In a stentorian voice 
 he sang the latest song from comic opera, and then 
 with an adjuration to Mr. Burton to see what he was 
 about, and not to let him trip, he began, in a lumber- 
 ing fashion, to dance. 
 
 Mr. Burton, still propping him up, trod a measure 
 with fewer steps, and cast uneasy glances up the 
 lonely road. On their left the sea broke quietly on 
 the beach below; on their right were one or two scat- 
 tered cottages, at the doors of which an occasional 
 
 323
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 figure appeared to gaze in mute astonishment at the 
 proceedings. 
 
 "Dance, George," said Mr. Stiles, who found his 
 friend rather an encumbrance. 
 
 "Hs'h! Stop!" cried the frantic Mr. Burton, as 
 he caught sight of a woman's figure bidding farewell 
 in a lighted doorway. 
 
 Mr. Stiles replied with a stentorian roar, and Mr. 
 Burton, clinging despairingly to his jigging friend 
 lest a worse thing should happen, cast an imploring 
 glance at Mrs. Button as they danced by. The even- 
 ing was still light enough for him to see her face, and 
 he piloted the corybantic Mr. Stiles the rest of the 
 way home in a mood which accorded but ill with his 
 steps. 
 
 His manner at breakfast next morning was so of- 
 fensive that Mr. Stiles, who had risen fresh as a daisy 
 and been out to inhale the air on the cliffs, was some- 
 what offended. 
 
 "You go down and see her," he said, anxiously. 
 "Don't lose a moment; and explain to her that it was 
 the sea-air acting on an old sunstroke." 
 
 "She ain't a fool," said Mr. Burton, gloomily. 
 
 He finished his breakfast in silence, and, leaving 
 the repentant Mr. Stiles sitting in the doorway with 
 a pipe, went down to the widow's to make the best 
 explanation he could think of on the way. Mrs. 
 Dutton's fresh-coloured face changed as he entered 
 
 324
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 the shop, and her still good eyes regarded him with 
 scornful interrogation. 
 
 "I saw you last night," began Mr. Burton, tim- 
 idly. 
 
 "I saw you, too," said Mrs. Button. "I couldn't 
 believe my eyesight at first." 
 
 "It was an old shipmate of mine," said Mr. Bur- 
 ton. "He hadn't seen me for years, and I suppose 
 the sight of me upset 'im." 
 
 "I dare say," replied the widow; "that and the 
 Cock and Flowerpot, too. I heard about it." 
 
 "He would go," said the unfortunate. 
 
 "Tou needn't have gone," was the reply. 
 
 "I 'ad to," said Mr. Burton, with a gulp; "he 
 he's an old officer o' mine, and it wouldn't ha' been 
 discipline for me to refuse." 
 
 "Officer?" repeated Mrs. Dutton. 
 
 "My old admiral," said Mr. Burton, with a gulp 
 that nearly choked him. "You've heard me speak of 
 Admiral Peters?" 
 
 "Admiral?" gasped the astonished widow. 
 "What, a-carrying on like that?" 
 
 "He's a reg'lar old sea-dog," said Mr. Burton. 
 "He's staying with me, but of course 'e don't want it 
 known who he is. I couldn't refuse to 'ave a drink 
 with 'im. I was under orders, so to speak." 
 
 "No, I suppose not," said Mrs. Dutton, softening. 
 "Fancy him staying with you !" 
 
 325
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 "He just run down for the night, but I expect he'll 
 be going 'ome in an hour or two," said Mr. Burton, 
 who saw an excellent reason now for hastening his 
 guest's departure. 
 
 Mrs. Button's face fell. "Dear me," she mur- 
 mured, "I should have liked to have seen him; you 
 have told me so much about him. If he doesn't go 
 quite so soon, and you would like to bring him here 
 when you come to-night, I'm sure I should be very 
 pleased." 
 
 "I'll mention it to 'im," said Mr. Burton, marvel- 
 ling at the change in her manner. 
 
 "Didn't you say once that he was uncle to Lord 
 Buckfast?" inquired Mrs. Dutton, casually. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Burton, with unnecessary dogged- 
 ness; "I did." 
 
 "The idea of an admiral staying with you!" said 
 Mrs. Dutton. 
 
 "Reg'lar old sea-dog," said Mr. Burton again; 
 "and, besides, he don't want it known. It's a secret 
 between us three, Mrs. Dutton." 
 
