4.^4.4 
 
CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 FROM 
 
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 Date Due 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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 itO 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 rT^TTpi 
 
 
 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013487669 
 
SHORT CRUISES 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 MANY CARGOES 
 
 THE SKIPPER'S WOOING 
 
 SEA URCHINS 
 
 A MASTER OF CRAFT 
 
 LIGHT FREIGHTS 
 
 THE LADY OF THE BARGE 
 
 AT SUNWICH PORT 
 
 ODD CRAFT 
 
 DIALSTONE LANJi 
 
 CAPTAINS ALL 
 
Short Cruises 
 
 BY 
 
 W. W. JACOBS 
 
 WITH 38 ILLUSTRATIONS BY WILL OWEN 
 
 WILLIAM BRIGGS 
 TORONTO 
 
fCHAPELJl 
 RIVER, fa 
 PRESS W 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Changeling i 
 
 II 
 
 Mixed Relations -29 
 
 III 
 His Lordship . . . . . 59 
 
 TV 
 Alf's Dream ... .83 
 
 y 
 
 A Dlstant Relativi: . 105 
 
 VI 
 The Test . 129 
 
 VII 
 In the Family . . . 153 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 VIII 
 
 A Love Knot '77 
 
 IX 
 
 Her Uncle .... 203 
 
 X 
 The Dreamer .... 227 
 
 XI 
 Angels' Visits .... -49 
 
 XII 
 
 A ClRCULAR^OUR . . ^73 
 
THE CHANGELING 
 
 .^, 
 
The Changeling 
 
 MR. GEORGE HENSHAW let himself in 
 at the front door, and stood for some 
 time wiping his boots on the mat. The little 
 house was ominously still, and a faint feeling, only 
 partially due to the lapse of time since breakfast, 
 manifested itself behind his waistcoat. He 
 coughed — a matter-of-fact cough — and, with an 
 attempt to hum a tune, hung his hat on the peg 
 and entered the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Henshaw had just finished dinner. The 
 neatly-cleaned bone of a chop was on a plate by 
 her side ; a small dish which had contained a rice- 
 pudding was empty ; and the only food left on the 
 table was a small rind of cheese and a piece of 
 stale bread. Mr. Henshaw's face fell, but he 
 drew his chair up to the table and waited. 
 
 His wife regarded him with a fixed and offen- 
 sive stare. Her face was red and her eyes were 
 blazing. It was hard to ignore her gaze ; harder 
 still to meet it. Mr. Henshaw, steering a middle 
 course, allowed his eyes to wander round the room 
 
4 THE CHANGELING 
 
 and to dwell, for the fraction of a second, on her 
 angry face. 
 
 "You've had dinner early? " he said at last, in 
 a trembling voice. 
 
 " Have I .'' " was the reply. 
 
 Mr. Henshaw sought for a comforting explana- 
 tion. " Clock's fast," he said, rising and adjust- 
 ing it. 
 
 His wife rose almost at the same moment, and 
 with slow deliberate movements began to clear 
 the table. 
 
 " What — what about dinner ? " said Mr. Hen- 
 shaw, still trying to control his fears. 
 
 " Dinner ! " repeated Mrs. Henshaw, in a 
 terrible voice. " You go and tell that creature 
 you were on the 'bus with to get your dinner." 
 
 Mr. Henshaw made a gesture of despair. " I 
 tell you," he said emphatically, " it wasn't me. I 
 told you so last night. You get an idea in your 
 head and "' 
 
 " That'll do," said his wife, sharply. " I saw 
 you, George Henshaw, as plain as I see you now. 
 You were tickling her ear with a bit o' straw, and 
 that good-for-nothing friend of yours, Ted Stokes, 
 was sitting behind with another beauty. Nice 
 way o' going on, and me at 'ome all alone by 
 myself, slaving and slaving to keep things re- 
 spectable ! " 
 
THE CHANGELING 5 
 
 " It wasn't me," reiterated the unfortunate. 
 
 "When I called out to you," pursued the un- 
 heeding Mrs. Henshaw, " you started and pulled 
 your hat over your eyes and turned away. I 
 should have caught you if it hadn't been for all 
 them carts in the way and falling down. I can't 
 understand now how it was I wasn't killed ; I was 
 a mask of mud from head to foot." 
 
 Despite his utmost efforts to prevent it, a faint 
 smile flitted across the pallid features of Mr. Hen- 
 shaw. 
 
 "Yes, you may laugh," stormed his wife, "and 
 I've no doubt them two beauties laughed too. I'll 
 take care you don't have much more to laugh at, 
 my man." 
 
 She flung out of the room and began to wash 
 up the crockery. Mr. Henshaw, after standing 
 irresolute for some time with his hands in his 
 pockets, put on his hat again and left the 
 house. 
 
 He dined badly at a small eating-house, and 
 returned home at six o'clock that evening to find 
 his wife out and the cupboard empty. He went 
 back to the same restaurant for tea, and after a 
 gloomy meal went round to discuss the situation 
 with Ted Stokes. That gentleman's suggestion 
 of a double alibi he thrust aside with disdain and 
 a stern appeal to talk sense. 
 
6 THE CHANGELING 
 
 " Mind, if my wife speaks to you about it," he 
 said, warningly, " it wasn't me, but somebody 
 like me. You might say he 'ad been mistook for 
 me before." 
 
 Mr. Stokes grinned and, meeting a freezing 
 glance from his friend, at once became serious 
 again. 
 
 "Why not say it was you?" he said stoutly. 
 " There's no harm in going for a 'bus-ride with a 
 friend and a couple o' ladies." 
 
 " O' course there ain't," said the other, hotly, 
 "else I shouldn't ha' done it. But you know 
 what my wife is." 
 
 Mr. Stokes, who was by no means a favourite 
 of the lady in question, nodded. " You were a 
 bit larky, too," he said thoughtfully. " You 'ad 
 quite a little slapping game after you pretended to 
 steal her brooch." 
 
 " I s'pose when a gentleman's with a lady he 
 'as got to make 'imself pleasant ? " said Mr. Hen- 
 shaw, with dignity, " Now, if my missis speaks 
 to you about it, you say that it wasn't me, but a 
 friend of yours up from the country who is as like 
 me as two peas. See ? " 
 
 "Name o' Dodd," said Mr. Stokes, with a 
 knowing nod. " Tommy Dodd." 
 
 " I'm not playing the giddy goat," said the 
 other, bitterly, "and I'd thank you not to." 
 
THE CHANGELING 7 
 
 "All right," said Mr. Stokes, somewhat taken 
 aback. " Any name you like ; I don't mind." 
 
 Mr. Henshaw pondered. " Any sensible 
 name'll do," he said, stiffly. 
 
 " Bell ? " suggested Mr. Stokes. " Alfred Bell ? 
 I did know a man o' that name once. He tried 
 to borrow a bob off of me." 
 
 " That'll do," said his friend, after some con- 
 sideration ; " but mind you stick to the same name. 
 And you'd better make up something about him 
 — where he lives, and all that sort of thing — so 
 that you can stand being questioned without look- 
 ing more like a silly fool than you can help." 
 
 " I'll do what I can for you," said Mr. Stokes, 
 "but I don't s'pose your missis'll come to me at 
 all. She saw you plain enough." 
 
 They walked on in silence and, still deep in 
 thought over the matter, turned into a neighbour- 
 ing tavern for refreshment. Mr. Henshaw drank 
 his with the air of a man performing a duty to his 
 constitution ; but Mr. Stokes, smacking his lips, 
 waxed eloquent over the brew. 
 
 "I hardly know what I'm drinking," said his 
 friend, forlornly. " I suppose it's four-half, 
 because that's what I asked for." 
 
 Mr. Stokes gazed at him in deep sympathy. 
 " It can't be so bad as that," he said, with con- 
 cern. 
 
8 THE CHANGELING 
 
 " You wait till you're married," said Mr. Hen- 
 shaw, brusquely. "You'd no business to ask me 
 to go with you, and I was a good-natured fool to 
 do it." 
 
 " You stick to your tale and it'll be all right," 
 said the other. " Tell her that you spoke to me 
 about it, and that his name is Alfred Bell — B E 
 double L — and that he lives in— in Ireland. 
 Here! I say!" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Henshaw, shaking off the 
 hand which the other had laid on his arm. 
 
 "You— you be Alfred Bell," said Mr. Stokes, 
 breathlessly. 
 
 Mr. Henshaw started and eyed him nervously. 
 His friend's eyes were bright and, he fancied, a 
 bit wild. 
 
 "Be Alfred Bell," repeated Mr. Stokes. 
 " Don't you see ? Pretend to be Alfred Bell and 
 go with me to see your missis. I'll lend you a 
 suit o' clothes and a fresh neck-tie, and there you 
 are. 
 
 " What?" roared the astounded Mr. Henshaw. 
 
 " It's as easy as easy," declared the other. 
 " To-morrow evening, in a new rig-out, I walks 
 you up to your house and asks for you to show 
 you to yourself. Of course, I'm sorry you ain't in, 
 and perhaps we walks in to wait for you." 
 
 " Show me to myself?" gasped Mr. Henshaw. 
 
THE CHANGELING 9 
 
 Mr. Stokes winked. " On account o' the sur- 
 prising likeness," he said, smiling. " It is sur- 
 prising, ain't it ? Fancy the two of us sitting 
 there and talking to her and waiting for you to 
 come in and wondering what's making you so 
 late ! " 
 
 Mr. Henshaw regarded him steadfastly for 
 some seconds, and then, taking a firm hold of his 
 mug, slowly drained the contents. 
 
 " And what about my voice ? " he demanded, 
 with something approaching a sneer. 
 
 "That's right," said Mr. Stokes, hotly; "it 
 wouldn't be you if you didn't try to make difficul- 
 ties." 
 
 "But what about it?" said Mr. Henshaw, 
 obstinately. 
 
 " You can alter it, can't you ? " said the other. 
 
 They were alone in the bar, and Mr. Henshaw, 
 after some persuasion, was induced to try a few 
 experiments. He ranged from bass, which hurt 
 his throat, to a falsetto which put Mr. Stokes's 
 teeth on edge, but in vain. The rehearsal was 
 stopped at last by the landlord, who, having twice 
 come into the bar under the impression that fresh 
 customers had entered, spoke his mind at some 
 length. " Seem to think you're in a blessed 
 monkey-house," he concluded, severely. 
 
 'A We thought we was," said Mr. Stokes, with a 
 
lo THE CHANGELING 
 
 long appraising sniff, as he opened the door. "It's 
 a mistake anybody might make." 
 
 He pushed Mr. Henshaw into the street as the 
 landlord placed a hand on the flap of the bar, and 
 followed him out. 
 
 "You'll have to 'ave a bad cold and talk in 
 'usky whispers," he said slowly, as they walked 
 along. " You caught a cold travelling in the train 
 from Ireland day before yesterday, and you made 
 it worse going for a ride on the outside of a 'bus 
 with me and a couple o' ladies. See ? Try 'usky 
 whispers now." 
 
 Mr. Henshaw tried, and his friend, observing 
 that he was taking but a languid interest in the 
 scheme, was loud in his praises. " I should never 
 'ave known you," he declared. " Why, it's won- 
 derful ! Why didn't you tell me you could act 
 like that ? " 
 
 Mr. Henshaw remarked modestly that he had 
 not been aware of it himself, and, taking a more 
 hopeful view of the situation, whispered himself 
 into such a state of hoarseness that another visit 
 for refreshment became absolutely necessary. 
 
 " Keep your 'art up, and practise," said Mr. 
 Stokes, as he shook hands with him some time 
 later. " And if you can manage it, get off at four 
 o'clock to-morrow and we'll go round to see her 
 while she thinks you're still at work." 
 
THE CHANGELING 
 
 II 
 
 " ' And what about my voice ? ' he demanded." 
 
12 THE CHANGELING 
 
 Mr. Henshaw complimented him upon his 
 artfulness, and, with some confidence in a man of 
 such resource, walked home in a more cheerful 
 frame of mind. His heart sank as he reached the 
 house, but to his relief the lights were out and his 
 wife was in bed. 
 
 He was up early next morning, but his wife 
 showed no signs of rising. The cupboard was 
 still empty, and for some time he moved about 
 hungry and undecided. Finally he mounted the 
 stairs again, and with a view to arranging matters 
 for the evening remonstrated with her upon her 
 behaviour and loudly announced his intention of 
 not coming home until she was in a better frame 
 of mind. From a disciplinary point of view the 
 effect of the remonstrance was somewhat lost by 
 being shouted through the closed door, and he 
 also broke off too abruptly when Mrs. Henshaw 
 opened it suddenly and confronted him. Frag- 
 ments of the peroration reached her through the 
 front door. 
 
 Despite the fact that he left two hours earlier, 
 the day passed but slowly, and he was in a very 
 despondent state of mind by the time he reached 
 Mr. Stokes's lodging. The latter, however, had 
 cheerfulness enough for both, and, after helping 
 his visitor to change into fresh clothes and part 
 his hair in the middle instead of at the side, sur- 
 
THE CHANGELING 13 
 
 veyed him with grinning satisfaction. Under his 
 directions Mr. Henshaw also darkened his eye- 
 brows and beard with a little burnt cork until Mr. 
 Stokes declared that his own mother wouldn't 
 know him. 
 
 " Now, be careful," said Mr. Stokes, as they set 
 off. " Be bright and cheerful ; be a sort o' ladies' 
 man to her, same as she saw you with the one on 
 the 'bus. Be as unlike yourself -as you can, and 
 don't forget yourself and call her by 'er pet name." 
 " Pet name ! " said Mr. Henshaw, indignantly. 
 " Pet name ! You'll alter your ideas of married 
 life when you're caught, my lad, I can tell you ! " 
 
 He walked on in scornful silence, lagging 
 farther and farther behind as they neared his 
 house. When Mr. Stokes knocked at the door 
 he stood modestly aside with his back against the 
 wall of the next house. 
 
 " Is George in ? " inquired Mr. Stokes, care- 
 lessly, as Mrs. Henshaw opened the door. 
 "No," was the reply. 
 
 Mr. Stokes affected to ponder ; Mr. Henshaw 
 instinctively edged away. 
 
 " He ain't in," said Mrs. Henshaw, preparing 
 to close the door. 
 
 " I wanted to see 'im partikler," said Mr. 
 Stokes, slowly. " I brought a friend o' mine, 
 name o' Alfred Bell, up here on purpose to see 'im." 
 
14 THE CHANGELING. 
 
 Mrs. Henshaw, following the direction of his 
 eyes, put her head round the door. 
 
 "George! " she exclaimed, sharply. 
 
 Mr. Stokes smiled. " That ain't George," he 
 said, gleefully ; " That's my friend, Mr. Alfred 
 Bell. Ain't it a extraordinary likeness ? Ain't it 
 wonderful ? That's why I brought 'im up ; I 
 wanted George to see 'im." 
 
 Mrs. Henshaw looked from one to the other in 
 wrathful bewilderment. 
 
 "His living image, ain't he?" said Mr. 
 Stokes. " This is my pal George's missis," he 
 added, turning to Mr. Bell. 
 
 " Good afternoon to you," said that gentleman, 
 huskily. 
 
 " He got a bad cold coming from Ireland," ex- 
 plained Mr. Stokes, " and, foolish-like, he went 
 outside a 'bus with me the other night and made 
 it worse." 
 
 "O-oh!" said Mrs. Henshaw, slowly. "In- 
 deed ! Really ! " 
 
 " He's quite curious to see George," said Mr. 
 Stokes. " In fact, he was going back to Ireland 
 to-night if it 'adn't been for that. He's waiting 
 till to-morrow just to see George." 
 
 Mr. Bell, in a voice huskier than ever, said 
 that he had altered his mind again. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Mr. Stokes, sternly. 
 
THE CHANGELING 15 
 
 " Besides, George would like to see you. I 
 s'pose he won't be long ? " he added, turning to 
 Mrs. Henshaw, who was regarding Mr. Bell 
 much as a hungry cat regards a plump sparrow. 
 
 " I don't suppose so," she said, slowly. 
 
 " I dare say if we wait a little while " 
 
 began Mr. Stokes, ignoring a frantic glance from 
 Mr. Henshaw. 
 
 " Come in," said Mrs. Henshaw, suddenly. 
 
 Mr. Stokes entered and, finding that his friend 
 hung back, went out again and half led, half 
 pushed him indoors. Mr. Bell's shyness he 
 attributed to his having lived so long in 
 Ireland. 
 
 " He is quite the ladies' man, though," he said, 
 artfully, as they followed their hostess into the 
 front room. " You should ha' seen 'im the other 
 night on the 'bus. We had a couple o' lady 
 friends o' mine with us, and even the conductor 
 was surprised at his goings on." 
 
 Mr. Bell, by no means easy as to the results of 
 the experiment, scowled at him despairingly. 
 
 " Carrying on, was he .'' " said Mrs. Henshaw, 
 regarding the culprit steadily. 
 
 " Carrying on like one o'clock," said the 
 imaginative Mr. Stokes. " Called one of 'em his 
 little wife, and asked her where 'er wedding-ring 
 was. 
 
i6 THE CHANGELING 
 
 " I didn't," said Mr. Bell, in a suffocating 
 voice. " I didn't." 
 
 "There's nothing to be ashamed of," said Mr. 
 Stokes, virtuously. " Only, as I said to you at 
 the time, ' Alfred,' I says, 'it's all right for you as 
 a single man, but you might be the twin-brother 
 of a pal o' mine — George Henshaw by name — 
 and if some people was to see you they might 
 think it was 'im.' Didn't I say that ? " 
 
 "You did," said Mr. Bell, helplessly. 
 
 " And he wouldn't believe me," said Mr. 
 Stokes, turning to Mrs. Henshaw. "That's why 
 I brought him round to see George." 
 
 " I should like to see the two of 'em together 
 myself," said Mrs. Henshaw, quietly. " I should 
 have taken him for my husband anywhere." 
 
 "You wouldn't if you'd seen 'im last night," 
 said Mr. Stokes, shaking his head and smiling. 
 
 " Carrying on again, was he ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Henshaw, quickly. 
 
 " No ! " said Mr. Bell, in a stentorian whisper. 
 
 His glance was so fierce that Mr. Stokes 
 almost quailed. " I won't tell tales out of school," 
 he said, nodding. 
 
 "Not if I ask you to?" said Mrs. Henshaw, 
 with a winning smile. 
 
 " Ask 'im," said Mr. Stokes. 
 
 " Last night," said the whisperer, hastily, " I 
 
THE CHANGELING 17 
 
 went for a quiet walk round Victoria Park all by 
 myself. Then I met Mr. Stokes, and we had 
 one half-pint together at a public-house. That's 
 all." 
 
 Mrs. Henshaw looked at Mr. Stokes. Mr. 
 Stokes winked at her. 
 
 "It's as true as my name is — Alfred Bell," said 
 that gentleman, with slight but natural hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 " Have it your own way," said Mr. Stokes, 
 somewhat perturbed at Mr. Bell's refusal to live 
 up to the character he had arranged for him. 
 
 " I wish my husband spent his evenings in the 
 same quiet way," said Mrs. Henshaw, shaking 
 her head. 
 
 " Don't he ? " said Mr. Stokes. " Why, he 
 always seems quiet enough to me. Too quiet, I 
 should say. Why, I never knew a quieter man. 
 I chaff 'im about it sometimes." 
 
 " That's his artfulness," said Mrs. Henshaw. 
 
 " Always in a hurry to get 'ome," pursued the 
 benevolent Mr. Stokes. 
 
 "He may say so to you to get away from 
 you," said Mrs. Henshaw, thoughtfully. " He 
 does say you're hard to shake off sometimes." 
 
 Mr. Stokes sat stiffly upright and threw a 
 fierce glance in the direction of Mr. Henshaw. 
 
 " Pity he didn't tell me," he said bitterly. " I 
 
i8 THE CHANGELING 
 
 ain't one to force my company where it ain't 
 wanted." 
 
 " I've said to him sometimes," continued Mrs. 
 Henshaw, '"Why don't you tell Ted Stokes 
 plain that you don't like his company ? ' but he 
 won't. That ain't his way. He'd sooner talk of 
 you behind your back." 
 
 "What does he say?" inquired Mr. Stokes, 
 coldly ignoring a frantic headshake on the part of 
 his friend. 
 
 " Promise me you won't tell him if I tell you," 
 said Mrs. Henshaw. 
 
 Mr. Stokes promised. 
 
 " I don't know that I ought to tell you," said 
 Mrs. Henshaw, reluctantly, " but I get so sick 
 and tired of him coming home and grumbling 
 about you." 
 
 " Go on," said the waiting Stokes. 
 
 Mrs. Henshaw stole a glance at him. " He 
 says you act as if you thought yourself every- 
 body," she said, softly, " and your everlasting 
 clack, clack, clack, worries him to death." 
 
