Night Watches. William Wymark Jacobs
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bed. And mind, be fast asleep all the time.”
Still holding the bewildered Mr. Flynn by the coat, she led him into the house and waved him upstairs, and stood below listening until a slight creaking of the bed announced that he had obeyed orders. Then she entered the parlour.
“He’s fast asleep,” she said, softly; “and mind, I won’t ‘ave him disturbed. It’s the first real sleep he’s ‘ad for nearly a week. If you promise not to wake ‘im you may just have a peep.”
“We won’t disturb him,” said the doctor, and, followed by his companion, noiselessly ascended the stairs and peeped into the room. Mr. Flynn was fast asleep, and not a muscle moved as the two men approached the bed on tip-toe and stood looking at him. The doctor turned after a minute and led the way out of the room.
“We’ll call again,” he said, softly.
“Yes, sir,” said Mrs. Scutts. “When?”
The doctor and his companion exchanged glances. “I’m very busy just at present,” he said, slowly. “We’ll look in some time and take our chance of catching him awake.”
Mrs. Scutts bowed them out, and in some perplexity returned to Mr. Flynn. “I don’t like the look of ‘em,” she said, shaking her head. “You’d better stay in bed till Bill comes ‘ome in case they come back.”
“Right-o,” said the obliging Mr. Flynn. “Just step in and tell my landlady I’m ‘aving a chat with Bill.”
He lit his pipe and sat up in bed smoking until a knock at the front door at half-past eleven sent him off to sleep again. Mrs. Scutts, who was sitting downstairs, opened it and admitted her husband.
“All serene?” he inquired. “What are you looking like that for? What’s up?”
He sat quivering with alarm and rage as she told him, and then, mounting the stairs with a heavy tread, stood gazing in helpless fury at the slumbering form of Mr. James Flynn.
“Get out o’ my bed,” he said at last, in a choking voice.
“What, Bill!” said Mr. Flynn, opening his eyes.
“Get out o’ my bed,” repeated the other. “You’ve made a nice mess of it between you. It’s a fine thing if a man can’t go out for ‘arf a pint without coming home and finding all the riffraff of the neighbourhood in ‘is bed.”
“‘Ow’s the pore back, Bill?” inquired Mr. Flynn, with tenderness.
Mr. Scutts gurgled at him. “Outside!” he said as soon as he could get his breath.
“Bill,” said the voice of Mrs. Scutts, outside the door.
“Halloa,” growled her husband.
“He mustn’t go,” said Mrs. Scutts. “Those gentlemen are coming again, and they think he is you.”
“WHAT!” roared the infuriated Mr. Scutts.
“Don’t you see? It’s me what’s got the pore back now, Bill,” said Mr. Flynn. “You can’t pass yourself off as me, Bill; you ain’t good-looking enough.”
Mr. Scutts, past speech, raised his clenched fists to the ceiling.
“He’ll ‘ave to stay in your bed,” continued the voice of Mrs. Scutts. “He’s got a good ‘art, and I know he’ll do it; won’t you, Jim?”
Mr. Flynn pondered. “Tell my landlady in the morning that I’ve took your back room,” he said. “What a fortunit thing it is I’m out o’ work. What are you walking up and down like that for, Bill? Back coming on agin?”
“Then o’ course,” pursued the voice of Mrs. Scutts, in meditative accents, “there’s the club doctor and the other gentleman that knows Bill. They might come at any moment. There’s got to be two Bills in bed, so that if one party comes one Bill can nip into the back room, and if the other Bill—party, I mean—comes, the other Bill—you know what I mean!”
Mr. Scutts swore himself faint.
“That’s ‘ow it is, mate,” said Mr. Flynn. “It’s no good standing there saying your little piece of poetry to yourself. Take off your clo’es and get to bed like a little man. Now! now! Naughty! Naughty!”
“P’r’aps I oughtn’t to ‘ave let ‘em up, Bill,” said his wife; “but I was afraid they’d smell a rat if I didn’t. Besides, I was took by surprise.”
“You get off to bed,” said Mr. Scutts. “Get off to bed while you’re safe.”
“And get a good night’s rest,” added the thoughtful Mr. Flynn. “If Bill’s back is took bad in the night I’ll look after it.”
Mr. Scutts turned a threatening face on him. “For two pins—” he began.
“For two pins I’ll go back ‘ome and stay there,” said Mr. Flynn.
He put one muscular leg out of bed, and then, at the earnest request of Mr. Scutts, put it back again. In a few simple, manly words the latter apologized, by putting all the blame on Mrs. Scutts, and, removing his clothes, got into bed.
Wrapped in bedclothes, they passed the following day listening for knocks at the door and playing cards. By evening both men were weary, and Mr. Scutts made a few pointed remarks concerning dodging doctors and deceitful visitors to which Mr. Flynn listened in silent approval.
“They mightn’t come for a week,” he said, dismally. “It’s all right for you, but where do I come in? Halves?”
Mr. Scutts had a rush of blood to the head.
“You leave it to me, mate,” he said, controlling himself by an effort. “If I get ten quid, say, you shall have ‘arf.”
“And suppose you get more?” demanded the other.
“We’ll see,” said Mr. Scutts, vaguely.
Mr. Flynn returned to the charge next day, but got no satisfaction. Mr. Scutts preferred to talk instead of the free board and lodging his friend was getting. On the subject of such pay for such work he was almost eloquent.
“I’ll bide my time,” said Mr. Flynn, darkly. “Treat me fair and I’ll treat you fair.”
His imprisonment came to an end on the fourth day. There was a knock at the door, and the sound of men’s voices, followed by the hurried appearance of Mrs. Scutts.
“It’s Jim’s lot,” she said, in a hurried whisper. “I’ve just come up to get the room ready.”
Mr. Scutts took his friend by the hand, and after warmly urging him not to forget the expert instructions he had received concerning his back, slipped into the back room, and, a prey to forebodings, awaited the result.
“Well, he looks better,” said the doctor, regarding Mr. Flynn.
“Much better,” said his companion.
Mrs. Scutts shook her head. “His pore back don’t seem no better, sir,” she said in a low voice. “Can’t you do something for it?”
“Let me have a look at it,” said the doctor. “Undo your shirt.”
Mr. Flynn, with slow fingers, fumbled with the button at his neck and looked hard at Mrs. Scutts.
“She can’t bear to see me suffer,” he said, in a feeble voice, as she left the room.
He bore the examination with the fortitude of an early Christian martyr. In response to inquiries he said he felt as though the mainspring of his back had gone.
“How long since you walked?” inquired the doctor.
“Not since the accident,” said Mr. Flynn, firmly.
“Try now,” said the doctor.
Mr. Flynn smiled at him reproachfully.
“You can’t walk because you think you can’t,” said the doctor; “that is all. You’ll have to be encouraged the same way that