Odd Craft, Complete. William Wymark Jacobs
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eyes open before Isaac was asking ‘im about ‘is clothes agin.
“Don’t bother me about your clothes,” ses Ginger; “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.
“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 notice 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, brightening 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 shillings ‘e ‘ad a lot o’ nasty things to say about wearing such old rags, and at last, in a terrible temper, ‘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. “I’m 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 wasting 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 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 underneath 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.”
“Wot?” ses Ginger, nearly falling out of the winder. “Well, wot ‘ave you done with mine, then? Where are they? Come upstairs.”
“I won’t come upstairs, Ginger,” ses Isaac, “because 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, “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. 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 ‘eard ‘im talking to the landlady at the door, and then ‘e went off in a hurry without looking behind ‘im, and the landlady walked up and down on the other side of the road with ‘er apron stuffed in ‘er mouth, pretending to be looking at ‘er chimney-pots.
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 certain 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 ‘im 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.
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