 " Go on," said the listener, grimly. 
 
 " And he says it's so much trouble to get you 
 to pay for your share of the drinks that he'd 
 sooner pay himself and have done with it." 
 
 Mr. Stokes sprang from his chair and, with 
 clenched fists, stood angrily regarding the 
 
THE CHANGELING 19 
 
 horrified Mr. Bell. He composed himself by an 
 effort and resumed his seat. 
 
 " Anything else ? " he inquired. 
 
 " Heaps and heaps of things," said Mrs. 
 Henshaw ; " but I don't want to make bad blood 
 between you." 
 
 "Don't mind me," said Mr. Stokes, glancing 
 balefully over at his agitated friend. " P'r'aps I'll 
 tell you some things about him some day." 
 
 " It would be only fair," said Mrs. Henshaw, 
 quickly. " Tell me now ; I don't mind Mr. Bell 
 hearing ; not a bit." 
 
 Mr. Bell spoke up for himself " I don't want 
 to hear family secrets," he whispered, with an 
 imploring glance at the vindictive Mr. Stokes. 
 " It wouldn't be right." 
 
 " Well, / don't want to say things behind a 
 man's back," said the latter, recovering himself 
 " Let's wait till George comes in, and I'll say 
 'em before his face." 
 
 Mrs. Henshaw, biting her lip with annoyance, 
 argued with him, but in vain. Mr. Stokes was 
 firm, and, with a glance at the clock, said that 
 George would be in soon and he would wait till 
 he came. 
 
 Conversation flagged despite the efforts of Mrs. 
 Henshaw to draw Mr. Bell out on the subject of 
 Ireland. At an early stage of the catechism he 
 
20 THE CHANGELING 
 
 lost his voice entirely, and thereafter sat silent 
 while Mrs. Henshaw discussed the most intimate 
 affairs of her husband's family with Mr. Stokes. 
 She was in the middle of an anecdote about her 
 mother-in-law when Mr. Bell rose and, with some 
 difficulty, intimated his desire to depart. 
 
 " What, without seeing George ? " said Mrs. 
 Henshaw. " He can't be long now, and I should 
 like to see you together." 
 
 " P'r'aps we shall meet him," said Mr. Stokes, 
 who was getting rather tired of the affair. 
 " Good night." 
 
 He led the way to the door and, followed by 
 the eager Mr. Bell, passed out into the street. 
 The knowledge that Mrs. Henshaw was watching 
 him from the door kept him silent until they had 
 turned the corner, and then, turning fiercely on 
 Mr. Henshaw, he demanded to know what he 
 meant by it. 
 
 " I've done with you," he said, waving aside 
 the other's denials. " I've got you out of this 
 mess, and now I've done with you. It's no good 
 talking, because I don't want to hear it." 
 
 " Good-bye, then," said Mr. Henshaw, with 
 unexpected hauteur, as he came to a standstill. 
 
 "I'll 'ave my trousers first, though," said Mr. 
 Stokes, coldly,- "and then you can go, and 
 welcome." 
 
THE CHANGELING 21 
 
 " It's my opinion she recognised me, and said 
 all that just to try us," said the other, gloomily. 
 
 Mr. Stokes scorned to reply, and reaching his 
 lodging stood by in silence while the other 
 changed his clothes. He refused Mr. Henshaw's 
 hand with a gesture he had once seen on the 
 stage, and, showing him downstairs, closed the 
 door behind him with a bang. 
 
 Left to himself, the small remnants of Mr. 
 Henshaw's courage disappeared. He wandered 
 forlornly up and down the streets until past ten 
 o'clock, and then, cold and dispirited, set off in the 
 direction of home. At the corner of the street he 
 pulled himself together by a great effort, and 
 walking rapidly to his house put the key in the 
 lock and turned it. 
 
 The door was fast and the lights were out. 
 He knocked, at first lightly, but gradually in- 
 creasing in loudness. At the fourth knock a 
 light appeared in the room above, the window 
 was raised, and Mrs. Henshaw leaned out. 
 
 " Mr. Belli " she said, in tones of severe sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Bell?" said her husband, in a more surprised 
 voice still. " It's me, Polly." 
 
 "Go away at once, sir!" said Mrs. Henshaw, 
 indignantly. " How dare you call me by my 
 Christian. name ? I'm surprised at you ! " 
 
22 THE CHANGELING 
 
 " It's me, I tell you — George ! " said her 
 husband, desperately. " What do you mean by 
 calling me Bell ? " 
 
 "If you're Mr. Bell, as I suppose, you know- 
 well enough," said Mrs. Henshaw, leaning out 
 and regarding him fixedly; "and if you're 
 George you don't." 
 
 " I'm George," said Mr. Henshaw, hastily. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know what to make of it," 
 said Mrs. Henshaw, with a bewildered air. 
 " Ted Stokes brought round a man named Bell 
 this afternoon so like you that I can't tell the 
 difference. I don't know what to do, but I do 
 know this — I don't let you in until I have seen 
 you both together, so that I can tell which is 
 which." 
 
 " Both together ! " exclaimed the startled Mr. 
 Henshaw. " Here — look here ! " 
 
 He struck a match and, holding it before his 
 face, looked up at the window. Mrs. Henshaw 
 scrutinized him gravely. 
 
 " It's no good," she said, despairingly. " I 
 can't tell. I must see you both together." 
 
 Mr. Henshaw ground his teeth. " But where 
 is he ? " he inquired. 
 
 "He went off with Ted .Stokes," said his wife. 
 "If you're George you'd better go and ask 
 him." 
 
THE CHANGELING 
 
 23 
 
 ' He struck a match and, holding it before his face, looked up at 
 the window." 
 
24 THE CHANGELING 
 
 She prepared to close the window, but Mr. 
 Henshaw's voice arrested her. 
 
 " And suppose he is not there ? " he said. 
 
 Mrs. Henshaw reflected. " If he is not there 
 bring Ted Stokes back with you," she said at 
 last, "and if he says you're George, I'll let you 
 in. 
 
 The window closed and the light disappeared. 
 Mr. Henshaw waited for some time, but in vain, 
 and, with a very clear idea of the reception he 
 would meet with at the hands of Mr. Stokes, set 
 off to his lodging. 
 
 If anything, he had underestimated his friend's 
 powers. Mr. Stokes, rudely disturbed just as he 
 had got into bed, was the incarnation of wrath. 
 He was violent, bitter, and insulting in a breath, 
 but Mr. Henshaw was desperate, and Mr. Stokes, 
 after vowing over and over again that nothing 
 should induce him to accompany him back to his 
 house, was at last so moved by his entreaties that 
 he went upstairs and equipped himself for the 
 journey. 
 
 " And, mind, after this I never want to see 
 your face again," he said, as they walked swiftly 
 back. 
 
 Mr. Henshaw made no reply. The events of 
 the day had almost exhausted him, and silence was 
 maintained until they reached the house. Much 
 
THE CHANGELING 25 
 
 to his relief he heard somebody moving about up- 
 stairs after the first knock, and in a very short 
 time the window was gently raised and Mrs. 
 Henshaw looked out. 
 
 " What, you've come back ? " she said, in a 
 low, intense voice. " Well, of all the impudence ! 
 How dare you carry on like this ? " 
 
 " It's me," said her husband. 
 
 " Yes, I see it is," was the reply. 
 
 " It's him right enough ; it's your husband," 
 said Mr. Stokes. " Alfred Bell has gone." 
 
 " How dare you stand there and tell me them 
 falsehoods ! " exclaimed Mrs. Henshaw. " I 
 wonder the ground don't open and swallow you 
 up. It's Mr. Bell, and if he don't go away I'll 
 call the police." 
 
 Messrs. Henshaw and Stokes, amazed at their 
 reception, stood blinking up at her. Then they 
 conferred in whispers. 
 
 " If you can't tell 'em apart, how do you know 
 this is Mr. Bell ? " inquired Mr. Stokes, turning 
 to the window again. 
 
 " How do I know ? " repeated Mrs. Henshaw. 
 " How do I know ? Why, because my husband 
 came home almost directly Mr. Bell had gone. I 
 wonder he didn't meet him." 
 
 " Came home ? " cried Mr. Henshaw, shrilly. 
 " Came home ? " 
 
26 THE CHANGELING 
 
 "Yes; and don't make so much noise," said 
 Mrs. Henshaw, tartly ; " he's asleep." 
 
 The two gentlemen turned and gazed at each 
 other in stupefaction. Mr. Stokes was the first to 
 recover, and, taking his dazed friend by the arm, 
 led him gently away. At the end of the street he 
 took a deep breath, and, after a slight pause to 
 collect his scattered energies, summed up the 
 situation. 
 
 " She's twigged it all along," he said, with con- 
 viction. " You'll have to come home with me 
 to-night, and to-morrow the best thing you can 
 do is to make a clean breast of it. It was a silly 
 game, and, if you remember, I was against it from 
 the first." 
 
THE CHANGELING 
 
 27 
 
 " Mr. Stokes, taking his dazed friend by the arm, led him 
 gently away. ' ' 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 c<3 
 
Mixed Relations 
 
 THE brig Elizabeth Barstow came up the 
 river as though in a hurry to taste again 
 the joys of the Metropolis. The skipper, leaning 
 on the wheel, was in the midst of a hot discussion 
 with the mate, who was placing before him the 
 hygienic, economical, and moral advantages of 
 total abstinence in language of great strength but 
 little variety. 
 
 " Teetotallers eat more," said the skipper, 
 finally. 
 
 The mate choked, and his eye sought the 
 galley. " Eat more ? " he spluttered. " Yes- 
 terday the meat was like brick-bats ; to-day it 
 tasted like a bit o' dirty sponge. I've lived on 
 biscuits this trip ; and the only tater I ate I'm 
 going to see a doctor about direckly I get ashore. 
 It's a sin and a shame to spoil good food the way 
 'e does." 
 
 " The moment I can ship another cook he 
 goes," said the skipper. " He seems busy, judg- 
 ing by the noise." 
 
32 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 " I'm making him clean up everything, ready 
 for the next," explained the mate, grimly. "And 
 he 'ad the cheek to tell me he's improving — im- 
 proving ! " 
 
 " He'll go as soon as I get another," repeated 
 the skipper, stooping and peering ahead. " I 
 don't like being poisoned any more than you do. 
 He told me he could cook when I shipped him ; 
 said his sister had taught him." 
 
 The mate grunted and, walking away, relieved 
 his mind by putting his head in at the galley and 
 bidding the cook hold up each separate utensil for 
 his inspection. A hole in the frying-pan the cook 
 modestly attributed to elbow-grease. 
 
 The river narrowed, and the brig, picking her 
 way daintily through the traffic, sought her old 
 berth at BuUer's Wharf It was occupied by a 
 deaf sailing-barge, which, moved at last by self- 
 interest, not unconnected with its paint, took up a 
 less desirable position and consoled itself with 
 adjectives. 
 
 The men on the wharf had gone for the day, 
 and the crew of the Elizabeth Barstow, after 
 making fast, went below to prepare themselves 
 for an evening ashore. Standing before the 
 largest saucepan-lid in the galley, the cook was 
 putting the finishing touches to his toilet. 
 
 A light, quick step on the wharf attracted the 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 33 
 
 attention of the skipper as he leaned against the 
 side smoking. It stopped just behind him, and 
 turning round he found himself gazing into the soft 
 brown eyes of the prettiest girl he had ever seen. 
 
 "Is Mr. Jewell on board, please ? " she asked, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Jewell ? " repeated the skipper. " Jewell .■* 
 Don't know the name." 
 
 "He was on board," said the girl, somewhat 
 taken aback. " This is the Elizabeth Bar stow, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 " What's his Christian name," inquired the 
 skipper, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Albert," replied the girl. " Bert," she added, 
 as the other shook his head. 
 
 " Oh, the cook ! " said the skipper. "I didn't 
 know his name was Jewell. Yes, he's in the 
 galley." 
 
 He stood eyeing her and wondering in a dazed 
 fashion what she could see in a small, white-faced, 
 slab-sided 
 
 The girl broke in upon his meditations. " How 
 does he cook ? " she inquired, smiling. 
 
 He was about to tell her, when he suddenly 
 remembered the cook's statement as to his in- 
 structor. " He's getting on," he said, slowly ; 
 " he's getting on. Are you his sister ? " 
 
 The girl smiled and nodded. " Ye — es," she 
 
 3 
 
34 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 said, slowly. " Will you tell him I am waiting for 
 him, please ? " 
 
 The skipper started and drew himself up ; then 
 he walked forward and put his head in at the 
 galley. 
 
 " Bert," he said, in a friendly voice, " your 
 sister wants to see you." 
 
 " Who?" inquired Mr. Jewell, in the accents 
 of amazement. He put his head out at the door 
 and nodded, and then, somewhat red in the face 
 with the exercise, drew on his jacket and walked 
 towards her. The skipper followed. 
 
 " Thank you," said the girl, with a pleasant 
 smile. 
 
 " You're quite welcome," said the skipper. 
 
 Mr. Jewell stepped ashore and, after a moment 
 of indecision, shook hands with his visitor. 
 
 " If you're down this way again," said the 
 skipper, as they turned away, " perhaps you'd like 
 to see the cabin. We're in rather a pickle just 
 now, but if you should happen to come down for 
 Bert to-morrow night " 
 
 The girl's eyes grew mirthful and her lips 
 trembled. " Thank you," she said. 
 
 " Some people like looking over cabins," mur- 
 mured the skipper. 
 
 He raised his hand to his cap and turned away. 
 The mate, who had just come on deck, stared 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 35 
 
 after the retreating couple and gave vent to a low 
 whistle. 
 
 " What a fine gal to pick up with Slushy," he 
 remarked. 
 
 " It's his sister," said the skipper, somewhat 
 sharply. 
 
 " The one that taught him to cook ? " said the 
 other, hastily. "Here! I'd like five minutes 
 alone with her; I'd give 'er a piece o' my mind 
 that 'ud do her good. I'd learn 'er. I'd tell her 
 wot I thought of her." 
 
 " That'll do," said the skipper ; " that'll do. He's 
 not so bad for a beginner; I've known worse." 
 
 " Not so bad ?" repeated the mate. " Not so 
 bad? Why" — his voice trembled — "ain't you 
 going to give 'im the chuck, then ? " 
 
 " I shall try him for another v'y'gCj George," 
 said the skipper. "It's hard lines on a youngster 
 if he don't have a chance. I was never one to be 
 severe. Live and let live, that's my motto. Do 
 as you'd be done by." 
 
 "You're turning soft-'arted in your old age," 
 grumbled the mate. 
 
 " Old age ! " said the other, in a startled voice. 
 " Old age ! I'm not thirty-seven yet." 
 
 " You're getting on," said the mate ; " besides, 
 you look old." 
 
 The skipper investigated the charge in the 
 
 3* 
 
36 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 cabin looking-glass ten minutes later. He twisted 
 his beard in his hand and tried to imagine how 
 he would look without it. As a compromise he 
 went out and had it cut short and trimmed to a 
 point. The glass smiled approval on his return ; 
 the mate smiled too, and, being caught in the act, 
 said it made him look like his own grandson. 
 
 It was late when the cook returned, but the 
 skipper was on deck, and, stopping him for a 
 match, entered into a little conversation. Mr. 
 Jewell, surprised at first, soon became at his ease, 
 and, the talk drifting in some unknown fashion to 
 Miss Jewell, discussed her with brotherly frank- 
 ness. 
 
 "You spent the evening together, I s'pose?" 
 said the skipper, carelessly. 
 
 Mr. Jewell glanced at him from the corner of 
 his eye. " Cooking," he said, and put his hand 
 over his mouth with some suddenness. 
 
 By the time they parted the skipper had his 
 hand in a friendly fashion on the cook's shoulder, 
 and was displaying an interest in his welfare as 
 unusual as it was gratifying. So unaccustomed 
 was Mr. Jewell to such consideration that he was 
 fain to pause for a moment or two to regain con- 
 trol of his features before plunging into the lamp- 
 lit fo'c'sle. 
 
 The mate made but a poor breakfast next 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 37 
 
 " The mate smiled too." 
 
38 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 morning, but his superior, who saw the hand of 
 Miss Jewell in the muddy coffee and the cremated 
 bacon, ate his with relish. He was looking for- 
 ward to the evening, the cook having assured 
 him that his sister had accepted his invitation to 
 inspect the cabin, and indeed had talked of little 
 else. The boy was set to work house-cleaning, 
 and, having gleaned a few particulars, cursed the 
 sex with painstaking thoroughness. 
 
 It seemed to the skipper a favourable omen 
 that Miss Jewell descended the companion-ladder 
 as though to the manner born ; and her exclama- 
 tions of delight at the cabin completed his satis- 
 faction. The cook, who had followed them below 
 with some trepidation, became reassured, and 
 seating himself on a locker joined modestly in the 
 conversation. 
 
 " It's like a doU's-house," declared the girl, as 
 she finished by examining the space-saving de- 
 vices in the state-room. " Well, I mustn't take 
 up any more of your time." 
 
 " I've got nothing to do," said the skipper, 
 hastily. " I — I was thinking of going for a walk ; 
 but it's lonely walking about by yourself" 
 
 Miss Jewell agreed. She lowered her eyes and 
 looked under the lashes at the skipper. 
 
 " I never had a sister," continued the latter, 
 in melancholy accents. 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 39 
 
 " I don't suppose you would want to take her 
 out if you had," said the girl. 
 
 The skipper protested. " Bert takes you out," 
 he said. 
 
 " He isn't like most brothers," said Miss Jewell, 
 shifting along the locker and placing her hand 
 affectionately on the cook's shoulder. 
 
 " If I had a sister," continued the skipper, in a 
 somewhat uneven voice, " I should take her out. 
 This evening, for instance, I should take her to a 
 theatre." 
 
 Miss Jewell turned upon him the innocent face 
 of a child. " It would be nice to be your sister," 
 she said, calmly. 
 
 The skipper attempted to speak, but his voice 
 failed him. " Well, pretend you are my sister," 
 he said, at last, " and we'll go to one." 
 
 " Pretend ? " said Miss Jewell, as she turned 
 and eyed the cook. " Bert wouldn't like that," 
 she said, decidedly. 
 
 " N — no," said the cook, nervously, avoiding 
 the skipper's eye. 
 
 " It wouldn't be proper," said Miss Jewell, 
 sitting upright and looking very proper indeed. 
 
 " I — I meant Bert to come, too," said the 
 skipper ; " of course," he added. 
 
 The severity of Miss Jewell's expression re- 
 laxed. She stole an amused glance at the cook 
 
40 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 and, reading her instructions in his eye, began to 
 temporize. Ten minutes later the crew of the 
 Elizabeth Barstow in various attitudes of astonish- 
 ment beheld their commander going ashore with 
 his cook. The mate so far forgot himself as to 
 whistle, but with great presence of mind cuffed 
 the boy's ear as the skipper turned. 
 
 For some little distance the three walked along 
 in silence. The skipper was building castles in 
 the air, the cook was not quite at his ease, and 
 the girl, gazing steadily in front of her, appeared 
 slightly embarrassed. 
 
 By the time they reached Aldgate and stood 
 waiting for an omnibus Miss Jewell found herself 
 assailed by doubts. She remembered that she 
 did not want to go to a theatre, and warmly 
 pressed the two men to go together and leave her 
 to go home. The skipper remonstrated in vain, 
 but the cook came to the rescue, and Miss Jewell, 
 still protesting, was pushed on to a 'bus and pro- 
 pelled upstairs. She took a vacant seat in front, 
 and the skipper and Mr. Jewell shared one 
 behind. 
 
 The three hours at the theatre passed all too 
 soon, although the girl was so interested in the 
 performance that she paid but slight attention to 
 her companions. During the waits she became 
 interested in her surroundings, and several times 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 41 
 
 called the skipper's attention to smart-looking 
 men in the stalls and boxes. At one man she 
 stared so persistently that an opera-glass was at 
 last levelled in return. 
 
 " How rude of him," she said, smiling sweetly 
 at the skipper. 
 
 She shook her head in disapproval, but the next 
 moment he saw her gazing steadily at the opera- 
 glasses again. 
 
 " If you don't look he'll soon get tired of it," he 
 said, between his teeth. 
 
 "Yes, perhaps he will," said Miss Jewell, with- 
 out lowering her eyes in the least. 
 
 The skipper sat in torment until the lights were 
 lowered and the curtain went up again. When it 
 fell he began to discuss the play, but Miss Jewell 
 returned such vague replies that it was evident 
 her thoughts were far away. 
 
 " I wonder who he is ? " she whispered, gazing 
 meditatingly at the box. 
 
 "A waiter, I should think," snapped the 
 skipper. 
 
 The girl shook her head. "No, he is much 
 too distinguished-looking," she said, seriously. 
 "Well, I suppose he'll know me again." 
 