 "To be sure," said the widow. "You can tell the 
 admiral that I shall not mention it to a soul," she 
 added, mincingly. 
 
 Mr. Burton thanked her and withdrew, lest Mr. 
 Stiles should follow him up before apprised of his 
 sudden promotion. He found that gentleman, how- 
 ever, still sitting at the front door, smoking serenely. 
 
 326
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 "I'll stay with you for a week or two," said Mr. 
 Stiles, briskly, as soon as the other had told his story. 
 "It'll do you a world o' good to be seen on friendly 
 terms with an admiral, and I'll put in a good word 
 for you." 
 
 Mr. Burton shook his head. "No, she might find 
 out," he said, slowly. "I think that the best thing is 
 for you to go home after dinner, Joe, and just give 
 'er a look in on the way, p'r'aps. You could say a lot 
 o' things about me in 'arf an hour." 
 
 "No, George," said Mr. Stiles, beaming on him 
 kindly; "when I put my hand to the plough I don't 
 draw back. It's a good speaking part, too, an ad- 
 miral's. I wonder whether I might use old Peters's 
 language." 
 
 "Certainly not," said Mr. Burton, in alarm. 
 "You don't know how particular she is." 
 
 Mr. Stiles sighed, and said that he would do the 
 best he could without it. He spent most of the day 
 on the beach smoking, and when evening came shaved 
 himself with extreme care and brushed his serge 
 suit with great perseverance in preparation for his 
 visit. 
 
 Mr. Burton performed the ceremony of introduc- 
 tion with some awkwardness; Mr. Stiles was affect- 
 ing a stateliness of manner which was not without 
 distinction; and Mrs. Button, in a black silk dress 
 and the cameo brooch which had belonged to her 
 
 327
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 mother, was no less important. Mr. Burton had an 
 odd feeling of inferiority. 
 
 "It's a very small place to ask you to, Admiral 
 Peters," said the widow, offering him a chair. 
 
 " Mr. Stiles was affecting a stateliness of manner which was not without 
 distinction." 
 
 "It's comfortable, ma'am," said Mr. Stiles, look- 
 ing round approvingly. "Ah, you should see some 
 of the palaces I've been in abroad; all show and no 
 
 328
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 comfort. Not a decent chair in the place. And, as 
 
 for the antimacassars " 
 
 . "Are you making a long stay, Admiral Peters?" 
 inquired the delighted widow. 
 
 "It depends," was the reply. "My intention was 
 just to pay a flying visit to my honest old friend Bur- 
 ton here best man in my squadron but he is so 
 hospitable, he's been pressing me to stay for a few 
 weeks." 
 
 "But the admiral says he must get back to-morrow 
 morning," interposed Mr. Burton, firmly. 
 
 "Unless I have a letter at breakfast-time, Burton," 
 said Mr. Stiles, serenely. 
 
 Mr. Burton favoured him with a mutinous scowl. 
 
 "Oh, I do hope you will," said Mrs. Button. 
 
 "I have a feeling that I shall," said Mr. Stiles, 
 crossing glances with his friend. "The only thing 
 is my people; they want me to join them at Lord 
 Tufton's place." 
 
 Mrs. Button trembled with delight at being in the 
 company of a man with such friends. "What a 
 change shore-life must be to you after the perils of 
 the sea !" she murmured. 
 
 "Ah !" said Mr. Stiles. "True! True!" 
 
 "The dreadful fighting," said Mrs. Button, clos- 
 ing her eyes and shuddering. 
 
 "You get used to it," said the hero, simply. "Hot- 
 test time I had I think was at the bombardment of 
 
 329
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 Alexandria. I stood alone. All the men who hadn't 
 been shot down had fled, and the shells were bursting 
 round me like like fireworks." 
 
 The widow clasped her hands and shuddered 
 again. 
 
 "I was standing just behind 'im, waiting any or- 
 ders he might give," said Mr. Burton. 
 
 "Were you?" said Mr. Stiles, sharply "were 
 you ? I don't remember it, Burton." 
 
 "Why," said Mr. Burton, with a faint laugh, "I 
 was just behind you, sir. If you remember, sir, I 
 said to you that it was pretty hot work." 
 
 Mr. Stiles affected to consider. "No, Burton," he 
 said, bluffly "no; so far as my memory goes I was 
 the only man there." 
 
