Ship's Company, the Entire Collection. William Wymark Jacobs
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voice.
“Oh, I might ‘ave known it was a joke,” cried Mrs. Gibbs, in a faint voice, as she tottered to a chair. “Oh, ‘ow cruel of you to tell me my pore Joe was alive! Oh, ‘ow could you?”
“Lor’ lumme,” said the incensed Mr. Kidd, pushing Mr. Gibbs forward. “Here he is. Same as you saw ‘im last, except for ‘is whiskers. Don’t make that sobbing noise; people’ll be coming in.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Take ‘im away,” cried Mrs. Gibbs. “Go and play your tricks with somebody else’s broken ‘art.”
“But it’s your husband,” said Mr. Brown.
“Take ‘im away,” wailed Mrs. Gibbs.
Mr. Kidd, grinding his teeth, tried to think. “‘Ave you got any marks on your body, Joe?” he inquired.
“I ain’t got a mark on me,” said Mr. Gibbs with a satisfied air, “or a blemish. My skin is as whi—”
“That’s enough about your skin,” interrupted Mr. Kidd, rudely.
“If you ain’t all of you gone before I count ten,” said Mrs. Gibbs, in a suppressed voice, “I’ll scream. ‘Ow dare you come into a respectable woman’s place and talk about your skins? Are you going? One! Two! Three! Four! Five!”
Her voice rose with each numeral; and Mr. Gibbs himself led the way downstairs, and, followed by his friends, slipped nimbly round the corner.
“It’s a wonder she didn’t rouse the whole ‘ouse,” he said, wiping his brow on his sleeve; “and where should we ha’ been then? I thought at the time it was a mistake you making me ‘ave my whiskers off, but I let you know best. She’s never seen me without ‘em. I ‘ad a remarkable strong growth when I was quite a boy. While other boys was—”
“Shut-up!” vociferated Mr. Kidd.
“Sha’n’t!” said Mr. Gibbs, defiantly. “I’ve ‘ad enough of being away from my comfortable little ‘ome and my wife; and I’m going to let ‘em start growing agin this very night. She’ll never reckernize me without ‘em, that’s certain.”
“He’s right, Bob,” said Mr. Brown, with conviction.
“D’ye mean to tell me we’ve got to wait till ‘is blasted whiskers grow?” cried Mr. Kidd, almost dancing with fury. “And go on keeping ‘im in idleness till they do?”
“You’ll get it all back out o’ my share,” said Mr. Gibbs, with dignity. “But you can please yourself. If you like to call it quits now, I don’t mind.”
Mr. Brown took his seething friend aside, and conferred with him in low but earnest tones. Mr. Gibbs, with an indifferent air, stood by whistling softly.
“‘Ow long will they take to grow?” inquired Mr. Kidd, turning to him with a growl.
Mr. Gibbs shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t say,” he replied; “but I should think two or three weeks would be enough for ‘er to reckernize me by. If she don’t, we must wait another week or so, that’s all.”
“Well, there won’t be much o’ your share left, mind that,” said Mr. Kidd, glowering at him.
“I can’t help it,” said Mr. Gibbs. “You needn’t keep reminding me of it.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence; and for the next fortnight Mr. Gibbs’s friends paid nightly visits to note the change in his appearance, and grumble at its slowness.
“We’ll try and pull it off to-morrow night,” said Mr. Kidd, at the end of that period. “I’m fair sick o’ lending you money.”
Mr. Gibbs shook his head and spoke sagely about not spoiling the ship for a ha’porth o’ tar; but Mr. Kidd was obdurate.
“There’s enough for ‘er to reckernize you by,” he said, sternly, “and we don’t want other people to. Meet us at the Monument at eight o’clock to-morrow night, and we’ll get it over.”
“Give your orders,” said Mr. Gibbs, in a nasty voice.
“Keep your ‘at well over your eyes,” commanded Mr. Kidd, sternly. “Put them spectacles on wot I lent you, and it wouldn’t be a bad idea if you tied your face up in a piece o’ red flannel.”
“I know wot I’m going to do without you telling me,” said Mr. Gibbs, nodding. “I’ll bet you pots round that you don’t either of you reckernize me tomorrow night.”
The bet was taken at once, and from eight o’clock until ten minutes to nine the following night Messrs. Kidd and Brown did their best to win it. Then did Mr. Kidd, turning to Mr. Brown in perplexity, inquire with many redundant words what it all meant.
“He must ‘ave gone on by ‘imself,” said Mr. Brown. “We’d better go and see.”
In a state of some disorder they hurried back to Wapping, and, mounting the stairs to Mrs. Gibbs’s room, found the door fast. To their fervent and repeated knocking there was no answer.
“Ah, you won’t make her ‘ear,” said a woman, thrusting an untidy head over the balusters on the next landing. “She’s gone.”
“Gone!” exclaimed both gentlemen. “Where?”
“Canada,” said the woman. “She went off this morning.”
Mr. Kidd leaned up against the wall for support; Mr. Brown stood open-mouthed and voiceless.
“It was a surprise to me,” said the woman, “but she told me this morning she’s been getting ready on the quiet for the last fortnight. Good spirits she was in, too; laughing like anything.”
“Laughing!” repeated Mr. Kidd, in a terrible voice.
The woman nodded. “And when I spoke about it and reminded ‘er that she ‘ad only just lost ‘er pore husband, I thought she would ha’ burst,” she said, severely. “She sat down on that stair and laughed till the tears ran dowwn ‘er face like water.”
Mr. Brown turned a bewildered face upon his partner. “Laughing!” he said, slowly. “Wot ‘ad she got to laugh at?”
“Two born-fools,” replied Mr. Kidd.
GOOD INTENTIONS
“Jealousy; that’s wot it is,” said the night-watchman, trying to sneer— “pure jealousy.” He had left his broom for a hurried half-pint at the “Bull’s Head”—left it leaning in a negligent attitude against the warehouse-wall; now, lashed to the top of the crane at the jetty end, it pointed its soiled bristles towards the evening sky and defied capture.
“And I know who it is, and why ‘e’s done it,” he continued. “Fust and last, I don’t suppose I was talking to the gal for more than ten minutes, and ‘arf of that was about the weather.
“I don’t suppose anybody ‘as suffered more from jealousy than wot I ‘ave: Other people’s jealousy, I mean. Ever since I was married the missis has been setting traps for me, and asking people to keep an eye on me. I blacked one of the eyes once—like a fool—and the chap it belonged to made up a tale about me that I ain’t lived down yet.
“Years ago, when I was out with the missis one evening, I saved a gal’s life for her. She slipped as she was getting off a bus, and I caught ‘er just in time. Fine strapping gal she was, and afore I could get my balance we ‘ad danced round and round ‘arfway acrost the road with our arms round each other’s necks, and my missis watching us from the pavement. When we were safe, she said the gal ‘adn’t slipped at all; and, as soon as the gal ‘ad got ‘er breath, I’m blest if she didn’t say so too.
“You can’t argufy with jealous people, and you can’t shame ‘em. When I told my missis once that I should never dream of being jealous of her, instead of up and thanking me for it, she spoilt the best frying-pan we ever had. When the widder-woman next-door but two and me ‘ad rheumatics at the same time, she went and asked the doctor whether it was catching.
“The