 The skipper felt that he wanted to get up and 
 smash things ; beginning with the man in the 
 box. It was his first love episode for nearly ten 
 
42 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 years, and he had forgotten the pains and penal- 
 ties which attach to the condition. When the 
 performance was over he darted a threatening 
 glance at the box, and, keeping close to Miss 
 Jewell, looked carefully about him to make sure 
 that they were not followed. 
 
 " It was ripping," said the cook, as they 
 emerged into the fresh air. 
 
 " Lovely," said the girl, in a voice of gentle 
 melancholy. " I shall come and see it again, per- 
 haps, when you are at sea." 
 
 "Not alone?" said the skipper, in a startled 
 voice. 
 
 " I don't mind being alone," said Miss Jewell, 
 gently ; " I'm used to it." 
 
 The other's reply was lost in the rush for the 
 'bus, and for the second time that evening the 
 skipper had to find fault with the seating arrange- 
 ments. And when a vacancy by the side of Miss 
 Jewell did occur, he was promptly forestalled by a 
 young man in a check suit smoking a large cigar. 
 
 They got off at Aldgate, and the girl thanked 
 him for a pleasant evening. A hesitating offer to 
 see her home was at once negatived, and the 
 skipper, watching her and the cook until they dis- 
 appeared in the traffic, walked slowly and thought- 
 fully to his ship. 
 
 The brig sailed the next evening at eight 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 43 
 
 o'clock, and it was not until six that the cook 
 remarked, in the most casual manner, that his 
 sister was coming down to see him off. She 
 arrived half an hour late, and, so far from wanting 
 to see the cabin again, discovered an inconvenient 
 love of fresh air. She came down at last, at the 
 instance of the cook, and, once below, her mood 
 changed, and she treated the skipper with a soft 
 graciousness which raised him to the seventh 
 heaven. " You'll be good to Bert, won't you ? " 
 she inquired, with a smile at that young man. 
 
 " I'll treat him like my own brother," said the 
 skipper, fervently. "No, better than that ; I'll 
 treat him like your brother." 
 
 The cook sat erect and, the skipper being occu- 
 pied with Miss Jewell, winked solemnly at the 
 skylight. 
 
 " I know you will," said the girl, very softly ; 
 " but I don't think the men " 
 
 " The men'll do as I wish," said the skipper, 
 sternly. "I'm the master on this ship — she's half 
 mine, too — and anybody who interferes with him 
 interferes with me. If there's anything you don't 
 like, Bert, you tell me." 
 
 Mr. Jewell, his small, black eyes sparkling, 
 promised, and then, muttering something about 
 his work, exchanged glances with the girl and 
 went up on deck. 
 
44 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 " It is a nice cabin," said Miss Jewell, shifting 
 an inch and a half nearer to the skipper. " I 
 suppose poor Bert has to have his meals in that 
 stuffy little place at the other end of the ship, 
 doesn't he ? " 
 
 "The fo'c'sle?" said the skipper, struggling 
 between love and discipline. " Yes." 
 
 The girl sighed, and the mate, who was listen- 
 ing at the skylight above, held his breath with 
 anxiety. Miss Jewell sighed again and in an 
 absent-minded fashion increased the distance 
 between herself and companion by six inches. 
 
 " It's usual," faltered the skipper. 
 
 " Yes, of course," said the girl, coldly, 
 
 " But if Bert likes to feed here, he's welcome," 
 said the skipper, desperately, " and he can sleep 
 aft, too. The mate can say what he likes." 
 
 The mate rose and, walking forward, raised his 
 clenched fists to heaven and availed himself of the 
 permission to the fullest extent of a somewhat 
 extensive vocabulary. 
 
 " Do you know what I think you are ? " in-, 
 quired Miss Jewell, bending towards him with a 
 radiant face. 
 
 " No," said the other, trembling. " What ? " 
 
 The girl paused. " It wouldn't do to tell you," 
 she said, in a low voice. "It might make you 
 vain." 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 45 
 
 " Do you know what I think you are ? " in- 
 quired the skipper in his turn. 
 
 Miss Jewell eyed him composedly, "albeit the 
 corners of her mouth trembled. "Yes," she said, 
 unexpectedly. 
 
 Steps sounded above and came heavily down 
 the companion-ladder. " Tide's a'most on the 
 turn," said the mate, gruffly, from the door. 
 
 The skipper hesitated, but the mate stood aside 
 for the girl to pass, and he followed her up on 
 deck and assisted her to the jetty. For hours 
 afterwards he debated with himself whether she 
 really had allowed her hand to stay in his a second 
 or two longer than necessary, or whether uncon- 
 scious muscular action on his part was responsible 
 for the phenomenon. 
 
 He became despondent as they left London 
 behind, but the necessity of interfering between a 
 goggle-eyed and obtuse mate and a pallid but no 
 less obstinate cook helped to relieve him. 
 
 " He says he is going to sleep aft,'' choked the 
 mate, pointing to the cook's bedding. 
 
 " Quite right," said the skipper. " I told him 
 to. He's going to take his meals here, too. 
 Anything to say against it ? " 
 
 The mate sat down on a locker and fought for 
 breath. The cook, still pale, felt his small, 
 black moustache and eyed him with triumphant 
 
46 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 malice. " I told 'im they was your orders," he 
 remarked. 
 
 "And I told him I didn't believe him," said the 
 mate. " Nobody would. Whoever 'eard of a 
 cook living aft ? Why, they'd laugh at the idea." 
 
 He laughed himself, but in a strangely mirth- 
 less fashion, and, afraid to trust himself, went up 
 on deck and brooded savagely apart. Nor did he 
 come down to breakfast until the skipper and cook 
 had finished. 
 
 Mr. Jewell bore his new honours badly, and the 
 inability to express their dissatisfaction by means 
 of violence had a bad effect on the tempers of the 
 crew. Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook 
 could more than hold his own, and, although the 
 men doubted his ability at first, he was able to 
 prove to them by actual experiment that he could 
 cook worse than they supposed. 
 
 The brig reached her destination — Creekhaven 
 — on the fifth day, and Mr. Jewell found himself 
 an honoured guest at the skipper's cottage. It 
 was a comfortable place, but, as the cook pointed 
 out, too large for one. He also referred, inci- 
 dentally, to his sister's love of a country life, and, 
 finding himself on a subject of which the other 
 never tired, gave full reins to a somewhat pictur- 
 esque imagination. 
 
 They were back at London within the fortnight, 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 47 
 
 " Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook could more than hold 
 his own." 
 
48 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 and the skipper learned to his dismay that Miss 
 Jewell was absent on a visit. In these circum- 
 stances he would have clung to the cook, but that 
 gentleman, pleading engagements, managed to 
 elude him for two nights out of the three. 
 
 On the third day Miss Jewell returned to Lon- 
 don, and, making her way to the wharf, was just 
 in time to wave farewells as the brig parted from 
 the wharf 
 
 From the fact that the cook was not visible at 
 the moment the skipper took the salutation to him • 
 self It cheered him for the time, but the next 
 day he was so despondent that the cook, by this 
 time thoroughly in his confidence, offered to write 
 when they got to Creekhaven and fix up an 
 evening. 
 
 " And there's really no need for you to come, 
 Bert," said the skipper, cheering up. 
 
 Mr. Jewell shook his head. " She wouldn't go 
 without me," he said, gravely. " You've no idea 
 'ow particular she is. Always was from a 
 child." 
 
 "Well, we might lose you," said the skipper, 
 reflecting. " How would that be ? " 
 
 " We might try it," said the cook, without 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 To his dismay the skipper, before they reached 
 London again, had invented at least a score of 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 49 
 
 ways by which he might enjoy Miss Jewell's com- 
 pany without the presence of a third person, some 
 of them so ingenious that the cook, despite his 
 utmost efforts, could see no way of opposing 
 them. 
 
 The skipper put his ideas into practice as soon 
 as they reached London. Between Wapping and 
 Charing Cross he lost the cook three times. 
 Miss Jewell found him twice, and the third time 
 she was so difficult that the skipper had to join in 
 the treasure-hunt himself The cook listened un- 
 moved to a highly-coloured picture of his careless- 
 ness from the lips of Miss Jewell, and bestowed a 
 sympathetic glance upon the skipper as she paused 
 for breath. 
 
 " It's as bad as taking a child out," said the 
 latter, with well-affected indignation. 
 
 " Worse," said the girl, tightening her lips. 
 
 With a perseverance worthy of a better cause 
 the skipper nudged the cook's arm and tried again. 
 This time he was successful beyond his wildest 
 dreams, and, after ten minutes' frantic search, 
 found that he had lost them both. He wandered 
 up and down for hours, and it was past eleven 
 when he returned to the ship and found the cook 
 waiting for him. 
 
 " We thought something 'ad happened to you," 
 said the cook. " Kate has been in a fine way 
 
 4 
 
so MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 about it. Five minutes after you lost me she 
 found me, and we've been hunting 'igh and low 
 ever since." 
 
 Miss Jewell expressed her relief the next 
 evening, and, stealing a glance at the face of the 
 skipper, experienced a twinge of something which 
 she took to be remorse. Ignoring the cook's 
 hints as to theatres, she elected to go for a long 
 'bus ride, and, sitting in front with the skipper, 
 left Mr. Jewell to keep a chaperon's eye on them 
 from three seats behind. 
 
 Conversation was for some time disjointed ; 
 then the brightness and crowded state of the 
 streets led the skipper to sound his companion as 
 to her avowed taste for a country life. 
 
 " I should love it," said Miss Jewell, with a 
 sigh. " But there's no chance of it ; I've got my 
 living to earn." 
 
 " You might — might marry somebody living in 
 the country," said the skipper, in trembling tones. 
 
 Miss Jewell shuddered. "Marry!" she said, 
 scornfully. 
 
 " Most people do," said the other. 
 
 " Sensible people don't," said the girl. " You 
 hav'n't," she added, with a smile. 
 
 " I'm very thankful I hav'n't," retorted the 
 skipper, with great meaning. 
 
 " There you are ! " said the girl, triumphantly. 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 51 
 
 " I never saw anybody I liked," said the 
 skipper, " be — before." 
 
 " If ever I did marry," said Miss Jewell, with 
 remarkable composure, " if ever I was foolish 
 enough to do such a thing, I think I would marry 
 a man a few years younger than myself." 
 
 " Younger ? " said the dismayed skipper. 
 
 Miss Jewell nodded. " They make the best 
 husbands," she said, gravely. 
 
 The skipper began to argue the point, and Mr. 
 Jewell, at that moment taking a seat behind, 
 joined in with some heat. A more ardent 
 supporter could not have been found, although 
 his repetition of the phrase " May and 
 December " revealed a want of tact of which the 
 skipper had not thought him capable. What had 
 promised to be a red-letter day in his existence 
 was spoiled, and he went to bed that night with 
 the full conviction that he had better abandon a 
 project so hopeless. 
 
 With a fine morning his courage revived, but 
 as voyage succeeded voyage he became more and 
 more perplexed. The devotion of the cook was 
 patent to all men, but Miss Jewell was as change- 
 able as a weather-glass. The skipper would 
 leave her one night convinced that he had better 
 forget her as soon as possible, and the next her 
 manner would be so kind, and her glances so soft, 
 
 4* 
 
52 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 that only the presence of the ever-watchful cook 
 prevented him from proposing on the spot. The 
 end came one evening in October. The skipper 
 had hurried back from the City, laden with stores, 
 Miss Jewell having, after many refusals, consented 
 to grace the tea-table that afternoon. The table, 
 set by the boy, groaned beneath the weight of 
 unusual luxuries, but the girl had not arrived. 
 The cook was also missing, and the only occupant 
 of the cabin was the mate, who, sitting at one 
 corner, was eating with great relish. 
 
 "Ain't you going to get your tea?" he 
 inquired. 
 
 " No hurry," said the skipper, somewhat 
 incensed at his haste. " It wouldn't have hurt you 
 to have waited a bit." 
 
 " Waited ? " said the other. " What for ? " 
 
 " For my visitors," was the reply. 
 
 The mate bit a piece off a crust and stirred his 
 tea. " No use waiting for them," he said, with 
 a grin. " They ain't coming." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " demanded the skipper. 
 
 " I mean," said the mate, continuing to stir his 
 tea with great enjoyment — "I mean that all that 
 kind'artedness of yours was clean chucked away 
 on that cook. He's got a berth ashore and he's 
 gone for good. He left you 'is love ; he left it 
 with Bill Hemp." 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 53 
 
 " Berth ashore ? " said the skipper, staring. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the mate, taking a large and noisy- 
 sip from his cup. "He's been fooling you all 
 along for what he could get out of you. Sleeping 
 aft and feeding aft, nobody to speak a word to 
 'im, and going out and being treated by the 
 skipper ; Bill said he laughed so much when he 
 was telling 'im that the tears was running down 
 'is face like rain. He said he'd never been 
 treated so much in his life." 
 
 " That'll do," said the skipper, quickly. 
 
 "You ought to hear Bill tell it," said the mate, 
 regretfully. " I can't do it anything like as well 
 as what he can. Made us all roar, he did. 
 What amused 'em most was you thinking that 
 that gal was cookie's sister." 
 
 The skipper, with a sharp exclamation, leaned 
 forward, staring at him. 
 
 " They're going to be married at Christmas," 
 said the mate, choking in his cup. 
 
 The skipper sat upright again, and tried man- 
 fully to compose his features. Many things he 
 had not understood before were suddenly made 
 clear, and he remembered now the odd way in 
 which the girl had regarded him as she bade him 
 good-night on the previous evening. The mate 
 eyed him with interest, and was about to supply 
 him with further details when his attention was 
 
54 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 attracted by footsteps descending the companion- 
 ladder. Then he put down his cup with great 
 care, and stared in stolid amazement at the figure 
 of Miss Jewell in the doorway. 
 
 " I'm a bit late," she said, flushing slightly. 
 
 She crossed over and shook hands with the 
 skipper, and, in the most natural fashion in the 
 world, took a seat and began to remove her 
 gloves. The mate swung round and regarded 
 her open-mouthed ; the skipper, whose ideas 
 were in a whirl, sat regarding her in silence. 
 The mate was the first to move ; he left the cabin 
 rubbing his shin, and casting furious glances at 
 the skipper. 
 
 "You didn't expect to see me ? " said the girl, 
 reddening again. 
 
 " No," was the reply. 
 
 The girl looked at the tablecloth. " I came to 
 beg your pardon," she said, in a low voice. 
 
 " There's nothing to beg my pardon for," said 
 the skipper, clearing his throat. " By rights I 
 ought to beg yours. You did quite right to make 
 fun of me. I can see it now." 
 
 "When you asked me whether I was Bert's 
 sister I didn't like to say 'no,'" continued the 
 girl ; " and at first I let you come out with me for 
 the fun of the thing, and then Bert said it would 
 be good for him, and then — then " 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 55 
 
 " ' Good-bye,' he said, slowly ; ' and I wish you both every happiness,' " 
 
S6 MIXED RELATIONS 
 
 " Yes," said the skipper, after a long pause. 
 
 The girl broke a biscuit into small pieces, and 
 arranged them on the cloth. " Then I didn't 
 mind your coming so much," she said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 The skipper caught his breath and tried to 
 gaze at the averted face. 
 
 The girl swept the crumbs aside and met his 
 gaze squarely. " Not quite so much," she ex- 
 plained. 
 
 " I've been a fool," said the skipper. " I've 
 been a fool. I've made myself a laughing-stock 
 all round, but if I could have it all over again I 
 would." 
 
 " That can never be," said the girl, shaking 
 her head. " Bert wouldn't come." 
 
 " No, of course not," asserted the other. 
 
 The girl bit her lip. The skipper thought that 
 he had never seen her eyes so large and shining. 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 " Good-bye," said the girl at last, rising. 
 
 The skipper rose to follow. " Good-bye," he 
 said, slowly ; " and I wish you both every 
 happiness." 
 
 " Happiness ? " echoed the girl, in a surprised 
 voice. " Why ? " 
 
 " When you are married." 
 
 " I am not going to be married," said the 
 
MIXED RELATIONS 57 
 
 girl. " I told Bert so this afternoon. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 The skipper actually let her get nearly to the 
 top of the ladder before he regained his presence 
 of mind. Then, in obedience to a powerful tug 
 at the hem of her skirt, she came down again, and 
 accompanied him meekly back to the cabin. 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 
 
His Lordship 
 
 FARMER ROSE sat in his porch smolcing 
 an evening pipe. By his side, in a com- 
 fortable Windsor chair, sat his friend the miller, 
 also smoking, and gazing with half-closed eyes at 
 the landscape as he listened for the thousandth 
 time to his host's complaints about his daughter. 
 
 " The long and the short of it is, Cray," said 
 the farmer, with an air of mournful pride, " she's 
 far too good-looking." 
 
 Mr. Cray grunted. 
 
 " Truth is truth, though she's my daughter," 
 continued Mr. Rose, vaguely. " She's too good- 
 looking. Sometimes when I've taken her up to 
 market I've seen the folks fair turn their backs on 
 the cattle and stare at her instead.'' 
 
 Mr. Cray sniffed ; louder, perhaps, than he had 
 intended. " Beautiful that rose-bush smells," he 
 remarked, as his friend turned and eyed him. 
 
 " What is the consequence ? " demanded the 
 farmer, relaxing his gaze. " She looks in the glass 
 
62 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 and sees herself, and then she gets miserable and 
 uppish because there ain't nobody in these parts 
 good enough for her to marry." 
 
 " It's a extraordinary thing to me where she 
 gets them good looks from," said the miller, 
 deliberately. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Rose, and sat trying to think 
 of a means of enlightening his friend without 
 undue loss of modesty. 
 
 " She ain't a bit like her poor mother," mused 
 Mr. Cray. 
 
 " No, she don't get her looks from her," 
 assented the other. 
 
 " It's one o' them things you can't account for," 
 said Mr. Cray, who was very tired of the subject ; 
 " it's just like seeing a beautiful flower blooming 
 on an old cabbage-stump." 
 
 The farmer knocked his pipe out noisily and 
 began to refill it. " People have said that she 
 takes after me a trifle," he remarked, shortly, 
 
 "You weren't fool enough to believe that, I 
 know," said the miller. " Why, she's no more 
 like you than you're like a warming-pan — not so 
 much." 
 
 Mr. Rose regarded his friend fixedly. " You 
 ain't got a very nice way o' putting things, Cray," 
 he said, mournfully. 
 
 "I'm no flatterer," said the miller; "never 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 63 
 
 was. And you can't please everybody. If I 
 said your daughter took after you I don't s'pose 
 she'd ever speak to me again." 
 
 " The worst of it is," said the farmer, disregard- 
 ing his remark, "she won't settle down. There's 
 young Walter Lomas after her now, and she 
 won't look at him. He's a decent young fellow 
 is Walter, and she's been and named one o' the 
 pigs after him, and the way she mixes them up 
 together is disgraceful." 
 
 "If she was my girl she should marry young 
 Walter," said the miller, firmly. " What's wrong 
 with him ?" 
 
 " She looks higher," replied the other, mys- 
 teriously ; " she's always reading them romantic 
 books full o' love tales, and she's never tired o' 
 talking of a girl her mother used to know that 
 went on the stage and married a baronet. She 
 goes and sits in the best parlour every afternoon 
 now, and calls it the drawing-room. She'll sit 
 there till she's past the marrying age, and then 
 she'll turn round and blame me." 
 
 " She wants a lesson," said Mr. Cray, firmly. 
 " She wants to be taught her position in life, not 
 to go about turning up her nose at young men 
 and naming pigs after them." 
 
 Mr. Rose sighed. 
 
 " What she wants to understand is that the 
 
64 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 upper classes wouldn*t look at her," pursued the 
 miller. 
 
 "It would be easier to make her understand 
 that if they didn't," said the farmer. 
 
 " I mean," said Mr. Cray, sternly, " with a view 
 to marriage. What you ought to do is to get 
 somebody staying down here with you pretend- 
 ing to be a lord or a nobleman, and ordering her 
 about and not noticing her good looks at all. 
 Then, while she's upset about that, in comes 
 Walter Lomas to comfort her and be a contrast 
 to the other." 
 
 Mr. Rose withdrew his pipe and regarded him 
 open-mouthed. 
 
 " Yes ; but how " he began. 
 
 "And it seems to me," interrupted Mr. Cray, 
 " that I know just the young fellow to do it — 
 nephew of my wife's. He was coming to stay a 
 fortnight with us, but you can have him with 
 pleasure — me and him don't get on over and 
 above well. ' 
 
 " Perhaps he wouldn't do it," objected the 
 farmer. 
 