 "A bit of a shell knocked my cap off, sir," per- 
 sisted Mr. Burton, making laudable efforts to keep 
 his temper. 
 
 "That'll do, my man," said the other, sharply; 
 "not another word. You forget yourself." 
 
 He turned to the widow and began to chat about 
 "his people" again to divert her attention from Mr. 
 Burton, who seemed likely to cause unpleasantness by 
 either bursting a blood-vessel or falling into a fit. 
 
 "My people have heard of Burton," he said, with 
 a slight glance to see how that injured gentleman was 
 progressing. "He has often shared my dangers. We 
 have been in many tight places together. Do you 
 
 330
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 remember those two nights when we were hidden in 
 the chimney at the palace of the Sultan of Zanzibar, 
 Burton?" 
 
 "I should think I do," said Mr. Burton, recovering 
 somewhat. 
 
 "Stuck so tight we could hardly breathe," con- 
 tinued the other. 
 
 "I shall never forget it as long as I live," said Mr. 
 Burton, who thought that the other was trying to 
 make amends for his recent indiscretion. 
 
 "Oh, do tell me about it, Admiral Peters," cried 
 Mrs. Dutton. 
 
 "Surely Burton has told you that?" said Mr. 
 Stiles. 
 
 "Never breathed a word of it," said the widow, 
 gazing somewhat reproachfully at the discomfited 
 Mr. Burton. 
 
 "Well, tell it now, Burton," said Mr. Stiles. 
 
 "You tell it better than I do, sir," said the other. 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Stiles, whose powers of inven- 
 tion were not always to be relied upon. "You tell it; 
 it's your story." 
 
 The widow looked from one to the other. 
 
 "It's your story, sir," said Mr. Burton. 
 
 "No, I won't tell it," said Mr. Stiles. "It wouldn't 
 be fair to you, Burton. I'd forgotten that when I 
 spoke. Of course, you were young at the time, 
 still "
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 "I done nothing that I'm ashamed of, sir," said 
 Mr. Burton, trembling with passion. 
 
 "I think it's very hard if I'm not to hear it," said 
 Mrs. Dutton, with her most fascinating air. 
 
 Mr. Stiles gave her a significant glance, and screw- 
 ing up his lips nodded in the direction of Mr. Burton. 
 
 "At any rate, you were in the chimney with me, 
 sir," said that unfortunate. 
 
 "Ah!" said the other, severely. "But what was I 
 there for, my man?" 
 
 Mr. Burton could not tell him; he could only stare 
 at him in a frenzy of passion and dismay. 
 
 "What were you there for, Admiral Peters?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Dutton. 
 
 "I was there, ma'am," said the unspeakable Mr. 
 Stiles, slowly "I was there to save the life of Bur- 
 ton. I never deserted my men never. Whatever 
 scrapes they got into I always did my best to get them 
 out. News was brought to me that Burton was suffo- 
 cating in the chimney of the Sultan's favourite wife, 
 and I " 
 
 "Sultans favourite wife!" gasped Mrs. Dutton, 
 staring hard at Mr. Burton, who had collapsed in his 
 chair and was regarding the ingenious Mr. Stiles with 
 open-mouthed stupefaction. "Good gracious ! I I 
 never heard of such a thing. I am surprised !" 
 "So am I," said Mr. Burton, thickly. "I I- 
 "How did you escape, Admiral Peters?" inquired 
 332
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 the widow, turning from the flighty Burton in indig- 
 nation. 
 
 Mr. Stiles shook his head. "To tell you that 
 would be to bring the French Consul into it," he said, 
 gently. "I oughtn't to have mentioned the subject at 
 all. Burton had the good sense not to." 
 
 The widow murmured acquiescence, and stole a 
 look at the prosaic figure of the latter gentleman 
 which was full of scornful curiosity. With some dif- 
 fidence she invited the admiral to stay to supper, and 
 was obviously delighted when he accepted. 
 
 In the character of admiral Mr. Stiles enjoyed 
 himself amazingly, his one regret being that no dis- 
 criminating theatrical manager was present to witness 
 his performance. His dignity increased as the even- 
 ing wore on, and from good-natured patronage of the 
 unfortunate Burton he progressed gradually until he 
 was shouting at him. Once, when he had occasion 
 to ask Mr. Burton if he intended to contradict him, 
 his appearance was so terrible that his hostess turned 
 pale and trembled with excitement. 
 
