W. W. Jacobs

“ A slow, dragging footstep was heard approaching in reply to the summons, and the astrologer, recognising 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 presently,” she said, at last.
The astrologer nodded.
“She—she wants to ask you about 'er husband,” faltered' Mrs. Gimpson; “she's going to bring a friend with her—a man who doesn't believe in your knowledge. ”

“ Despite her reluctance to have a scene—a thing which was strongly opposed to the traditions of Bashford's Lane—Mrs. Truefitt had got as far as the doorstep in search of assistance, when a sudden terrible 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. ”

“ Love? said the night-watchman, as he watched in an abstracted fashion the efforts of a skipper 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. ”

“ Hogg, after a moment's hesitation, followed.
“The laugh's agin you, farmer,” said the latter gentleman, taking his arm.
Mr. Rose shook him off.
“Better make the best of it,” continued the peace-maker.
“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?” ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 temper.
“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.” ”

“ 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, sitting 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. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ Jenkins, watching him closely, “and while he was getting it out of his eyes they upset him and made off with 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. Jenkins, darkly; “he'll be arrested to-morrow. Fancy the impudence of it! It's shocking.” ”

“ Mr. Blundell coughed and looked seaward. “Accidents 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. ”

“ Gunnill without getting into trouble yourself.”
“I shall have to put up with that,” said the constable, 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 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.” ”

“ The cool living-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. ”

“ Peter Russet stood staring at Sam and wondering wot Bill ud be like when he'd 'ad a little more. Sam 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; “we's the truest-'arted gentleman in London. Ain't you, Bill?” ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 'imself, 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?” ”

“ Cutts went black in the face a'most and stared at Bob Pretty as if 'e was going to eat 'im, and Bob 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.” ”

“ 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?” ”

“ Turnbull, conquering his annoyance with an effort “stumbling is a thing that 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 Venia, mind you. ”

“ 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 topic of discourse, but in vain; conversation would revolve round hard labour and lost pensions. ”

“ 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 liking 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, straight-forrad, free-'anded mates I've never met afore.”
“Why not take the pledge agin, Bill?” ses Peter Russet. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 'eard 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 company 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. ”

“ 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—poaching ain't wot it used to be in these 'ere parts. Nothing is like it used to be, poaching nor anything else ”

“ 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, “I 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 man, 'olding the plants up; “there's no knowing 'ow long you'll be up there. ”

“ Jenkins drank it and smacked his lips feebly.
“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 doing well,” continued the constable, “and while I'm drinking another glass with Mr. Gunnill here, suppose you go into the kitchen with that useful bag o' yours and finish repairing my truncheon?” ”

“ It was a silly thing to say, seeing that that was just 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 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.”
“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.” ”