 " He'd do it like a shot," said Mr. Cray, 
 positively. "It would be fun for us and it 'ud be 
 a lesson for her. If you like, I'll tell him to write to 
 you for lodgings, as he wants to come for a fort- 
 night's fresh air after the fatiguing gaieties of town." 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 65 
 
 " Fatiguing gaieties of town," repeated the 
 
 admiring farmer. " Fatiguing " 
 
 He sat back in his chair and laughed, and Mr. 
 Cray, delighted at the prospect of getting rid so 
 easily of a tiresome guest, laughed too. Over- 
 head at the open window a third person laughed, 
 but in so quiet and well-bred a fashion that neither 
 of them heard her. 
 
 The farmer received a letter a day or two after- 
 wards, and negotiations between Jane Rose on 
 the one side and Lord Fairmount on the other 
 were soon in progress ; the farmer's own composi- 
 tion being deemed somewhat crude for such a 
 correspondence. 
 
 " I wish he didn't want it kept so secret," said 
 Miss Rose, pondering over the final letter. " I 
 should like to let the Grays and one or two more 
 people know he is staying with us. However, I 
 suppose he must have his own way." 
 
 " You must do as he wishes," said her father, 
 using his handkerchief violently. 
 
 Jane sighed. " He'll be a little company for 
 me, at any rate," she remarked. " What is the 
 matter, father ? " 
 
 " Bit of a cold," said the farmer, indistinctly, as 
 he made for the door, still holding his handkerchief 
 to his face. " Been coming on some time." 
 
 He put on his hat and went out, and Miss 
 
 5 
 
66 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 Rose, watching him from the window, was not 
 without fears that the joke might prove too much 
 for a man of his habit. She regarded him 
 thoughtfully, and when he returned at one o'clock 
 to dinner, and encountered instead a violent dust- 
 storm which was raging in the house, she noted 
 with pleasure that his sense of humour was more 
 under control. 
 
 " Dinner ? " she said, as he strove to squeeze 
 past the furniture which was piled in the hall. 
 " We've got no time to think of dinner, and if we 
 had there's no place for you to eat it. You'd 
 better go in the larder and cut yourself a crust of 
 bread and cheese." 
 
 Her father hesitated and glared at the servant, 
 who, with her head bound up in a duster, passed 
 at the double with a broom. Then he walked 
 slowly into the kitchen. 
 
 Miss Rose called out something after him. 
 
 "Eh?" said her father, coming back hope- 
 fully. 
 
 " How is your cold, dear ? " 
 
 The farmer made no reply, and his daughter 
 smiled contentedly as she heard him stamping 
 about in the larder. He made but a poor meal, 
 and then, refusing point-blank to assist Annie in 
 moving the piano, went and smoked a very 
 reflective pipe in the garden. 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 67 
 
 CwJL-i- .--^ awg,^^ 
 
 " 'She's got your eyes,' said his lordship.'' 
 
68 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 Lord Fairmount arrived the following day on 
 foot from the station, and after acknowledging 
 the farmer's salute with a distant nod requested 
 him to send a cart for his luggage. He was a 
 tall, good-looking young man, and as he stood in 
 the hall languidly twisting his moustache Miss 
 Rose deliberately decided upon his destruction. 
 
 " These your daughters .'' " he inquired, care- 
 lessly, as he followed his host into the parlour. 
 
 " One of 'em is, my lord ; the other is my 
 servant," replied the farmer. 
 
 " She's got your eyes," said his lordship, 
 tapping the astonished Annie under the chin ; 
 " your nose too, I think." 
 
 " That's my servant," said the farmer, knitting 
 his brows at him. 
 
 "Oh, indeed !" said his lordship, airily. 
 
 He turned round and regarded Jane, but, al- 
 though she tried to meet him half-way by elevat- 
 ing her chin a little, his audacity failed him and 
 the words died away on his tongue. A long 
 silence followed, broken only by the ill-suppressed 
 giggles of Annie, who had retired to the kitchen. 
 
 " I trust that we shall make your lordship com- 
 fortable," said Miss Rose. 
 
 " I hope so, my good girl," was the reply. 
 " And now will you show me my room ? " 
 
 Miss Rose led the way upstairs and threw open 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 69 
 
 the door ; Lord Fairmount, pausing on the thres- 
 hold, gazed at it disparagingly. 
 
 " Is this the best room you have ? " he inquired, 
 stiffly. 
 
 "Oh, no," said Miss Rose, smiling; "father's 
 room is much better than this. Look here." 
 
 She threw open another door and, ignoring a 
 gesticulating figure which stood in the hall below, 
 regarded him anxiously. "If you would prefer 
 father's room he would be delighted for you to 
 have it. Delighted." 
 
 " Yes, I will have this one," said Lord Fair- 
 mount, entering. " Bring me up some hot water, 
 please, and clear these boots and leggings out." 
 
 Miss Rose tripped downstairs and, bestowing a 
 witching smile upon her sire, waved away his 
 request for an explanation and hastened into the 
 kitchen, whence Annie shortly afterwards emerged 
 with the water. 
 
 It was with something of a shock that the 
 farmer discovered that he had to wait for his 
 dinner while his lordship had luncheon. That 
 meal, under his daughter's management, took a 
 long time, and the joint when it reached him was 
 more than half cold. It was, moreover, quite 
 clear that the aristocracy had not even mastered 
 the rudiments of carving, but preferred instead to 
 box the compass for tit-bits. 
 
70 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 He ate his meal in silence, and when it was 
 over sought out his guest to administer a few 
 much-needed stage-directions. Owing, however, 
 to the ubiquity of Jane he wasted nearly the 
 whole of the afternoon before he obtained an op- 
 portunity. Even then the interview was short, 
 the farmer having to compress into ten seconds 
 instructions for Lord Fairmount to express a 
 desire to take his meals with the family, and his 
 dinner at the respectable hour of i p.m. Instruc- 
 tions as to a change of bedroom were frustrated 
 by the re-appearance of Jane. 
 
 His lordship went for a walk after that, and 
 coming back with a bored air stood on the hearth- 
 rug in the living-room and watched Miss Rose 
 sewing. 
 
 " Very dull place," he said at last, in a dis- 
 satisfied voice. 
 
 "Yes, my lord," said Miss Rose, demurely. 
 
 " Fearfully dull," complained his lordship, 
 stifling a yawn. " What I'm to do to amuse my- 
 self for a fortnight I'm sure I don't know." 
 
 Miss Rose raised her fine eyes and regarded 
 him intently. Many a lesser man would have 
 looked no farther for amusement. 
 
 "I'm afraid there is not much to do about here, 
 my lord," she said, quietly. "We are very plain 
 folk in these parts." 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 71 
 
 "Yes," assented the other. An obvious com- 
 pliment rose of itself to his lips, but he restrained 
 himself, though with difficulty. Miss Rose 
 bent her head over her work and stitched indus- 
 triously. His lordship took up a book and, re- 
 membering his mission, read for a couple of hours 
 without taking the slightest notice of her. Miss 
 Rose glanced over in his direction once or twice, 
 and then, with a somewhat vixenish expression 
 on her delicate features, resumed her sewing. 
 
 " Wonderful eyes she's got," said the gentle- 
 man, as he sat on the edge of his bed that night 
 and thought over the events of the day. "It's 
 pretty to see them flash." 
 
 He saw them flash several times during the 
 next few days, and Mr. Rose himself was more 
 than satisfied with the hauteur with which his 
 guest treated the household. 
 
 " But I don't like the way you have with me," 
 he complained. 
 
 " It's all in the part," urged his lordship. 
 
 "Well, you can leave that part out," rejoined 
 Mr. Rose, with some acerbity. " I object to 
 being spoke to as you speak to me before that 
 girl Annie. Be as proud and unpleasant as you 
 like to my daughter, but leave me alone. Mind 
 that ! " 
 
 His lordship promised, and in pursuance of his 
 
72 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 host's instructions strove manfully to subdue feel- 
 ings towards Miss Rose by no means in accord- 
 ance with them. The best of us are liable to 
 absent-mindedness, and he sometimes so far for- 
 got himself as to address her in tones as humble 
 as any in her somewhat large experience. 
 
 " I hope that we are making you comfortable 
 here, my lord?" she said, as they sat together 
 one afternoon. 
 
 " I have never been more comfortable in my 
 
 life," was the gracious reply. 
 
 Miss Rose shook her head. " Oh, my lord," 
 she said, in protest, "think of your mansion." 
 
 His lordship thought of it. For two or three 
 days he had been thinking of houses and furniture 
 and other things of that nature. 
 
 " I have never seen an old country seat," con- 
 tinued Miss Rose, clasping her hands and gazing 
 at him wistfully. " I should be so grateful if your 
 lordship would describe yours to me." 
 
 His lordship shifted uneasily, and then, in face 
 of the girl's persistence, stood for some time 
 divided between the contending claims of Hamp- 
 ton Court Palace and the Tower of London. He 
 finally decided upon the former, after first refur- 
 nishing it at Maple's. 
 
 "How happy you must be ! " said the breath- 
 less Jane, when he had finished. 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 73 
 
 He shook his head gravely. " My possessions 
 have never given me any happiness," he re- 
 marked. " I would much rather be in a humble 
 rank of life. Live where I like, and — and marry 
 whom I like." 
 
 There was no mistaking the meaning fall in his 
 voice. Miss Rose sighed gently and lowered her 
 eyes — her lashes had often excited comment. 
 Then, in a soft voice, she asked him the sort of 
 life he would prefer. 
 
 In reply, his lordship, with an eloquence which 
 surprised himself, portrayed the joys of life in a 
 seven-roomed house in town, with a greenhouse 
 six feet by three, and a garden large enough to 
 contain it. He really spoke well, and when he 
 had finished his listener gazed at him with eyes 
 suffused with timid admiration. 
 
 " Oh, my lord," she said, prettily, " now I 
 know what you've been doing. You've been 
 slumming." 
 
 " Slumming ? " gasped his lordship. 
 
 " You couldn't have described a place like that 
 unless you had been," said Miss Rose, nodding. 
 " I hope you took the poor people some nice hot 
 soup." 
 
 His lordship tried to explain, but without 
 success. Miss Rose persisted in regarding him 
 as a missionary of food and warmth, and spoke 
 
74 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 feelingly of the people who had to live in such 
 places. She also warned him against the risk of 
 infection. 
 
 " You don't understand," he repeated, im- 
 patiently. "These are nice houses — nice enough 
 for anybody to live in. If you took soup to 
 people like that, why, they'd throw it at you." 
 
 " Wretches ! " murmured the indignant Jane, 
 who was enjoying herself amazingly. 
 
 His lordship eyed her with sudden suspicion, 
 but her face was quite grave and bore traces of 
 strong feeling. He explained again, but without 
 avail. 
 
 "You never ought to go near such places, my 
 lord," she concluded, solemnly, as she rose to quit 
 the room. " Even a girl of my station would 
 draw the line at that." 
 
 She bowed deeply and withdrew. His lordship 
 sank into a chair and, thrusting his hands into his 
 pockets, gazed gloomily at the dried grasses in 
 the grate. 
 
 During the next day or two his appetite failed, 
 and other well-known symptoms set in. Miss 
 Rose, diagnosing them all, prescribed by stealth 
 some bitter remedies. The farmer regarded his 
 change of manner with disapproval, and, con- 
 cluding that it was due to his own complaints, 
 sought to reassure him. He also pointed out 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 75 
 
 that his daughter's opinion of the aristocracy was 
 hardly likely to increase if the only member she 
 knew went about the house as though he had just 
 lost his grandmother. 
 
 "You are longing for the gaieties of town, 
 my lord," he remarked one morning at break- 
 fast. 
 
 His lordship shook his head. The gaieties 
 comprised, amongst other things, a stool and a 
 desk. 
 
 " I don't like town," he said, with a glance at 
 Jane. "If I had my choice I would live here 
 always. I would sooner live here in this charm- 
 ing spot with this charming society than any 
 where." 
 
 Mr. Rose coughed and, having caught his eye, 
 shook his head at him and glanced significantly 
 over at the unconscious Jane. The young man 
 ignored his action and, having got an opening, 
 gave utterance in the course of the next ten 
 minutes to Radical heresies of so violent a type 
 that the farmer could hardly keep his seat. 
 Social distinctions were condemned utterly, and 
 the House of Lords referred to as a human dust- 
 bin. The farmer gazed open-mouthed at this 
 snake he had nourished. 
 
 " Your lordship will alter your mind when you 
 get to town," said Jane, demurely. 
 
76 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 "Never! " declared the other, impressively. 
 
 The girl sighed, and gazing first with much 
 interest at her parent, who seemed to be doing 
 his best to ward off a fit, turned her lustrous eyes 
 upon the guest. 
 
 " We shall all miss you," she said, softly. 
 " You've been a lesson to all of us." 
 
 " Lesson ? " he repeated, flushing. 
 
 " It has improved our behaviour so, having a 
 lord in the house," said Miss Rose, with painful 
 humility. " I'm sure father hasn't been like the 
 same man since you've been here." 
 
 "What d'ye mean Miss?" demanded the 
 farmer, hotly. 
 
 " Don't speak like that before his lordship, 
 father," said his daughter, hastily. "I'm not 
 blaming you ; you're no worse than the other 
 men about here. You haven't had an op- 
 portunity of learning before, that's all. It isn't 
 your fault." 
 
 " Learning ? " bellowed the farmer, turning an 
 inflamed visage upon his apprehensive guest. 
 " Have you noticed anything wrong about my 
 behaviour ?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said his lordship, hastily. 
 
 " All I know is," continued Miss Rose, 
 positively, " I wish you were going to stay here 
 another six months for father's sake." 
 
HIS LORDSHIP J7 
 
 " Look here " began Mr. Rose, smiting 
 
 the table. 
 
 " And Annie's," said Jane, raising her voice 
 above the din. " I don't know which has im- 
 proved the most. I'm sure the way they both 
 drink their tea now " 
 
 Mr. Rose pushed his chair back loudly and got 
 up from the table. For a moment he stood 
 struggling for words, then he turned suddenly 
 with a growl and quitted the room, banging the 
 door after him in a fashion which clearly indicated 
 that he still had some lessons to learn. 
 
 " You've made your father angry," said his 
 lordship. 
 
 " It's for his own good," said Miss Rose. 
 " Are you really sorry to leave us ? " 
 
 "Sorry?" repeated the other. " Sorry is no 
 word for it." 
 
 "You will miss father," said the girl. 
 
 He sighed gently. 
 
 "And Annie," she continued. 
 
 He sighed again, and Jane took a slight glance 
 at him cornerwise. 
 
 " And me too, I hope," she said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "Miss you!" repeated his lordship, in a 
 suffocating voice. " I should miss the sun less." 
 
 " I am so glad," said Jane, clasping her hands 
 
78 HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 "it is so nice to feel that one is not quite for- 
 gotten. Of course, I can never forget you. You 
 are the only nobleman I have ever met." 
 
 " I hope that it is not only because of that," he 
 said, forlornly. 
 
 Miss Rose pondered. When she pondered 
 her eyes increased in size and revealed unsus- 
 pected depths. 
 
 " No-o," she said at length, in a hesitating 
 voice. 
 
 " Suppose that I were not what I am re- 
 presented to be," he said, slowly. " Suppose that, 
 instead of being Lord Fairmount, I were merely 
 a clerk." 
 
 "A clerk?" repeated Miss Rose, with a very 
 well-managed shudder. "How can I suppose 
 such an absurd thing as that ? " 
 
 "But if I were.''" urged his lordship, 
 feverishly. 
 
 " It's no use supposing such a thing as that," 
 said Miss Rose, briskly; "your high birth is 
 stamped on you." 
 
 His lordship shook his head. 
 
 " I would sooner be a labourer on this farm 
 than a king anywhere else," he said, with feeling. 
 
 Miss Rose drew a pattern on the floor with the 
 toe of her shoe. 
 
 " The poorest labourer on the farm can have 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 79 
 
 the pleasure of looking at you every day," con- 
 tinued his lordship, passionately. " Every day 
 of his life he can see you, and feel a better man 
 for it." 
 
 Miss Rose looked at him sharply. Only the 
 day before the poorest labourer had seen her — 
 when he wasn't expecting the honour — and 
 received an epitome of his character which had 
 nearly stunned him. But his lordship's face was 
 quite grave. 
 
 " I go to-morrow," he said. 
 
 " Yes," said Jane, in a hushed voice. 
 
 He crossed the room gently and took a seat by 
 her side. Miss Rose, still gazing at the floor, 
 wondered indignantly why it was she was not 
 blushing. His lordship's conversation had come 
 to a sudden stop and the silence was most 
 awkward. 
 
 " I've been a fool, Miss Rose," he said at last, 
 rising and standing over her ; " and I've been 
 taking a great liberty. I've been deceiving you 
 for nearly a fortnight." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " responded Miss Rose, briskly. 
 
 " I have been deceiving you," he repeated. 
 " I have made you believe that I am a person 
 of title." 
 
 "Nonsense! " said Miss Rose again. 
 
 The other started and eyed her uneasily. 
 
8o HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 " Nobody would mistake you for a lord," said 
 Miss Rose, cruelly. " Why, I shouldn't think 
 that you had ever seen one. You didn't do it at 
 all properly. Why, your uncle Cray would have 
 done it better." 
 
 Mr. Cray's nephew fell back in consternation 
 and eyed her dumbly as she laughed. All mirth 
 is not contagious, and he was easily able to 
 refrain from joining in this. 
 
 " I can't understand," said Miss Rose, as she 
 wiped a tear-dimmed eye — " I can't understand 
 how you could have thought I should be so 
 stupid." 
 
 " I've been a fool," said the other, bitterly, as 
 he retreated to the door. " Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye," said Jane. She looked him full 
 in the face, and the blushes for which she had 
 been waiting came in force. " You needn't go, 
 unless you want to," she said, softly. " I '^ke 
 fools better than lords." 
 
HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 ■ I like fools better than lords." 
 
ALF'S DREAM 
 
 6* 
 
Alf s Dream 
 
 I'VE just been drinking a man's health," said 
 the night watchman, coming slowly on to 
 the wharf and wiping his mouth with the back of 
 his hand ; " he's come in for a matter of three 
 'undred and twenty pounds, and he stood me arf a 
 pint — arf a pint ! " 
 
 He dragged a small empty towards him, and 
 after planing the surface with his hand sat down 
 and gazed scornfully across the river. 
 
 "Four ale," he said, with a hard laugh; "and 
 when I asked 'im— 'just for the look of the thing, 
 and to give 'im a hint — whether he'd 'ave another, 
 he said ' yes.' " 
 
 The night watchman rose and paced restlessly 
 up and down the jetty. 
 
 " Money," he said, at last, resuming his wonted 
 calm and lowering himself carefully to the box 
 again — money always gets left to the wrong 
 people ; some of the kindest-'arted men I've ever 
 known 'ave never had a ha'penny left 'em, while 
 
86 ALFS DREAM 
 
 teetotaler arter teetotaler wot I've heard of 'ave 
 come in for fortius. 
 
 It's 'ard lines though, sometimes, waiting for 
 other people's money. I knew o' one chap that 
 waited over forty years for 'is grandmother to die 
 and leave 'im her money ; and she died of catch- 
 ing cold at 'is funeral. Another chap I knew, 
 arter waiting years and years for 'is rich aunt to 
 die, was hung because she committed suicide. 
 
 It's always risky work waiting for other people 
 to die and leave you money. Sometimes they 
 don't die ; sometimes they marry agin ; and 
 sometimes they leave it to other people instead. 
 
 Talking of marrying agin reminds me o' some- 
 thing that 'appened to a young fellow I knew 
 named Alf Simms. Being an orphan 'e was 
 brought up by his uncle, George Hatchard, a 
 widowed man of about sixty. Alf used to go to 
 sea off and on, but more off than on, his uncle 
 'aving quite a tidy bit of 'ouse property, and it 
 being understood that Alf was to have it arter he 
 'ad gone. His uncle used to like to 'ave him at 
 'ome, and Alf didn't like work, so it suited both 
 parties. 
 
 I used to give Alf a bit of advice sometimes, 
 sixty being a dangerous age for a man, especially 
 when he 'as been a widower for so long he 'as 
 had time to forget wot being married's like ; but 
 
ALFS DREAM, 87 
 
 I must do Alf the credit to say it wasn't wanted. 
 He 'ad got a very old 'ead on his shoulders, and 
 always picked the housekeeper 'imself to save the 
 old man the trouble. I saw two of 'em, and I 
 dare say I could 'ave seen more, only I didn't 
 want to. 
 
 Cleverness is a good thing in its way, but 
 there's such a thing as being too clever, and the 
 last 'ousekeeper young Alf picked died of old age 
 a week arter he 'ad gone to sea. She passed 
 away while she was drawing George Hatchard's 
 supper beer, and he lost ten gallons o' the best 
 bitter ale and his 'ousekeeper at the same 
 time. 
 