 Mr. Burton adopted the air for his own use as 
 soon as they were clear of Mrs. Button's doorstep, 
 and in good round terms demanded of Mr. Stiles 
 what he meant by it. 
 
 "It was a difficult part to play, George," responded 
 his friend. "We ought to have rehearsed it a bit. I 
 did the best I could." 
 
 333
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 "Best you could?" stormed Mr. Burton. "Telling 
 lies and ordering me about?" 
 
 "I had to play the part without any preparation, 
 George," said the other, firmly. "You got yourself 
 into the difficulty by saying that I was the admiral in 
 the first place. I'll do better next time we go." 
 
 Mr. Burton, with a nasty scowl, said that there 
 was not going to be any next time, but Mr. Stiles 
 smiled as one having superior information. Deaf 
 first to hints and then to requests to seek his pleasure 
 elsewhere, he stayed on, and Mr. Burton was soon 
 brought to realise the difficulties which beset the path 
 of the untruthful. 
 
 The very next visit introduced a fresh complica- 
 tion, it being evident to the most indifferent spectator 
 that Mr. Stiles and the widow were getting on very 
 friendly terms. Glances of unmistakable tenderness 
 passed between them, and on the occasion of the third 
 visit Mr. Burton sat an amazed and scandalised spec- 
 tator of a flirtation of the most pronounced descrip- 
 tion. A despairing attempt on his part to lead the 
 conversation into safer and, to his mind, more becom- 
 ing channels only increased his discomfiture. Neither 
 of them took any notice of it, and a minute later Mr. 
 Stiles called the widow a "saucy little baggage," and 
 said that she reminded him of the Duchess of Mar- 
 ford. 
 
 334
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 "I used to think she was the most charming woman 
 in England," he said, meaningly. 
 
 Mrs. Dutton simpered and looked down; Mr. 
 Stiles moved his chair a little closer to her, and then 
 glanced thoughtfully at his friend. 
 
 " Mr. Stiles called the widow a ' saucy little baggage.' *' 
 
 "Burton," he said. 
 
 "Sir," snapped the other. 
 
 "Run back and fetch my pipe for me," said Mr. 
 Stiles. "I left it on the mantelpiece." 
 
 Mr. Burton hesitated, and, the widow happening 
 to look away, shook his fist at his superior officer. 
 
 335
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 i 
 
 "Look sharp," said Mr. Stiles, in a peremptory 
 voice. 
 
 "I'm very sorry, sir," said Mr. Burton, whose 
 wits were being sharpened by misfortune, "but I 
 broke it." 
 
 "Broke it?" repeated the other. 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Mr. Burton. "I knocked it on 
 the floor and trod on it by accident; smashed it to 
 powder." 
 
 Mr. Stiles rated him roundly for his carelessness, 
 and asked him whether he knew that it was a present 
 from the Italian Ambassador. 
 
 "Burton was always a clumsy man," he said, turn- 
 ing to the widow. "He had the name for it when 
 he was on the Destruction with me; 'Bungling Bur- 
 ton' they called him." 
 
 He divided the rest of the evening between flirting 
 and recounting various anecdotes of Mr. Burton, 
 none of which were at all flattering either to his in- 
 telligence or to his sobriety, and the victim, after one 
 or two futile attempts at contradiction, sat in help- 
 less wrath as he saw the infatuation of the widow. 
 They were barely clear of the house before his pent- 
 up emotions fell in an avalanche of words on the 
 faithless Mr. Stiles. 
 
 "I can't help being good-looking," said the latter, 
 with a smirk. 
 
 "Your good looks wouldn't hurt anybody," said 
 336
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 Mr. Burton, in a grating voice; "it's the admiral busi- 
 ness that fetches her. It's turned 'er head." 
 
 Mr. Stiles smiled. "She'll say 'snap' to my 'snip* 
 any time," he remarked. "And remember, George, 
 there'll always be a knife and fork laid for you when 
 you like to come." 
 
 "I dessay," retorted Mr. Burton, with a dreadful 
 sneer. "Only as it happens I'm going to tell 'er the 
 truth about you first thing to-morrow morning. If I 
 can't have 'er you sha'n't." 
 
 "That'll spoil your chance, too," said Mr. Stiles. 
 "She'd never' forgive you for fooling her like that. 
 It seems a pity neither of us should get her." 
 