 It was four months arter that afore Alf came 
 'ome, and the fust sight of the new 'ousekeeper, 
 wot opened the door to 'im, upset 'im terrible. 
 She was the right side o' sixty to begin with, and 
 only ordinary plain. Then she was as clean as a 
 new pin, and dressed up as though she was going 
 out to tea. 
 
 " Oh, you're Alfred, I s'pose ? " she ses, look- 
 ing at 'im. 
 
 " Mr. Simms is my name," ses young Alf, 
 starting and drawing hisself up. 
 
 " I know you by your portrait," ses the 'ouse- 
 keeper. " Come in. 'Ave you 'ad a pleasant 
 v'y'ge .-* Wipe your boots." 
 
88 ALF'S DREAM 
 
 Alfred wiped 'is boots afore he thought of wot 
 he was doing. Then he drew hisself up stiff agin 
 and marched into the parlour. 
 
 " Sit down," ses the 'ousekeeper, in a kind 
 voice. 
 
 Alfred sat down afore he thought wot 'e was 
 doing agin. 
 
 " I always like to see people comfortable," ses 
 the 'ousekeeper ; " it's my way. It's warm 
 weather for the time o' year, ain't it ? George is 
 upstairs, but he'll be down in a minute." 
 
 "Who?" ses Alf, hardly able to believe 
 his ears. 
 
 " George," ses the 'ousekeeper. 
 
 " George ? George who .'' " ses Alfred, very 
 severe. 
 
 " Why your uncle, of course," ses the 'ouse- 
 keeper. " Do you think I've got a houseful 
 of Georges } " 
 
 Young Alf sat staring at her and couldn't say 
 a word. He noticed that the room 'ad been 
 altered, and that there was a big photygraph of 
 her stuck up on the mantelpiece. He sat there 
 fidgeting with 'is feet — until the 'ousekeeper 
 looked at them — and then 'e got up and walked 
 upstairs. 
 
 His uncle, wot was sitting on his bed when 'e 
 went into the room and pretended that he 'adn't 
 
ALPS DREAM 89 
 
 heard 'im come in, shook hands with 'im as 
 though he'd never leave off. 
 
 " I've got something to tell you, Alf," he ses, 
 arter they 'ad said "How d'ye do ? " and he 'ad 
 talked about the weather until AJf was fair tired 
 of it. " I've been and gone and done a foolish 
 thing, and 'ow you'll take it I don't know." 
 
 " Been and asked the new 'ousekeeper to marry 
 you, I s'pose ? " ses Alf, looking at 'im very hard. 
 
 His uncle shook his 'ead. " I never asked 'er ; 
 I'd take my Davy I didn't," he ses. 
 
 "Well, you ain't going to marry her, then ? " 
 ses Alf, brightening up. 
 
 His uncle shook his 'ead agin. "She didn't 
 want no asking," he ses, speaking very slow and 
 mournful. " I just 'appened to put my arm 
 round her waist by accident one day and the 
 thing was done." 
 
 " Accident ? How could you do it by acci- 
 dent ? " ses Alf, firing up. 
 
 " How can I tell you that ? " ses George 
 Hatchard. " If I'd known 'ow, it wouldn't 'ave 
 been an accident, would it ? " 
 
 " Don't you want to marry her ? " ses Alf, at last. 
 " You needn't marry 'er if you don't want to." 
 
 George Hatchard looked at 'im and sniffed. 
 " When you know her as well as I do you won't 
 talk so foolish," he ses. " We'd better go down 
 
90 ALFS DREAM 
 
 now, else she'll think we've been talking 
 about 'er." 
 
 They went downstairs and 'ad tea together, and 
 young Alf soon see the truth of his uncle's re- 
 marks. Mrs. Pearce — that was the 'ousekeeper's 
 name — called his uncle "dear" every time she 
 spoke to 'im, and arter tea she sat on the sofa side 
 by side with 'im and held his "and. 
 
 Alf lay awake arf that night thinking things 
 over and 'ow to get Mrs. Pearce out of the house, 
 and he woke up next morning with it still on 'is 
 mind. Every time he got 'is uncle alone he spoke 
 to 'im about it, and told 'im to pack Mrs. Pearce 
 off with a month's wages, but George Hatchard 
 wouldn't listen to 'im. 
 
 " She'd 'ave me up for breach of promise and 
 ruin me," he ses. " She reads the paper to me 
 every Sunday arternoon, mostly breach of promise 
 cases, and she'd 'ave me up for it as soon as look 
 at me. She's got 'eaps and 'eaps of love-letters 
 o' mine." 
 
 "Love-letters!" ses Alf, staring. "Love- 
 letters when you live in the same house ! " 
 
 "She started it," ses his uncle; "she pushed 
 one under my door one morning, and I 'ad to 
 answer it. She wouldn't come down and get my 
 breakfast till I did. I have to send her one every 
 morning." 
 
ALFS DREAM 91 
 
 " Do you sign 'em with your own name ? " ses 
 Alf, arter thinking a bit. 
 
 " No," ses 'is uncle, turning red. 
 
 " Wot do you sign 'em, then ? " ses Alf. 
 
 " Never you mind," ses his uncle, turning 
 redder. " It's my handwriting, and that's good 
 enough for her. I did try writing backwards, but 
 I only did it once. I wouldn't do it agin for fifty 
 pounds. You ought to ha' heard 'er." 
 
 " If 'er fust husband was alive she couldn't 
 marry you," ses Alf, very slow and thoughtful. 
 
 "No," ses his uncle, nasty-like ; " and if I was 
 an old woman she couldn't marry me. You know 
 as well as I do that he went down with the 
 Evening Star fifteen years ago." 
 
 " So far as she knows," ses Alf ; " but there 
 was four of them saved, so why not five ? 
 Mightn't 'e have floated away on a spar or some- 
 thing and been picked up ? Can't you dream it 
 three nights running, and tell 'er that you feel 
 certain sure he's alive ? " 
 
 " If I dreamt it fifty times it wouldn't make 
 any difference," ses George Hatchard. " Here ! 
 wot are you up to ? 'Ave you gone mad, or wot ? 
 You poke me in the ribs like that agin if 
 you dare." 
 
 " Her fust 'usband's alive," ses Alf, smiling 
 at 'im. 
 
92 ALFS DREAM 
 
 " Woi ? " ses his uncle. 
 
 "He floated away on a bit o' wreckage," ses 
 Alf, nodding at 'im, "just like they do in books, 
 and was picked up more dead than alive and took 
 to Melbourne. He's now living up-country 
 working on a sheep station." 
 
 " Who's dreaming now ? " ses his uncle. 
 
 " It's a fact," ses Alf. " I know a chap wot's 
 met 'im and talked to 'im. She can't marry you 
 while he's alive, can she ? " 
 
 " Certainly noi," ses George Hatchard, trem- 
 bling all over ; " but are you sure you 'aven't 
 made a mistake ?" 
 
 " Certain sure," ses Alf. 
 
 " It's too good to be true," ses George 
 Hatchard. 
 
 " O' course it is," ses Alf, "but she won't 
 know that. Look 'ere ; you write down all the 
 things that she 'as told you about herself and give 
 it to me, and I'll soon find the chap I spoke of 
 wot's met 'im. He'd meet a dozen men if it was 
 made worth his while." 
 
 George Hatchard couldn't understand 'im at 
 fust, and when he did he wouldn't 'ave a hand in 
 it because it wasn't the right thing to do, and 
 because he felt sure that Mrs. Pearce would find 
 it out. But at last 'e wrote out all about her for 
 Alf ; her maiden name, and where she was born, 
 
ALFS DREAM 93 
 
 and everything ; and then he told Alf that, if *e 
 dared to play such a trick on an unsuspecting, 
 loving woman, he'd never forgive 'im. 
 
 " I shall want a couple o' quid," ses Alf. 
 
 " Certainly not," ses his uncle. " I won't 'ave 
 nothing to do with it, I tell you." 
 
 " Only to buy chocolates with," ses Alf. 
 
 " Oh, all right," ses George Hatchard ; and he 
 went upstairs to 'is bedroom and came down with 
 three pounds and gave 'im. " If that ain't 
 enough," he ses, " let me know, and you can 'ave 
 more." 
 
 Alf winked at 'im, but the old man drew hisself 
 up and stared at 'im, and then 'e turned and 
 walked away with his 'ead in the air. 
 
 He 'ardly got a chance of speaking to Alf next 
 day, Mrs. Pearce being 'ere, there, and every- 
 where, as the saying is, and finding so many little 
 odd jobs for Alf to do that there was no time for 
 talking. But the day arter he sidled up to 'im 
 when the 'ousekeeper was out of the room and 
 asked 'im whether he 'ad bought the choco- 
 lates. 
 
 " Yes," ses Alfred, taking one out of 'is pocket 
 and eating it, "some of 'em." 
 
 George Hatchard coughed and fidgeted about. 
 "When are you going to buy the others.-"' 
 he ses. 
 
94 ALFS DREAM 
 
 " As I want 'em," ses Alf. " They'd spoil if I 
 got *em all at once." 
 
 George Hatchard coughed agin. " I 'ope you 
 haven't been going on with that wicked plan you 
 spoke to me about the other night," he ses. 
 
 "Certainly not," ses Alf, winking to 'imself; 
 " not arter wot you said. How could I ? " 
 
 "That's right," ses the old man. "I'm sorry 
 for this marriage for your sake, Alf O' course, I 
 was going to leave you my little bit of 'ouse 
 property, but I suppose now it'll 'ave to be left to 
 her. Well, well, I s'pose it's best for a young 
 man to make his own way in the world." 
 
 " I s'pose so," ses Alf 
 
 " Mrs. Pearce was asking only yesterday when 
 you was going back to sea agin," ses his uncle, 
 looking at 'im. 
 
 " Oh ! " ses Alf 
 
 " She's took a dislike to you, I think," ses the 
 old man. "It's very 'ard, my fav'rite nephew, 
 and the only one I've got. I forgot to tell you 
 the other day that her fust' usband, Charlie Pearce, 
 'ad a kind of a wart on 'is left ear. She's often 
 spoke to me about it." 
 
 "In— deed!" ses Alf 
 
 "Yes," ses his uncle, ''left ear, and a scar on 
 his forehead where a friend of his kicked 'im one 
 day." 
 
ALFS DREAM 
 
 95 
 
 ' He patted 'im on the shoulder and said 'ow well he was filling out." 
 
96 ALF'S DREAM 
 
 Alf nodded, and then he winked at 'im agin. 
 George Hatchard didn't wink back, but he patted 
 'im on the shoulder and said 'ow well he was 
 filling out, and 'ow he got more like 'is pore 
 mother every day he lived. 
 
 " I 'ad a dream last night," ses Alf. " I 
 dreamt that a man I know named Bill Flurry, but 
 wot called 'imself another name in my dream, and 
 didn't know me then, came 'ere one evening when 
 we was all sitting down at supper, Joe Morgan 
 and 'is missis being here, and said as 'ow Mrs. 
 Pearce's fust husband was alive and well." 
 
 " That's a very odd dream," ses his uncle ; " but 
 wot was Joe Morgan and his missis in it for ? " 
 
 " Witnesses," ses Alf 
 
 George Hatchard fell over a footstool with sur- 
 prise. " Go on," he ses, rubbing his leg. " It's 
 a queer thing, but I was going to ask the 
 Morgans 'ere to spend the evening next Wed- 
 nesday." 
 
 " Or was it Tuesday ? " ses Alf, considering. 
 
 " I said Tuesday," ses his uncle, looking over 
 Alf s 'ead so that he needn't see 'im wink agin. 
 " Wot was the end of your dream, Alf? " 
 
 " The end of it was," ses Alf, " that you and 
 Mrs. Pearce was both very much upset, as o' 
 course you couldn't marry while 'er fust was alive, 
 and the last thing I see afore I woke up was her 
 
ALF'S DREAM' <^7 
 
 boxes standing at the front door waiting for a 
 cab." 
 
 George Hatchard was going to ask 'im more 
 about it, but just then Mrs. Pearce came in with 
 a pair of Alfs socks that he 'ad been untidy 
 enough to leave in the middle of the floor instead 
 of chucking 'em under the bed. She was so un- 
 pleasant about it that, if it hadn't ha' been for the 
 thought of wot was going to 'appen on Tuesday, 
 Alf couldn't ha' stood it. 
 
 For the next day or two George Hatchard was 
 in such a state of nervousness and excitement that 
 Alf was afraid that the 'ousekeeper would notice 
 it. On Tuesday morning he was trembling so 
 much that she said he'd got a chill, and she told 
 'im to go to bed and she'd make 'im a nice hot 
 mustard poultice. George was afraid to say 
 " no," but while she was in the kitchen making the 
 poultice he slipped out for a walk and cured 'is 
 trembling with three whiskies. Alf nearly got 
 the poultice instead, she was so angry. 
 
 She was unpleasant all dinner-time, but she got 
 better in the arternoon, and when the Morgans 
 came in the evening, and she found that Mrs. 
 Morgan 'ad got a nasty sort o' red swelling on 
 her nose, she got quite good-tempered. She 
 talked about it nearly all supper-time, telling 'er 
 what she ought to do to it, and about a friend of 
 
 7 
 
98 ALF'S DREAM 
 
 hers that 'ad one and 'ad to turn teetotaler on 
 account of it. 
 
 " My nose is good enough for me," ses Mrs. 
 Morgan, at last. 
 
 " It don't affect 'er appetite," ses George 
 Hatchard, trying to make things pleasant, " and 
 that's the main thing." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan got up to go, but arter George 
 Hatchard 'ad explained wot he didn't mean she 
 sat down agin and began to talk to Mrs. Pearce 
 about 'er dress and 'ow beautifully it was made. 
 And she asked Mrs. Pearce to give 'er the pattern 
 of it, because she should 'ave one like it herself 
 when she was old enough. "I do like to 
 see people dressed suitable," she ses, with a 
 smile. 
 
 " I think you ought to 'ave a much deeper 
 colour than this," ses Mrs. Pearce, considering. 
 
 " Not when I'm faded," ses Mrs. Morgan. 
 
 Mrs. Pearce, wot was filling 'er glass at the 
 time, spilt a lot of beer all over the tablecloth, 
 and she was so cross about it that she sat like a 
 stone statue for pretty near ten minutes. By the 
 time supper was finished people was passing 
 things to each other in whispers, and when a bit 
 'o cheese went the wrong way with Joe Morgan 
 he nearly suffocated 'imself for fear of making a 
 noise. 
 
ALFS DREAM 99 
 
 They 'ad a game o' cards arter supper, count- 
 ing twenty nuts as a penny, and everybody got 
 more cheerful. They was all laughing and talk- 
 ing, and Joe Morgan was pretending to steal 
 Mrs. Pearce's nuts, when George Hatchard held 
 up his 'and. 
 
 " Somebody at the street door, I think," he ses. 
 
 Young Alf got up to open it, and they 'eard a 
 man's voice in the passage asking whether Mrs. 
 Pearce lived there, and the next moment Alf 
 came into the room, followed by Bill Flurry. 
 
 " Here's a gentleman o' the name o' Smith 
 asking arter you," he ses, looking at Mrs. Pearce. 
 
 " Wot d'you wan't ? " ses Mrs. Pearce, rather 
 sharp. 
 
 " It is 'er," ses Bill, stroking his long white 
 beard and casting 'is eyes up at the ceiling. 
 You don't remember me, Mrs. Pearce, but I used 
 to see you years ago, when you and poor Charlie 
 Pearce was living down Poplar way." 
 
 " Well, wot about it ? " ses Mrs. Pearce. 
 
 " I'm coming to it," ses Bill Flurry. "I've 
 been two months trying to find you, so there's no 
 need to be in a hurry for a minute or two. Be- 
 sides, what I've got to say ought to be broke 
 gently, in case you faint away with joy." 
 
 "Rubbish!" ses Mrs. Pearce. "I ain't the 
 fainting sort." 
 
100 ALF'S DREAM 
 
 " I 'ope it's nothing unpleasant," ses George 
 Hatchard, pouring 'im out a glass of whisky. 
 
 " Quite the opposite," ses Bill. " It's the best 
 news she's 'eard for fifteen years." 
 
 " Are you going to tell me wot you want, or 
 ain't you ? " ses Mrs. Pearce. 
 
 " I'm coming to it," ses Bill. " Six months 
 ago I was in Melbourne, and one day I was stroll- 
 ing about looking in at the shop-winders, when 
 all at once I thought I see a face I knew. It was 
 a good bit older than when I see it last, and the 
 whiskers was grey, but I says to myself " 
 
 " I can see wot's coming," ses Mrs. Morgan, 
 turning red with excitement and pinching Joe's 
 arm. 
 
 "I ses to myself," ses Bill Flurry, "either 
 that's a ghost, I ses, or else it's Charlie " 
 
 " Go on," ses George Hatchard, as was sitting 
 with 'is fists clenched on the table and 'is eyes 
 wide open, staring at 'im. 
 
 " Pearce," ses Bill Flurry. 
 
 You might 'ave heard a pin drop. They all 
 sat staring at 'im, and then George Hatchard 
 took out 'is handkerchief and 'eld it up to 'is face. 
 
 " But he was drownded in the Evening Star" 
 ses Joe Morgan. 
 
 Bill Flurry didn't answer 'im. He poured out 
 pretty near a tumbler of whisky and offered it to 
 
ALFS DREAM loi 
 
 Mrs. Pearce, but she pushed it away, and, arter 
 looking round in a 'elpless sort of way and shak- 
 ing his 'ead once or twice, he finished it up 
 'imself. 
 
 " It couldn't 'ave been 'im," ses George 
 Hatchard, speaking through 'is handkerchief. " I 
 can't believe it. It's too cruel." 
 
 " I tell you it was 'im," ses Bill. " He floated 
 off on a spar when the ship went down, and was 
 picked up two days arterwards by a barque and 
 taken to New Zealand. He told me all about it, 
 and he told me if ever I saw 'is wife to give her 'is 
 kind regards." 
 
 "Kind regards V ses Joe Morgan, starting 
 up. " Why didn't he let 'is wife know 'e was 
 alive ? " 
 
 " That's wot I said to 'im," ses Bill Flurry ; 
 " but he said he 'ad 'is reasons." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure," ses Mrs. Morgan, nodding. 
 " Why, you and her can't be married now," she 
 ses, turning to George Hatchard. 
 
 " Married ? " ses Bill Flurry, with a start, as 
 George Hatchard gave a groan that surprised 
 'imself. "Good gracious! what a good job I 
 found 'er ! " 
 
 " I s'pose you don't know where he is to be 
 found now ? " ses Mrs. Pearce, in a low voice, 
 turning to Bill. 
 
102 ALPS DREAM 
 
 " I do not, ma'am," ses Bill, "but I think you'd 
 find 'im somewhere in Australia. He keeps 
 changing 'is name and shifting about, but I dare 
 say you'd 'ave as good a chance of finding 'im as 
 anybody." 
 
 "It's a terrible blow to me," ses George 
 Hatchard, dabbing his eyes. 
 
 " I know it is," ses Mrs. Pearce ; " but there, 
 you men are all alike. I dare say if this hadn't 
 turned up you'd ha' found something else." 
 
 " Oh, 'ow can you talk like that ? " ses George 
 Hatchard, very reproachful. " It's the only thing 
 in the world that could 'ave prevented our getting 
 married. I'm surprised at you." 
 
 " Well, that's all right, then," ses Mrs. Pearce, 
 " and we'll get married after all." 
 
 " But you can't," ses Alf. 
 
 " It's bigamy," ses Joe Morgan. 
 
 "You'd get six months," ses his wife. 
 
 " Don't you worry, dear," ses Mrs. Pearce, 
 nodding at George Hatchard ; " that man's made 
 a mistake." 
 
 "Mistake!" ses Bill Flurry. "Why, I tell 
 you I talked to 'im. It was Charlie Pearce right 
 enough ; scar on 'is forehead and a wart on 'is 
 left ear and all." 
 
 " It's wonderful," ses Mrs. Pearce. " I can't 
 think where you got it all from." 
 
ALPS DREAM 103 
 
 "Got it all from?" ses Bill, staring at her. 
 ' Why, from 'im." 
 
 " Oh, of course," ses Mrs. Pearce. " I didn't 
 think of that ; but that only makes it the more 
 wonderful, doesn't it ? — because, you see, he 
 didn't go on the Evening Star." 
 
 ''Wot?" ses George Hatchard. "Why you 
 told me yourself " 
 
 "I know I did," ses Mrs. Pearce, "but that 
 was only just to spare your feelings. Charlie was 
 going to sea in her, but he was prevented." 
 
 " Prevented ? " ses two or three of 'em. 
 
 "Yes," ses Mrs. Pearce; "the night afore he 
 was to 'ave sailed there was some silly mistake 
 over a diamond ring, and he got five years. He 
 gave a different name at the police-station, and 
 naturally everybody thought 'e went down with 
 the ship. And when he died in prison I didn't 
 undeceive 'em." 
 
 She took out her 'andkerchief, and while she 
 was busy with it Bill Flurry got up and went out 
 on tip-toe. Young Alf got up a second or two 
 arterwards to see where he'd gone ; and the last 
 Joe Morgan and his missis see of the happy 
 couple they was sitting on one chair, and George 
 Hatchard was making desprit and 'artrending 
 attempts to smile. 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
A Distant Relative 
 
 MR. POTTER had just taken Ethel Spriggs 
 into the kitchen to say good-bye ; in the 
 small front room Mr. Spriggs, with his fingers 
 already fumbling at the linen collar of ceremony, 
 waited impatiently. 
 
 " They get longer and longer over their good- 
 byes," he complained. 
 
 " It's only natural," said Mrs. Spriggs, looking 
 up from a piece of fine sewing. " Don't you 
 remember " 
 
 " No, I don't," said her husband, doggedly. 
 " I know that your pore father never 'ad to put on 
 a collar for me ; and, mind you, I won't wear one 
 after they're married, not if you all went on your 
 bended knees and asked me to." 
 
 He composed his face as the door opened, and 
 nodded good-night to the rather over-dressed 
 young man who came through the room with his 
 daughter. The latter opened the front-door and, 
 passing out with Mr. Potter, held it slightly open. 
 
io8 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 A penetrating draught played upon the exas- 
 perated Mr. Spriggs. He coughed loudly. 
 
 " Your father's got a cold," said Mr. Potter, 
 in a concerned voice. 
 
 " No ; it's only too much smoking," said the 
 girl. " He's smoking all day long." 
 
 The indignant Mr. Spriggs coughed again ; 
 but the young people had found a new subject of 
 conversation. It ended some minutes later in a 
 playful scuffle, during which the door acted the 
 part of a ventilating fan. 
 
 " It's only for another fortnight," said Mrs. 
 Spriggs, hastily, as her husband rose. 
 
 " After they're spliced," said the vindictive Mr. 
 Spriggs, resuming his seat, " I'll go round and 
 I'll play about with their front-door till " 
 
 He broke off abruptly as his daughter, darting 
 into the room, closed the door with a bang that 
 nearly extinguished the lamp, and turned the key. 
 Before her flushed and laughing face Mr. Spriggs 
 held his peace. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " she asked, eyeing him. 
 " What are you looking like that for ? " 
 
 " Too much draught — for your mother," said 
 Mr. Spriggs, feebly. " I'm afraid of her asthma 
 agin." 
 
 He fell to work on the collar once more, and, 
 escaping at last from the clutches of that enemy, 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 109 
 
 laid it on the table and unlaced his boots. An 
 attempt to remove his coat was promptly frus- 
 trated by his daughter. 
 
 "You'll get doing it when you come round to 
 see us," she explained. 
 
 Mr. Spriggs sighed, and lighting a short clay 
 pipe — forbidden in the presence of his future son- 
 in-law — fell to watching mother and daughter as 
 they gloated over dress materials and discussed 
 double-widths. 
 
 " Anybody who can't be 'appy with her," he 
 said, half an hour later, as his daughter slapped 
 his head by way of bidding him good-night, and 
 retired, "don't deserve to be 'appy." 
 
 " I wish it was over," whispered his wife. 
 " She'll break her heart if anything happens, and 
 — and Gussie will be out now in a day or two." 
 
 " A gal can't 'elp what her uncle does," said 
 Mr. Spriggs, fiercely ; " if Alfred throws her over 
 for that, he's no man." 
 
 " Pride is his great fault," said his wife, mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 "It's no good taking up troubles afore they 
 come, " observed Mr. Spriggs. " P'raps Gussie 
 won't come 'ere." 
 
 " He'll come straight here," said his wife, with 
 conviction ; " he'll come straight here and try and 
 make a fuss of me, same as he used to do when 
 
no A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 we was children and I'd got a ha'penny. I know 
 him." 
 
 " Cheer up, old gal," said Mr. Spriggs ; " if he 
 does, we must try and get rid of 'im ; and, if he 
 won't go, we must tell Alfred that he's been to 
 Australia, same as we did Ethel." 
 
 His wife smiled faintly. 
 
 " That's the ticket," continued Mr. Spriggs. 
 " For one thing, I b'leeve he'll be ashamed to 
 show his face here ; but, if he does, he's come 
 back from Australia. See ? It'll make it nicer 
 for 'im too. You don't suppose he wants to boast 
 of where he's been ? " 
 
 " And suppose he comes while Alfred is here ? " 
 said his wife. 
 
 " Then I say, ' How 'ave you left 'em all in 
 Australia?' and wink at him," said the ready Mr. 
 Spriggs. 
 
 " And s'pose you're not here ? " objected his 
 wife. 
 
 " Then you say it and wink at him," was the 
 reply. " No ; I know you can't," he added, 
 hastily, as Mrs. Spriggs raised another objection ; 
 " you've been too well brought up. Still, you 
 can try." 
 
 It was a slight comfort to Mrs. Spriggs that 
 Mr. Augustus Price did, after all, choose a con- 
 venient time for his reappearance. A faint knock 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE iii 
 
 sounded on the door two days afterwards as she 
 sat at tea with her husband, and an anxious face 
 with somewhat furtive eyes was thrust into the 
 room. 
 
 " Emma! " said a mournful voice, as the upper 
 part of the intruder's body followed the face. 
 
 " Gussie ! " said Mrs. Spriggs, rising in disorder. 
 
 Mr. Price drew his legs into the room, and, 
 closing the door with extraordinary care, passed 
 the cuff of his coat across his eyes and surveyed 
 them tenderly. 
 
 " I've come home to die," he said, slowly, and, 
 tottering across the room, embraced his sister 
 with much unction. 
 
 " What are you going to die of ? " inquired Mr. 
 Spriggs, reluctantly accepting the extended hand. 
 
 " Broken 'art, George," replied his brother-in- 
 law, sinking into a chair. 
 
 Mr. Spriggs grunted, and, moving his chair a 
 little farther away, watched the intruder as his 
 wife handed him a plate. A troubled glance from 
 his wife reminded him of their arrangements for 
 the occasion, and he cleared his throat several 
 times in vain attempts to begin. 
 
 " I'm sorry that we can't ask you to stay with 
 us, Gussie, 'specially as you're so ill," he said, at 
 last ; " but p'r'aps you'll be better after picking a 
 bit." 
 
113 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 Mr. Price, who was about to take a slice of 
 bread and butter, refrained, and, closing his eyes, 
 uttered a faint moan. " I sha'n't last the night," 
 he muttered. 
 
 " That's just it," said Mr. Spriggs, eagerly. 
 " You see, Ethel is going to be married in a 
 fortnight, and if you died here that would put it 
 off." 
 
 " I might last longer if I was took care of," said 
 the other, opening his eyes. 
 
 "And, besides, Ethel don't know where you've 
 been," continued Mr. Spriggs. " We told 'er 
 that you had gone to Australia. She's going to 
 marry a very partikler young chap — a grocer — 
 and if he found it out it might be awk'ard." 
 
 Mr. Price closed his eyes again, but the lids 
 quivered. 
 
 " It took 'im some time to get over me being a 
 bricklayer," pursued Mr. Spriggs. "What he'd 
 say to you " 
 
 "Tell 'im I've come back from Australia, if 
 you like," said Mr. Price, faintly. " I don't mind." 
 
 Mr. Spriggs cleared his throat again. " But, 
 you see, we told Ethel as you was doing well out 
 there," he said, with an embarrassed laugh, "and 
 girl-like, and Alfred talking a good deal about his 
 relations, she — she's made the most of it." 
 
 " It don't matter," said the complaisant Mr. 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 113 
 
 Price ; " you say what you like. I sha'n't inter- 
 fere with you." 
 
 " But, you see, you don't look as though you've 
 been making money," said his sister, impatiently. 
 " Look at your clothes." 
 
 Mr. Price held up his hand. " That's easy got 
 over," he remarked ; " while I'm having a bit of 
 tea George can go out and buy me some new ones. 
 You get what you think I should look richest in, 
 George — a black tail-coat would be best, I should 
 think, but I leave it to you. A bit of a fancy 
 waistcoat, p'r'aps, lightish trousers, and a pair o' 
 nice boots, easy sevens." 
 
 He sat upright in his chair and, ignoring the 
 look of consternation that passed between husband 
 and wife, poured himself out a cup of tea and took 
 a slice of cake. 
 
 " Have you got any money ? " said Mr. 
 Spriggs, after a long pause. 
 
 " I left it behind me — in Australia," said Mr. 
 Price, with ill-timed facetiousness. 
 
 " Getting better, ain't you ? " said his brother- 
 in-law, sharply. " How's that broken 'art getting 
 on?" 
 
 " It'll go all right under a fancy waistcoat," was 
 the reply ; " and while you're about it, George, 
 you'd better get me a scarf-pin, and, if you could 
 
 run to a gold watch and chain " 
 
 8 
 
114 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 He was interrupted by a frenzied outburst from 
 Mr. Spriggs ; a somewhat incoherent summary of 
 Mr. Price's past, coupled with unlawful and 
 heathenish hopes for his future. 
 
 "You're wasting time," said Mr. Price, calmly, 
 as he paused for breath. " Don't get 'em if you 
 don't want to. I'm trying to help you, that's all. 
 I don't mind anybody knowing where I've been. 
 I was innercent. If you will give way to sinful 
 pride you must pay for it." 
 
 Mr. Spriggs, by a great effort, regained his self- 
 control. " Will you go away if I give you a 
 quid ? " he asked, quietly. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Price, with a placid smile. 
 " I've got a better idea of the value of money than 
 that. Besides, I want to see my dear niece, and 
 see whether that young man's good enough for 
 her." 
 
 " Two quid .''" suggested his brother-in-law. 
 
 Mr. Price shook his head. " I couldn't do it," 
 he said, calmly. "In justice to myself I couldn't 
 do it. You'll be feeling lonely when you lose 
 Ethel, and I'll stay and keep you company." 
 
 The bricklayer nearly broke out again ; but, 
 obeying a glance from his wife, closed his lips and 
 followed her obediently upstairs. Mr. Price, 
 filling his pipe from a paper of tobacco on the 
 mantelpiece, winked at himself encouragingly in 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 115 
 
 the glass, and smiled gently as he heard the chink- 
 ing of coins upstairs. 
 
 " Be careful about the size," he said, as Mr. 
 Spriggs came down and took his hat from a nail ; 
 " about a couple of inches shorter than yourself 
 and not near so much round the waist." 
 
 Mr. Spriggs regarded him sternly for a few 
 seconds, and then, closing the door with a bang, 
 went off down the street. Left alone, Mr. Price 
 strolled about the room investigating, and then, 
 drawing an easy-chair up to the fire, put his feet 
 on the fender and relapsed into thought. 
 
 Two hours later he sat in the same place, a 
 changed and resplendent being. His thin legs 
 were hidden in light check trousers, and the com- 
 panion waistcoat to Joseph's Coat graced the 
 upper part of his body. A large chrysanthemum 
 in the button-hole of his frock-coat completed the 
 picture of an Australian millionaire, as understood 
 by Mr. Spriggs. 
 
 " A nice watch and chain, and a little money in 
 my pockets, and I shall be all right," murmured 
 Mr. Price. 
 
 "You won't get any more out o' me," said Mr. 
 Spriggs, fiercely. " I've spent every farthing 
 I've got." 
 
 " Except what's in the bank," said his brother- 
 in-law. " It'll take you a day or two to get at it, 
 
 8* 
 
ii6 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 I know. S'pose we say Saturday for the watch 
 and chain ? " 
 
 Mr. Spriggs looked helplessly at his wife, but 
 she avoided his gaze. He turned and gazed in a 
 fascinated fashion at Mr. Price, and received a 
 cheerful nod in return. 
 
 " I'll come with you and help choose it," said 
 the latter. " It'll save you trouble if it don't save 
 your pocket." 
 
 He thrust his hands in his trouser-pockets and, 
 spreading his legs wide apart, tilted his head back 
 and blew smoke to the ceiling. He was in the 
 same easy position when Ethel arrived home 
 accompanied by Mr. Potter. 
 
 " It's — it's your Uncle Gussie," said Mrs. 
 Spriggs, as the girl stood eyeing the visitor. 
 
 " From Australia," said her husband, thickly. 
 
 Mr. Price smiled, and his niece, noticing that 
 he removed his pipe and wiped his lips with the 
 back of his hand, crossed over and kissed his eye- 
 brow. Mr. Potter was then introduced and 
 received a gracious reception, Mr. Price com- 
 menting on the extraordinary likeness he bore to 
 a young friend of his who had just come in for 
 forty thousand a year. 
 
 " That's nearly as much as you're worth, uncle, 
 isn't it ? " inquired Miss Spriggs, daringly. 
 
 Mr. Price shook his head at her and pondered. 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 117 
 
ii8 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 "Rather more," he said, at last, "rather 
 more." 
 
 Mr. Potter caught his breath sharply ; Mr. 
 Spriggs, who was stooping to get a light for his 
 pipe, nearly fell into the fire. There was an im- 
 pressive silence. ^ 
 
 " Money isn't everything," said Mr. Price, 
 looking round and shaking his head. "It's not 
 much good, except to give away." 
 
 His eye roved round the room and came to 
 rest finally upon Mr. Potter. The young man 
 noticed with a thrill that it beamed with benevo- 
 lence. 
 
 " Fancy coming over without saying a word to 
 anybody, and taking us all by surprise like this ! " 
 said Ethel. 
 
 " I felt I must see you all once more before I 
 died," said her uncle, simply. " Just a flying visit 
 I meant it to be, but your father and mother 
 won't hear of my going back just yet." 
 
 " Of course not," said Ethel, who was helping 
 the silent Mrs. Spriggs to lay supper. 
 
 " When I talked of going your father 'eld me 
 down in my chair," continued the veracious Mr. 
 Price. 
 
 " Quite right, too," said the girl. " Now draw 
 your chair up and have some supper, and tell us 
 all about Australia." 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 119 
 
 Mr. Price drew his chair up, but, as to talking 
 about Australia, he said ungratefully that he was 
 sick of the name of the place, and preferred 
 instead to discuss the past and future of Mr, 
 Potter. He learned, among other things, that 
 that gentleman was of a careful and thrifty dis- 
 position, and that his savings, augmented by a 
 lucky legacy, amounted to a hundred and ten 
 pounds. 
 
 " Alfred is going to stay with Palmer and Mays 
 for another year, and then we shall take a business 
 of our own," said Ethel. 
 
 " Quite right," said Mr. Price. " I like to see 
 young people make their own way," he added 
 meaningly. " It's good for 'em." 
 
 It was plain to all that he had taken a great 
 fancy to Mr. Potter. He discussed the grocery 
 trade with the air of a rich man seeking a good 
 investment, and threw out dark hints about 
 returning to England after a final visit to 
 Australia and settling down in the bosom of his 
 family. He accepted a cigar from Mr. Potter 
 after supper, and, when the young man left — 
 at an unusually late hour — walked home with 
 him. 
 
 It was the first of several pleasant evenings, 
 and Mr. Price, who had bought a book dealing 
 with Australia from a second-hand bookstall, no 
 
120 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 longer denied them an account of his adventures 
 there. A gold watch and chain, which had made 
 a serious hole in his brother-in-law's Savings 
 Bank account, lent an air of substance to his 
 waistcoat, and a pin of excellent paste sparkled in 
 his neck-tie. Under the influence of good food 
 and home comforts he improved every day, and 
 the unfortunate Mr. Spriggs was at his wits' end 
 to resist further encroachments. From the second 
 day of their acquaintance he called Mr. Potter 
 "Alf," and the young people listened with great 
 attention to his discourse on " Money : How to 
 Make It and How to Keep It." 
 
 His own dealings with Mr. Spriggs afforded an 
 example which he did not quote. Beginning 
 with shillings, he led up to half-crowns, and, 
 encouraged by success, one afternoon boldly de- 
 manded a half-sovereign to buy a wedding- 
 present with. Mrs. Spriggs drew her over- 
 wrought husband into the kitchen and argued 
 with him in whispers. 
 
 " Give him what he wants till they're married," 
 she entreated; "after that Alfred can't help him- 
 self, and it'll be as much to his interest to keep 
 quiet as anybody else." 
 
 Mr. Spriggs, who had been a careful man all 
 his life, found the half-sovereign and a few new 
 names, which he bestowed upon Mr. Price at the 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 121 
 
 " A gold watch and chain lent an air of substance 
 to his waistcoat." 
 
122 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 same time. The latter listened unmoved. In 
 fact, a bright eye and a pleasant smile seemed to 
 indicate that he regarded them rather in the 
 nature of compliments than otherwise. 
 
 " I telegraphed over to Australia this morning," 
 he said, as they all sat at supper that evening. 
 
 " About my money ? " said Mr. Potter, eagerly. 
 
 Mr. Price frowned at him swiftly. " No ; 
 telling my head clerk to send over a wedding- 
 present for you," he said, his face softening under 
 the eye of Mr. Spriggs. " I've got just the thing 
 for you there. I can't see anything good enough 
 over here." 
 
 The young couple were warm in their thanks. 
 
 " What did you mean, about your money ? " 
 inquired Mr. Spriggs, turning to his future son- 
 in-law. 
 
 " Nothing," said the young man, evasively. 
 
 " It's a secret," said Mr. Price. 
 
 " What about ? " persisted Mr. Spriggs, raising 
 his voice. 
 
 " It's a little private business between me and 
 Uncle Gussie," said Mr. Potter, somewhat stiffly. 
 
 " You — you haven't been lending him 
 money ? " stammered the bricklayer. 
 
 " Don't be silly, father," said Miss Spriggs, 
 sharply. " What good would Alfred's little bit o' 
 money be to Uncle Gussie .-' If you must know, 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 123 
 
 Alfred is drawing it out for uncle to invest it for 
 him." 
 
 The eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Spriggs and Mr. 
 Price engaged in a triangular duel. The latter 
 spoke first. 
 
 " I'm putting it into my business for him," he 
 said, with a threatening glance, " in Australia." 
 
 "And he didn't want his generosity known," 
 added Mr. Potter. 
 
 The bewildered Mr. Spriggs looked helplessly 
 round the table. His wife's foot pressed his, and 
 like a mechanical toy his lips snapped together. 
 
 " I didn't know you had got your money 
 handy," said Mrs. Spriggs, in trembling tones. 
 
 " I made special application, and I'm to have it 
 on Friday," said Mr. Potter, with a smile. 
 " You don't get a chance like that every 
 day." 
 
 He filled Uncle Gussie's glass for him, and that 
 gentleman at once raised it and proposed the 
 health of the young couple. " If anything was to 
 'appen to break it off now," he said, with a swift 
 glance at his sister, " they'd be miserable for life, 
 I can see that." 
 
 " Miserable for ever," assented Mr. Potter, in 
 a sepulchral voice, as he squeezed the hand of 
 Miss Spriggs under the table. 
 
 " It's the only thing worth 'aving — love," con- 
 
124 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 tinued Mr. Price, watching his brother-in-law 
 out of the corner of his eye. " Money is 
 nothing." 
 
 Mr. Spriggs emptied his glass and, knitting his 
 brows, drew patterns on the cloth with the back 
 of his knife. His wife's foot was still pressing on 
 his, and he waited for instructions. 
 
 For once, however, Mrs. Spriggs had none to 
 give. Even when Mr. Potter had gone and 
 Ethel had retired upstairs she was still voiceless. 
 She sat for some time looking at the fare and 
 stealing an occasional glance at Uncle Gussie as 
 he smoked a cigar ; then she arose and bent over 
 her husband. 
 
 " Do what you think best," she said, in a 
 weary voice. " Good-night." 
 
 " What about that money of young Alfred's ? " 
 demanded Mr. Spriggs, as the door closed behind 
 her. 
 
 " I'm going to put it in my business," said 
 Uncle Gussie, blandly ; " my business in 
 Australia." 
 
 "Ho! You've got to talk to me about that 
 first," said the other. 
 
 His brother-in-law leaned back and smoked 
 with placid enjoyment. "You do what you 
 like," he said, easily. " Of course, if you tell 
 Alfred, I sha'n't get the money, and Ethel won't 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 125 
 
 get 'im. Besides that, he'll find out what lies 
 you've been telling." 
 
 " I wonder you can look me in the face," said 
 the raging bricklayer. 
 
 "And I should give him to understand that 
 you were going shares in the hundred and ten 
 pounds and then thought better of it," said the 
 unmoved Mr. Price. " He's the sort o' young 
 chap as'll believe anything. Bless 'im ! " 
 
 Mr. Spriggs bounced up from his chair and 
 stood over him with his fists clenched. Mr. 
 Price glared defiance. 
 