 "You're a sarpent," exclaimed Mr. Burton, sav- 
 agely "a sarpent that I've warmed in my bosom 
 and " 
 
 "There's no call to be indelicate, George," said 
 Mr. Stiles, reprovingly, as he paused at the door of 
 the house. "Let's sit down and talk it over quietly." 
 
 Mr. Burton followed him into the room and, tak- 
 ing a chair, waited. 
 
 "It's evident she's struck with me," said Mr. Stiles, 
 slowly; "it's also evident that if you tell her the truth 
 it might spoil my chances. I don't say it would, but 
 it might. That being so, I'm agreeable to going back 
 without seeing her again by the six-forty train to- 
 morrow morning if it's made worth my while." 
 
 "Made worth your while?" repeated the other, 
 
 337
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 "Certainly," said the unblushing Mr. Stiles. 
 "She's not a bad-looking woman for her age and 
 it's a snug little business." 
 
 Mr. Burton, suppressing his choler, affected to 
 ponder. "If 'arf a sovereign " he said, at last. 
 
 "Half a fiddlestick!" said the other, impatiently. 
 "I want ten pounds. You've just drawn your pen- 
 sion, and, besides, you've been a saving man all your 
 life." 
 
 "Ten pounds?" gasped the other. "D'ye think 
 I've got a gold-mine in the back garden?" 
 
 Mr. Stiles leaned back in his chair and crossed his 
 feet. "I don't go for a penny less," he said, firmly. 
 "Ten pounds and my ticket back. If you call me any 
 more o' those names I'll make it twelve." 
 
 "And what am I to explain to Mrs. Button ?" de- 
 manded Mr. Burton, after a quarter of an hour's 
 altercation. 
 
 "Anything you like," said his generous friend. 
 "Tell her I'm engaged to my cousin, and our mar- 
 riage keeps being put off and off on account of my 
 eccentric behaviour. And you can say that that was 
 caused by a splinter of a shell striking my head. Tell 
 any lies you like ; I shall never turn up again to con- 
 tradict them. If she tries to find out things about the 
 admiral, remind her that she promised to keep his 
 visit here secret." 
 
 For over an hour Mr. Burton sat weighing the 
 
 338
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 advantages and disadvantages of this proposal, and 
 then Mr. Stiles refusing to seal the bargain with- 
 out shook hands upon it and went off to bed in a 
 state of mind hovering between homicide and lunacy. 
 
 He was up in good time next morning, and, return- 
 ing the shortest possible answers to the remarks of 
 Mr. Stiles, who was in excellent feather, went with 
 him to the railway station to be certain of his depart- 
 ure. 
 
 It was a delightful morning, cool and bright, and, 
 despite his misfortunes, Mr. Burton's spirits began to 
 rise as he thought of his approaching deliverance. 
 Gloom again overtook him at the booking-office, 
 where the unconscionable Mr. Stiles insisted firmly 
 upon a first-class ticket. 
 
 "Who ever heard of an admiral riding third?" he 
 demanded, indignantly. 
 
 "But they don't know you're an admiral," urged 
 Mr. Burton, trying to humour him. 
 
 "No; but I feel like one," said Mr. Stiles, slapping 
 his pocket. "I've always felt curious to see what it 
 feels like travelling first-class; besides, you can tell 
 Mrs. Button." 
 
 "I could tell 'er that in any case," returned Mr. 
 Burton. 
 
 Mr. Stiles looked shocked, and, time pressing, Mr. 
 Burton, breathing so hard that it impeded his utter- 
 ance, purchased a first-class ticket and conducted him 
 
 339
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 to the carriage. Mr. Stiles took a seat by the win- 
 dow, and lolling back put his foot up on the cushions 
 
 'Good riddance,* said Mr. Burton, savagely." 
 
 34
 
 Admiral Peters 
 
 opposite. A large bell rang and the carriage-doors 
 were slammed. 
 
 "Good-bye, George," said the traveller, putting 
 his head to the window. "I've enjoyed my visit very 
 much." 
 
 "Good riddance," said Mr. Burton, savagely. 
 
 Mr. Stiles shook his head. "I'm letting you off 
 easy," he said, slowly. "If it hadn't ha' been for one 
 little thing I'd have had the widow myself." 
 
 "What little thing?" demanded the other, as the 
 train began to glide slowly out. 
 
 "My wife," said Mr. Stiles, as a huge smile spread 
 slowly over his face. "Good-bye, George, and don't 
 forget to give my love when you go round." 
 
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