 " If you're so partikler you can make it up to 
 him," he said, slowly. " You've been a saving 
 man, I know, and Emma 'ad a bit left her that I 
 ought to have 'ad. When you've done play- 
 acting I'll go to bed. So long! " 
 
 He got up, yawning, and walked to the door, 
 and Mr. Spriggs, after a momentary idea of 
 breaking him in pieces and throwing him out into 
 the street, blew out the lamp and went upstairs to 
 discuss the matter with his wife until morning. 
 
 Mr. Spriggs left for his work next day with the 
 question still undecided, but a pretty strong con- 
 viction that Mr. Price would have to have his 
 way. The wedding was only five days off, and 
 the house was in a bustle of preparation. A 
 certain gloom which he could not shake off he 
 
126 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 attributed to a raging toothache, turning a deaf 
 ear to the various remedies suggested by Uncle 
 Gussie, and the name of an excellent dentist who 
 had broken a tooth of Mr. Potter's three times 
 before extracting it. 
 
 Uncle Gussie he treated with bare civility in 
 public, and to blood-curdling threats in private. 
 Mr. Price, ascribing the latter to the toothache, 
 also varied his treatment to his company ; pre- 
 scribing whisky held in the mouth, and other 
 agreeable remedies when there were listeners, 
 and recommending him to fill his mouth with cold 
 water and sit on the fire till it boiled, when they 
 were alone. 
 
 He was at his worst on Thursday morning ; 
 on Thursday afternoon he came home a bright 
 and contented man. He hung his cap on the 
 nail with a flourish, kissed his wife, and, in full 
 view of the disapproving Mr. Price, executed a 
 few clumsy steps on the hearthrug. 
 
 " Come in for a fortune ?" inquired the latter, 
 eyeing him sourly. 
 
 "No; I've saved one," repHed Mr. Spriggs, 
 gaily. " I wonder I didn't think of it my- 
 self." 
 
 " Think of what ? " inquired Mr. Price, 
 
 "You'll soon know," said Mr. Spriggs, "and 
 you've only got yourself to thank for it." 
 
A DISTANT RELATIVE 127 
 
 Uncle Gussie sniffed suspiciously; Mrs, 
 Spriggs pressed for particulars. 
 
 "I've got out of the difficulty," said her 
 husband, drawing his chair to the tea-table. 
 " Nobody'll suffer but Gussie." 
 
 " Ho ! " said that gentleman, sharply. 
 
 " I took the day off," said Mr. Spriggs, smiling 
 contentedly at his wife, " and went to see a friend 
 of mine. Bill White the policeman, and told him 
 about Gussie." 
 
 Mr. Price stiffened in his chair. 
 
 " Acting — under — his — advice," said Mr. 
 Spriggs, sipping his tea, " I wrote to Scotland 
 Yard and told 'em that Augustus Price, ticket-of- 
 leave man, was trying to obtain a hundred and 
 ten pounds by false pretences." 
 
 Mr. Price, white and breathless, rose and con- 
 fronted him. 
 
 " The beauty o' that is, as Bill says," continued 
 Mr. Spriggs, with much enjoyment, "that 
 Gussie'll 'ave to set out on his travels again. 
 He'll have to go into hiding, because if they 
 catch him he'll 'ave to finish his time. And Bill 
 says if he writes letters to any of us it'll only 
 make it easier to find him. You'd better take the 
 first train to Australia, Gussie." 
 
 " What — what time did you post — the letter ? " 
 inquired Uncle Gussie, jerkily. 
 
128 A DISTANT RELATIVE 
 
 " 'Bout two o'clock," said Mr. Spriggs, glaring 
 at the clock. " I reckon you've just got time." 
 
 Mr. Price stepped swiftly to the small side- 
 board, and, taking up his hat, clapped it on. He 
 paused a moment at the door to glance up and 
 down the street, and then the door closed softly 
 behind him. Mrs. Spriggs looked at her 
 husband. 
 
 " Called away to Australia by special tele- 
 gram," said the latter, winking. " Bill White is a 
 trump ; that's what he is." 
 
 " Oh, George ! " said his wife. " Did you 
 really write that letter ? " 
 
 Mr. Spriggs winked again. 
 
THE TEST 
 
The Test 
 
 PEBBLESEA was dull, and Mr. Frederick 
 Dix, mate of the ketch Starfish, after a 
 long and unsuccessful quest for amusement, 
 returned to the harbour with an idea of forgetting 
 his disappointment in sleep. The few shops in 
 the High Street were closed, and the only enter- 
 tainment offered at the taverns was contained in 
 glass and pewter. The attitude of the landlord of 
 the " Pilots' Hope," where Mr. Dix had sought to 
 enliven the proceedings by a song and dance, still 
 rankled in his memory. 
 
 The skipper and the hands were still ashore 
 and the ketch looked so lonely that the mate, 
 thinking better of his idea of retiring, thrust his 
 hands deep in his pockets and sauntered round 
 the harbour. It was nearly dark, and the only 
 other man visible stood at the edge of the quay 
 gazing at the water. He stood for so long that 
 the mate's easily aroused curiosity awoke, and, 
 after twice passing, he edged up to him and ven- 
 tured a remark on the fineness of the night. 
 
 9* 
 
132 THE TEST 
 
 " The night's all right," said the young man, 
 gloomily. 
 
 "You're rather near the edge," said the mate, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " I like being near the edge," was the reply. 
 
 Mr. Dix whistled softly and, glancing up at the 
 tall, white-faced young man before him, pushed 
 his cap back and scratched his head. 
 
 "Ain't got anything on your mind, have 
 you ? " he inquired. 
 
 The young man groaned and turned away, and 
 the mate, scenting a little excitement, took him 
 gently by the coat-sleeve and led him from the 
 brink. Sympathy begets confidence, and, within 
 the next ten minutes, he had learned that Arthur 
 Heard, rejected by Emma Smith, was contem- 
 plating the awful crime of self-destruction. 
 
 "Why, I've known 'er for seven years," said 
 Mr. Heard ; " seven years, and this is the end 
 of it." 
 
 The mate shook his head. 
 
 " I told 'er I was coming straight away to 
 drownd myself," pursued Mr. Heard. " My last 
 words to 'er was, ' When you see my bloated 
 corpse you'll be sorry.' " 
 
 " I expect she'll cry and carry on like any- 
 thing," said the mate, politely. 
 
 The other turned and regarded him. " Why, 
 
THE TEST 133 
 
 you don't think I'm going to, do you ? " he in- 
 quired, sharply. "Why, I wouldn't drownd my- 
 self for fifty blooming gells." 
 
 " But what did you tell her you were going to 
 for, then ? " demanded the puzzled mate. 
 
 " 'Cos I thought it would upset 'er and make 
 'er give way," said the other, bitterly; "and all 
 it done was to make 'er laugh as though she'd 
 'ave a fit." 
 
 "It would serve her jolly well right if you did 
 drown yourself," said Mr. Dix, judiciously. "It 
 'ud spoil her life for her." 
 
 " Ah, and it wouldn't spoil mine, I s'pose ? " 
 rejoined Mr. Heard, with ferocious sarcasm. 
 
 " How she will laugh when she sees you to- 
 morrow," mused the mate. "Is she the sort of 
 girl that would spread it about ? " 
 
 Mr. Heard said that she was, and, forgetting 
 for a moment his great love, referred to her 
 partiality for gossip in the most scathing terms he 
 could muster. The mate, averse to such a tame 
 ending to a promising adventure, eyed him 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Why not just go in and out again," he said, 
 seductively, " and run to her house all dripping 
 wet ? " 
 
 " That would be clever, wouldn't it ? " said the 
 ungracious Mr. Heard. " Starting to commit 
 
134 THE TEST 
 
 suicide, and then thinking better of it. Why, I 
 should be a bigger laughing-stock than ever." 
 
 " But suppose I saved you against your will ? " 
 breathed the tempter ; " how would that be ? " 
 
 "It would be all right if I cared to run the 
 risk," said the other, " but I don't. I should 
 look well struggling in the water while you was 
 diving in the wrong places for me, shouldn't I ? " 
 
 " I wasn't thinking of such a thing," said Mr. 
 Dix, hastily ; " twenty strokes is about my mark 
 — with my clothes off. My idea was to pull you 
 out." 
 
 Mr. Heard glanced at the black water a dozen 
 feet below. " How ? " he inquired, shortly. 
 
 " Not here," said the mate. " Come to the end 
 of the quay where the ground slopes to the water. 
 It's shallow there, and you can tell her that you 
 jumped in off here. She won't know the differ- 
 ence." 
 
 With an enthusiasm which Mr. Heard made no 
 attempt to share, he led the way to the place 
 indicated, and dilating upon its manifold advan- 
 tages, urged him to go in at once and get it over. 
 
 " You couldn't have a better night for it," he 
 said, briskly. "Why, it makes me feel like a dip 
 myself to look at it." 
 
 Mr. Heard gave a surly grunt, and after testing 
 the temperature of the water with his hand, 
 
THE TEST 135 
 
 slowly and reluctantly immersed one foot. Then, 
 with sudden resolution, he waded in and, ducking 
 his head, stood up gasping. 
 
 " Give yourself a good soaking while you're 
 about it," said the delighted mate. 
 
 Mr. Heard ducked again, and once more 
 emerging stumbled towards the bank. 
 
 " Pull me out," he cried, sharply. 
 
 Mr. Dix, smiling indulgently, extended his 
 hands, which Mr. Heard seized with the pro- 
 verbial grasp of a drowning man. 
 
 " All right, take it easy, don't get excited," said 
 the smiling mate, " four foot of water won't hurt 
 
 anyone. If Here ! Let go o' me, d'ye hear ? 
 
 Let go! If you don't let go I'll punch your 
 head." 
 
 " You couldn't save me against my will without 
 coming in," said Mr. Heard. " Now we can tell 
 'er you dived in off the quay and got me just as I 
 was sinking for the last time. You'll be a hero." 
 
 The mate's remarks about heroes were merci- 
 fully cut short. He was three stone lighter than 
 Mr. Heard, and standing on shelving ground. 
 The latter's victory was so sudden that he over- 
 balanced, and only a commotion at the surface of 
 the water showed where they had disappeared. 
 Mr. Heard was first up and out, but almost 
 immediately the figure of the mate, who had gone 
 
136 THE TEST 
 
 under with his mouth open, emerged from the 
 water and crawled ashore. 
 
 " You — wait — till I — get my breath back," he 
 gasped. 
 
 "There's no ill-feeling, I 'ope?" said Mr. 
 Heard, anxiously. " I'll tell everybody of your 
 bravery. Don't spoil everything for the sake of 
 a little temper." 
 
 Mr. Dix stood up and clenched his fists, but at 
 the spectacle of the dripping, forlorn figure before 
 him his wrath vanished and he broke into a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 "Come on, mate," he said, clapping him on 
 the back, " now let's go and find Emma. If she 
 don't fall in love with you now she never will. 
 My eye ! you are a picture ! " 
 
 He began to walk towards the town, and Mr. 
 Heard, with his legs wide apart and his arms 
 held stiffly from his body, waddled along beside 
 him. Two little streamlets followed. 
 
 They walked along the quay in silence, and 
 had nearly reached the end of it, when the figure 
 of a man turned the corner of the houses and 
 advanced at a shambling trot towards them. 
 
 "Old Smith!" said Mr. Heard, in a hasty 
 whisper. " Now, be careful. Hold me tight." 
 
 The new-comer thankfully dropped into a walk 
 as he saw them, and came to a standstill with a 
 
THE TEST 137 
 
 cry of astonishment as the light of a neighbouring 
 lamp revealed their miserable condition. 
 
 "Wot, Arthur! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Halloa," said Mr. Heard, drearily. 
 
 " The idea o' your being so sinful," said Mr 
 Smith, severely. " Emma told me wot you said, 
 but I never thought as you'd got the pluck to go 
 and do it. I'm surprised at you." 
 
 " I ain't done it," said Mr. Heard, in a sullen 
 voice ; " nobody can drownd themselves in com- 
 fort with a lot of interfering people about." 
 
 Mr. Smith turned and gazed at the mate, and a 
 broad beam of admiration shone in his face as he 
 grasped that gentleman's hand. 
 
 " Come into the 'ouse both of you and get 
 some dry clothes," he said, warmly. 
 
 He thrust his strong, thick-set figure between 
 them, and with a hand on each coat-collar pro- 
 pelled them in the direction of home. The mate 
 muttered something about going back to his ship, 
 but Mr. Smith refused to listen, and stopping at 
 the door of a neat cottage, turned the handle and 
 thrust his dripping charges over the threshold of 
 a comfortable sitting-room. 
 
 A pleasant-faced woman of middle age and a 
 pretty girl of twenty rose at their entrance, and a 
 faint scream fell pleasantly upon the ears of Mr. 
 Heard. 
 
138 THE TEST 
 
 " Here he is," bawled Mr. Smith ; "just saved 
 at the last moment." 
 
 " What, two of them ? " exclaimed Miss Smith, 
 with a faint note of gratification in her voice. 
 Her gaze fell on the mate, and she smiled ap- 
 lorovingly. 
 
 " No ; this one jumped in and saved 'im," said 
 her father. 
 
 "Oh, Arthur!" said Miss Smith. "How 
 could you be so wicked ! I never dreamt you'd 
 go and do such a thing — never! I didn't think 
 you'd got it in you." 
 
 Mr. Heard grinned sheepishly. " I told you I 
 would," he muttered. 
 
 " Don't stand talking here," said Mrs. Smith, 
 gazing at the puddle which was growing in the 
 centre of the carpet; "they'll catch cold. Take 
 'em upstairs and give 'em some dry clothes. And 
 I'll bring some hot whisky and water up to 'em." 
 
 " Rum is best," said Mr. Smith, herding his 
 charges and driving them up the small staircase. 
 " Send young Joe for some. Send up three 
 glasses." 
 
 They disappeared upstairs, and Joe appearing 
 at that moment from the kitchen, was hastily sent 
 off to the " Blue Jay" for the rum. A couple of 
 curious neighbours helped him to carry it back, 
 and, standing modestly just inside the door. 
 
THE TEST 139 
 
 ventured on a few skilled directions as to its 
 preparation. After which, with an eye on Miss 
 Smith, they stood and conversed, mostly in head- 
 shakes. 
 
 Stimulated by the rum and the energetic Mr. 
 Smith, the men were not long in changing. Pre- 
 ceded by their host, they came down to the sitting- 
 room again ; Mr. Heard with as desperate and 
 unrepentant an air as he could assume, and Mr. 
 Dix trying to conceal his uneasiness by taking 
 great interest in a suit of clothes three sizes too 
 large for him. 
 
 " They was both as near drownded as could 
 be," said Mr. Smith, looking round; "he ses 
 Arthur fought like a madman to prevent 'imself 
 from being saved." 
 
 " It was nothing, really," said the mate, in an 
 almost inaudible voice, as he met Miss Smith's 
 admiring gaze. 
 
 " Listen to 'im," said the delighted Mr. Smith ; 
 " all brave men are like that. That's wot's 
 made us Englishmen wot we are." 
 
 " I don't suppose he knew who it was he was 
 saving," said a voice from the door. 
 
 "I didn't want to be saved," said Mr. Heard, 
 defiantly. 
 
 " Well, you can easy do it again, Arthur," said 
 the same voice ; " the dock won't run away." 
 
I40 THE TEST 
 
 Mr. Heard started and eyed the speaker with 
 some malevolence. 
 
 " Tell us all about it," said Miss Smith, gazing 
 at the mate, with her hands clasped. " Did you 
 see him jump in ? " 
 
 Mr. Dix shook his head and looked at Mr. 
 Heard for guidance. " N — not exactly," he 
 stammered ; " I was just taking a stroll round the 
 harbour before turning in, when all of a sudden I 
 heard a cry for help " 
 
 " No you didn't," broke in Mr. Heard, fiercely. 
 
 " Well, it sounded like it," said the mate, 
 somewhat taken aback. 
 
 " I don't care what it sounded like," said the 
 other. " I didn't say it. It was the last thing I 
 should 'ave called out. I didn't want to be 
 saved." 
 
 " P'raps he cried ' Emma,' " said the voice from 
 the door. 
 
 " Might ha' been that," admitted the mate. 
 " Well, when I heard it I ran to the edge and 
 looked down at the water, and at first I couldn't see 
 anything. Then I saw what I took to be a dog, 
 but, knowing that dogs can't cry ' help ! ' " 
 
 " Emma," corrected Mr. Heard. 
 
 " Emma," said the mate, " I just put my hands 
 up and dived in. When I came to the surface I 
 struck out for him and tried to seize him from 
 
THE TEST 141 
 
 behind, but before I could do so he put his arms 
 round my neck like — like " 
 
 " Like as if it was Emma's," suggested the 
 voice by the door. 
 
 Miss Smith rose with majestic dignity and con- 
 fronted the speaker. " And who asked you in 
 here, George Harris ? " she inquired, coldly. 
 
 " I see the door open," stammered Mr. Harris 
 — " I see the door open and I thought " 
 
 " If you look again you'll see the handle," said 
 Miss Smith. 
 
 Mr. Harris looked, and, opening the door with 
 extreme care, melted slowly from a gaze too 
 terrible for human endurance. 
 
 " We went down like a stone," continued the 
 mate, as Miss Smith resumed her seat and smiled 
 at him. "When we came up he tried to get 
 away again. I think we went down again a few 
 more times, but I ain't sure. Then we crawled 
 out ; leastways I did, and pulled him after 
 me. 
 
 " He might have drowned you," said Miss 
 Smith, with a severe glance at her unfortunate 
 admirer. " And it's my belief that he tumbled in 
 after all, and when you thought he was struggling 
 to get away he was struggling to be saved. 
 That's more Hke him." 
 
 " Well, they're all right now," said Mr. Smith, 
 
142 THE TEST 
 
 as Mr. Heard broke in with some vehemence. 
 " And this chap's going to 'ave the Royal 
 Society's medal for it, or I'll know the reason 
 why." 
 
 "No, no," said the mate, hurriedly ; "I 
 wouldn't take it, I couldn't think of it." 
 
 "Take it or leave it," said Mr. Smith; "but 
 I'm going to the police to try and get it for you. 
 I know the inspector a bit." 
 
 " I can't take it," said the horrified mate; "it 
 — it — besides, don't you see, if this isn't kept 
 quiet Mr. Heard will be locked up for trying to 
 commit suicide." 
 
 " So he would be," said the other man from his 
 post by the door ; " he's quite right." 
 
 " And I'd sooner lose fifty medals," said Mr. 
 Dix. " What's the good of me saving him for 
 that ? " 
 
 A murmur of admiration at the mate's extra- 
 ordinary nobility of character jarred harshly on 
 the ears of Mr. Heard. Most persistent of all 
 was the voice of Miss Smith, and hardly able to 
 endure things quietly, he sat anci watched the 
 tender glances which passed between her and Mr. 
 Dix. Miss Smith, conscious at last of his 
 regards, turned and looked at him. 
 
 " You could say you tumbled in, Arthur, and 
 then he would get the medal," she said, softly. 
 
THE TEST 143 
 
 "Say!" shouted the overwrought Mr. Heard. 
 " Say I turn " 
 
 Words failed him. He stood swaying and 
 regarding the company for a moment, and then, 
 flinging open the door, closed it behind him with 
 a bang that made the house tremble. 
 
 The mate followed half an hour later, escorted 
 to the ship by the entire Smith family. Fortified 
 by the presence of Miss Smith, he pointed out the 
 exact scene of the rescue without a tremor, and, 
 when her father narrated the affair to the skipper, 
 whom they found sitting on deck smoking a last 
 pipe, listened undismayed to that astonished 
 mariner's comments. 
 
 News of the mate's heroic conduct became 
 general the next day, and work on the ketch was 
 somewhat impeded in consequence. It became 
 a point of honour with Mr. Heard's fellow- 
 townsmen to allude to the affair as an accident, 
 but the romantic nature of the transaction was 
 well understood, and full credit given to Mr. 
 Dix for his self-denial in the matter of the 
 medal. Small boys followed him in the street, 
 and half Pebblesea knew when he paid a 
 visit to the Smith's, and discussed his chances. 
 Two nights afterwards, when he and Miss 
 Smith went for a walk in the loneliest spot 
 they could find, conversation turned almost 
 
144 THE TEST 
 
 entirely upon the over-crowded condition of the 
 British Isles. 
 
 The Starfish was away for three weeks, but the 
 little town no longer looked dull to the mate as 
 she entered the harbour one evening and glided 
 slowly towards her old berth. Emma Smith was 
 waiting to see the ship come in, and his taste for 
 all other amusements had temporarily disappeared. 
 
 For two or three days the course of true love 
 ran perfectly smooth ; then, like a dark shadow, 
 the figure of Arthur Heard was thrown across its 
 path. It haunted the quay, hung about the 
 house, and cropped up unexpectedly in the most 
 distant solitudes. It came up behind the mate 
 one evening just as he left the ship and walked 
 beside him in silence. 
 
 " Halloa," said the mate, at last. 
 
 "Halloa," said Mr. Heard. "Going to see 
 Emma?" 
 
 " I'm going to see Miss Smith," said the mate. 
 
 Mr. Heard laughed ; a forced, mirthless laugh. 
 
 "And we don't want you following us about," 
 said Mr. Dix, sharply. " If it'll ease your mind, 
 and do you any good to know, you never had a 
 chance. She told me so." 
 
 "I sha'n't follow you," said Mr. Heard; "it's 
 your last evening, so you'd better make the most 
 of it." 
 
THE TEST 
 
 H5 
 
 " ' An<i we don't want you following us about,' said Mr. Dix, sharply." 
 
 lO 
 
146 THE TEST 
 
 He turned on his heel, and the mate, pondering 
 on his last words, went thoughtfully on to the 
 house. Amid the distraction of pleasant society 
 and a long walk, the matter passed from his mind, 
 and he only remembered it at nine o'clock that 
 evening as a knock sounded on the door and the 
 sallow face of Mr. Heard was thrust into the rt-om. 
 
 "Good-evening all," said the intruder. 
 
 " Evening, Arthur," said Mr. Smith, affably. 
 
 Mr. Heard with a melancholy countenance 
 entered the room and closed the door gently 
 behind him. Then he coughed slightly and 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Anything the matter, Arthur?" inquired Mr. 
 Smith, somewhat disturbed by these, manifes- 
 tations. 
 
 " I've got something on my mind," said Mr, 
 Heard, with a diabolical glance at the mate — 
 " something wot's been worrying me for a long 
 time. I've been deceiving you." 
 
 " That was always your failing, Arthur — deceit- 
 fulness," said Mrs. Smith. " I remember " 
 
 "We've both been deceiving you," interrupted 
 Mr. Heard, loudly. " I didn't jump into the 
 harbour the other night, and I didn't tumble in, 
 and Mr. Fred Dix didn't jump in after me ; we 
 just went to the end of the harbour and walked in 
 and wetted ourselves." 
 
THE TEST 147 
 
 There was a moment's intense silence and all 
 eyes turned on the mate. The latter met them 
 boldly. 
 
 " It's a habit o' mine to walk into the water 
 and spoil my clothes for the sake of people I've 
 never met before," he said, with a laugh. 
 
 " For shame, Arthur! " said Mr. Smith, with a 
 huge sigh of relief 
 
 " 'Ow can you ? " said Mrs. Smith. 
 
 " Arthur's been asleep since then," said 
 the mate, still smiling. " All the same, the 
 next time he jumps in he can get out by him- 
 self" 
 
 Mr. Heard, raising his voice, entered into a 
 minute description of the affair, but in vain. Mr. 
 Smith, rising to his feet, denounced his ingrati- 
 tude in language which was seldom allowed to 
 pass unchallenged in the presence of his wife, 
 while that lady contributed examples of deceitful- 
 ness in the past of Mr. Heard, which he strove in 
 vain to refute. Meanwhile, her daughter patted 
 the mate's hand. 
 
 " It's a bit too thin, Arthur," said the latter, 
 with a mocking smile ; "try something better 
 next time." 
 
 " Very well," said Mr. Heard, in quieter tones ; 
 " I dare you to come along to the harbour and 
 jump in, just as you are, where you said you 
 
 10* 
 
148 THE TEST 
 
 jumped in after me. They'll soon see who's 
 telling the truth." 
 
 " He'll do that," said Mr. Smith, with con- 
 viction. 
 
 For a fraction of a second Mr. Dix hesitated, 
 then, with a steady glance at Miss Smith, he 
 sprang to his feet and accepted the challenge. 
 Mrs. Smith besought him not to be foolish, and, 
 with a vague idea of dissuading him, told him a 
 slanderous anecdote concerning Mr. Heard's aunt. 
 Her daughter gazed at the mate with proud con- 
 fidence, and, taking his arm, bade her mother to 
 get some dry clothes ready and led the way to the 
 harbour. 
 
 The night was fine but dark, and a chill breeze 
 blew up from the sea. Twice the hapless mate 
 thought of backing out, but a glance at Miss 
 Smith's profile and the tender pressure of her arm 
 deterred him. The tide was running out and he 
 had a faint hope that he might keep afloat long 
 enough to be washed ashore alive. He talked 
 rapidly, and his laugh rang across the water. 
 Arrived at the spot they stopped, and Miss Smith 
 looking down into the darkness was unable to 
 repress a shiver. 
 
 " Be careful, Fred," she said, laying her hand 
 upon his arm. 
 
 The mate looked at her oddly. "All right," 
 
THE TEST 149 
 
 he said, gaily, "I'll be out almost before I'm in. 
 You run back to the house and help your mother 
 get the dry clothes ready for me." 
 
 His tones were so confident, and his laugh so 
 buoyant, that Mr. Heard, who had been fully 
 expecting him to withdraw from the affair, began 
 to feel that he had under-rated his swimming 
 powers. " Just jumping in and swimming out 
 again is not quite the same as saving a drownding 
 man," he said, with a sneer. 
 
 In a flash the mate saw a chance of escape. 
 
 " Why, there's no satisfying you," he said, 
 slowly. " If I do go in I can see that you won't 
 own up that you've been lying." 
 
 " He'll 'ave to," said Mr. Smith, who, having 
 made up his mind for a little excitement, was in 
 no mind to lose it. 
 
 " I don't believe he would," said the mate. 
 "Look here!" he said, suddenly, as he laid an 
 affectionate arm on the old man's shoulder. " I 
 know what we'll do." 
 
 "Well?" said Mr. Smith. 
 
 " I'll save you," said the mate, with a smile of 
 great relief 
 
 " Save me ? " said the puzzled Mr. Smith, as 
 his daughter uttered a faint cry. " How ? " 
 
 " Just as I saved him," said the other, nodding. 
 " You jump in, and after you've sunk twice — 
 
ISO THE TEST 
 
 same as he did — I'll dive in and save you. At 
 any rate I'll do my best; I promise you I won't 
 come ashore without you." 
 
 Mr. Smith hastily flung off the encircling arm 
 and retired a few paces inland. " 'Ave you — 
 ever been — in a lunatic asylum at any time ? " 
 he inquired, as soon as he could speak. 
 
 " No," said the mate, gravely. 
 
 "Neither 'ave I," said Mr. Smith; "and, 
 what's more, I'm not going." 
 
 He took a deep breath and stood simmering. 
 Miss Smith came forward and, with a smothered 
 giggle, took the mate's arm and squeezed it. 
 
 " It'll have to be Arthur again, then," said the 
 latter, in a resigned voice. 
 
 ''Me?'' cried Mr. Heard, with a start. 
 
 " Yes, you ! " said the mate, in a decided voice. 
 " After what you said just now I'm not going in 
 without saving somebody. It would be no good. 
 Come on, in you go." 
 
 " He couldn't speak fairer than that, Arthur," 
 said Mr. Smith, dispassionately, as he came for- 
 ward again. 
 
 " But I tell you he can't swim," protested Mr. 
 Heard, " not properly. He didn't swim last 
 time ; I told you so." 
 
 "Never mind; we know what you said," 
 retorted the mate. " All you've got to do is to 
 
THE TEST 
 
 iSi 
 
 " ' I tell you he can't swim,' repeated Mr. Heard, passionately.' 
 
152 THE TEST 
 
 jump in and I'll follow and save you — same as I 
 did the other night." 
 
 " Go on, Arthur," said Mr. Smith, en- 
 couragingly. "It ain't cold." 
 
 " I tell you he can't swim," repeated Mr. 
 Heard, passionately. " I should be drownded 
 before your eyes." 
 
 "Rubbish," said Mr. Smith. "Why, I 
 believe you're afraid." 
 
 " I should be drownded, I tell you," said Mr. 
 Heard. " He wouldn't come in after me." 
 
 "Yes, he would," said Mr. Smith, passing a 
 muscular arm round the mate's waist ; " 'cos the 
 moment you're overboard I'll drop 'im in. Are 
 you ready ? " 
 
 He stood embracing the mate and waiting, but 
 Mr. Heard, with an infuriated exclamation, 
 walked away. A parting glance showed him 
 that the old man had released the mate, and that 
 the latter was now embracing Miss Smith. 
 
IN THE FAMILY 
 
In the Family 
 
 THE oldest inhabitant of Clay bury sat be- 
 neath the sign of the " Cauliflower " and 
 gazed with affectionate, but dim, old eyes in the 
 direction of the village street. 
 
 " No ; Claybury men ain't never been much 
 of ones for emigrating," he said, turning to the 
 youthful traveller who was resting in the shade 
 with a mug of ale and a cigarette. " They know 
 they'd 'ave to go a long way afore they'd find a 
 place as 'ud come up to this." 
 
 He finished the tablespoonful of beer in his 
 mug and sat for so long with his head back and 
 the inverted vessel on his face that the traveller, 
 who at first thought it was the beginning of a 
 conjuring trick, coloured furiously, and asked per- 
 mission to refill it. 
 
 Now and then a Claybury man has gone 
 to foreign parts, said the old man, drinking from 
 the replenished mug, and placing it where the 
 traveller could mark progress without undue 
 
156 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 strain ; but they've, gen'rally speaking, come back 
 and wished as they'd never gone. 
 
 The on'y man as I ever heard of that made his 
 fortune by emigrating was Henery Walker's 
 great-uncle, Josiah Walker by name, and he 
 wasn't a Claybury man at all. He made his for- 
 tune out o' sheep in Australey, and he was so rich 
 and well-to-do that he could never find time to 
 answer the letters that Henery Walker used to 
 send him when he was hard up. 
 
 Henery Walker used to hear of 'im through a 
 relation of his up in London, and tell us all about 
 'im and his money up at this here " Cauliflower " 
 public-house. And he used to sit and drink his 
 beer and wonder who would 'ave the old man's 
 money arter he was dead. 
 
 When the relation in London died Henery 
 Walker left off hearing about his uncle, and he 
 got so worried over thinking that the old man 
 might die and leave his money to stranger's that 
 he got quite thin. He talked of emigrating to 
 Australey 'imself, and then, acting on the advice 
 of Bill Chambers — who said it was a cheaper 
 thing to do — he wrote to his uncle instead, and, 
 arter reminding 'im that 'e was an old man living 
 in a strange country, 'e asked 'im to come to 
 Claybury and make his 'ome with 'is loving 
 grand-nephew. 
 
IN THE FAMILY 157 
 
 It was a good letter, because more than one 
 gave 'im a hand with it, and there was little bits 
 o' Scripture in it to make it more solemn-like. It 
 was wrote on pink paper with pie-crust edges and 
 put in a green envelope, and Bill Chambers said 
 a man must 'ave a 'art of stone if that didn't 
 touch it. 
 
 Four months arterwards Henery Walker got 
 an answer to 'is letter from 'is great-uncle. It 
 was a nice letter, and, arter thanking Henery 
 Walker for all his kindness, 'is uncle said that he 
 was getting an old man, and p'r'aps he should 
 come and lay 'is bones in England arter all, and 
 if he did 'e should certainly come and see his 
 grand-nephew, Henery Walker. 
 
 Most of us thought Henery Walker's fortune 
 was as good as made, but Bob Pretty, a nasty, low, 
 poaching chap that has done wot he could to give 
 Claybury a bad name, turned up his nose 
 at it. 
 
 "I'll believe he's coming 'ome when I see 
 him," he ses. " It's my belief he went to 
 Australey to get out o' your way, Henery." 
 
 "As it 'appened he went there afore I was 
 born," ses Henery Walker, firing up. 
 
 " He knew your father," ses Bob Pretty, " and 
 he didn't want to take no risks." 
 
 They 'ad words then, and arter that every time 
 
158 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 Bob Pretty met 'im he asked arter his great- 
 uncle's 'ealth, and used to pretend to think 'e was 
 living with 'im. 
 
 " You ought to get the old gentleman out a bit 
 more, Henery," he would say ; " it can't be good 
 for 'im to be shut up in the 'ouse so much — 
 especially your 'ouse." 
 
 Henery Walker used to get that riled he didn't 
 know wot to do with 'imself, and as time went on, 
 and he began to be afraid that 'is uncle never 
 would come back to England, he used to get quite 
 nasty if anybody on'y so much as used the word 
 "uncle" in 'is company. 
 
 It was over six months since he 'ad had the 
 letter from 'is uncle, and 'e was up here at the 
 "Cauliflower" with some more of us one night, 
 when Dicky Weed, the tailor, turns to Bob Pretty 
 and he ses, "Who's the old gentleman that's 
 staying with you. Bob ? " 
 
 Bob Pretty puts down 'is beer very careful and 
 turns round on 'im. 
 
 "Old gentleman?" he ses, very slow. "Wot 
 are you talking about ? " 
 
 " I mean the little old gentleman with white 
 whiskers and a squeaky voice," ses Dicky Weed. 
 
 " You've been dreaming," ses Bob, taking up 
 'is beer ag'in. 
 
 " I see 'im too. Bob," ses Bill Chambers. 
 
IN THE FAMILY 159 
 
 " Ho, you did, did you ? " ses Bob Pretty, 
 putting down 'is mug with a bang. " And wot 
 d'ye mean by coming spying round my place, eh ? 
 Wot d'ye mean by it ? " 
 
 "Spying?" ses Bill Chambers, gaping at 'im 
 with 'is mouth open ; " I wasn't spying. Any- 
 one 'ud think you 'ad done something you was 
 ashamed of." 
 
 " You mind your business and I'll mind mine," 
 ses Bob, very fierce. 
 
 " I was passing the 'ouse," ses Bill Chambers, 
 looking round at us, "and I see an old man's face 
 at the bedroom winder, and while I was wonder- 
 ing who 'e was a hand come and drawed 'im 
 away. I see 'im as plain as ever I see anything 
 in my life, and the hand, too. Big and dirty it 
 was." 
 
 "And he's got a cough," ses Dicky Weed — 
 " a churchyard cough — I 'eard it." 
 
 " It ain't much you don't hear, Dicky," ses Bob 
 Pretty, turning on 'im ; "the on'y thing you 
 never did 'ear, and never will 'ear, is any good of 
 yourself." 
 
 He kicked over a chair wot was in 'is way and 
 went off in such a temper as we'd never seen 'im 
 in afore, and, wot was more surprising still, but I 
 know it's true, 'cos I drunk it up myself, he'd left 
 over arf a pint o' beer in 'is mug." 
 
i6o IN THE FAMILY 
 
 " He's up to something," ses Sam Jones, 
 staring arter him ; " mark my words." 
 
 We couldn't make head nor tail out of it, but 
 for some days arterward you'd ha' thought that 
 Bob Pretty's 'ouse was a peep-show. Everybody 
 stared at the winders as they went by, and the 
 children played in front of the 'ouse and stared in 
 all day long. Then the old gentleman was seen 
 one day as bold as brass sitting at the winder, and 
 we heard that it was a pore old tramp Bob Pretty 
 'ad met on the road and given a home to, and he 
 didn't like 'is good-'artedness to be known for 
 fear he should be made fun of 
 
 Nobody believed that, o' course, and things got 
 more puzzling than ever. Once or twice the old 
 gentleman went out for a walk, but Bob Pretty or 
 'is missis was always with 'im, and if anybody 
 tried to speak to him they always said 'e was deaf 
 and took 'im off as fast as they could. Then one 
 night up at the " Cauliflower" here Dicky Weed 
 came rushing in with a bit o' news that took 
 everybody's breath away. 
 
 " I've just come from the post-office," he ses, 
 "and there's a letter for Bob Pretty's old gentle- 
 man ! Wot d'ye think o' that ? " 
 
 " If you could tell us wot's inside it you might 
 'ave something to brag about," ses Henery 
 Walker. 
 
IN THE FAMILY i6i 
 
 " I don't want to see the inside," ses Dicky 
 Weed ; "the name on the outside was good enough 
 for me. I couldn't hardly believe my own eyes, 
 but there it was : ' Mr. Josiah Walker,' as plain as 
 the nose on your face." 
 
 O' course, we see it all then, and wondered why 
 we hadn't thought of it afore ; and we stood quiet 
 listening to the things that Henery Walker said 
 about a man that would go and steal another 
 man's great-uncle from 'im. Three times Smith, 
 the landlord, said, "Hush!" and the fourth time 
 he put Henery Walker outside and told 'im to 
 stay there till he 'ad lost his voice. 
 
 Henery Walker stayed outside five minutes, 
 and then 'e come back in ag'in to ask for advice. 
 His idea seemed to be that, as the old gentleman 
 was deaf. Bob Pretty was passing 'isself off as 
 Henery Walker, and the disgrace was a'most 
 more than 'e could bear. He began to get 
 excited ag'in, and Smith "ad just said "Husk!" 
 once more when we 'eard somebody whistling 
 outside, and in come Bob Pretty. 
 
 He 'ad hardly got 'is face in at the door afore 
 Henery Walker started on 'im, and Bob Pretty 
 stood there, struck all of a heap, and staring at 
 'im as though he couldn't believe his ears. 
 
 "'Ave you gone mad, Henery?" he ses, at 
 last. 
 
 II 
 
i62 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 " Give me back my great-uncle," ses Henery 
 Walker, at the top of 'is voice. 
 
 Bob Pretty shook his 'ead at him. " I haven't 
 got your great-uncle, Henery," he ses, very 
 gentle. " I know the name is the same, but wot 
 of it ? There's more than one Josiah Walker in 
 the world. This one is no relation to you at all ; 
 he's a very respectable old gentleman." 
 
 " I'll go and ask 'im," ses Henery Walker, 
 getting up, "and I'll tell 'im wot sort o' man you 
 are. Bob Pretty." 
 
 " He's gone to bed now, Henery," ses Bob 
 Pretty. 
 
 " I'll come in the fust thing to-morrow morning, 
 then," ses Henery Walker. 
 
 " Not in my 'ouse, Henery," ses Bob Pretty ; 
 "not arter the things you've been sayin' about 
 me. I'm a pore man, but I've got my pride. 
 Besides, I tell you he ain't your uncle. He's a 
 pore old man I'm giving a 'ome to, and I won't 
 'ave 'im worried." 
 
 "'Ow much does 'e pay you a week, Bob?" 
 ses Bill Chambers. 
 
 Bob Pretty pretended not to hear 'im. 
 
 "Where did your wife get the money to buy 
 that bonnet she 'ad on on Sunday ? " ses Bill 
 Chambers. " My wife ses it's the fust new 
 bonnet she has 'ad since she was married," 
 
IN THE FAMILY 163 
 
 " And where did the new winder curtains come 
 from ? " ses Peter Gubbins. 
 
 Bob Pretty drank up 'is beer and stood looking 
 at them very thoughtful ; then he opened the door 
 and went out without saying a word. 
 
 " He's got your great-uncle a prisoner in his 
 'ouse, Henery," ses Bill Chambers; "it's easy 
 for to see that the pore old gentleman is getting 
 past things, and I shouldn't wonder if Bob Pretty 
 don't make 'im leave all 'is money to 'im." 
 
 Henery Walker started raving ag'in, and for 
 the next few days he tried his 'ardest to get a few 
 words with 'is great-uncle, but Bob Pretty was 
 too much for 'im. Everybody in Claybury said 
 wot a shame it was, but it was all no good, and 
 Henery Walker used to leave 'is work and stand 
 outside Bob Pretty's for hours at a time in the 
 'opes of getting a word with the old man. 
 
 He got 'is chance at last,, in quite a unexpected 
 way. We was up 'ere at the " Cauliflower " one 
 evening, and, as it 'appened, we was talking about 
 Henery Walker's great-uncle, when the door 
 opened, and who should walk in but the old 
 gentleman 'imself. Everybody left off talking and 
 stared at 'im, but he walked up to the bar and 
 ordered a glass o' gin and beer as comfortable as 
 you please. 
 
 Bill Chambers was the fust to get 'is presence 
 
 II* 
 
1 64 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 of mind back, and he set off arter Henery Walker 
 as fast as 'is legs could carry 'im, and in a 
 wunnerful short time, considering, he came back 
 with Henery, both of 'em puffing and blowing 
 their 'ardest. 
 
 "There — he — is!" ses Bill Chambers, pointing 
 to the old gentleman. 
 
 Henery Walker gave one look, and then 'e 
 slipped over to the old man and stood all of 
 a tremble, smiling at 'im. " Good-evening," 
 he ses. 
 
 " Wot ? " ses the old gentleman. 
 
 "Good-evening! " ses Henery Walker ag'in. 
 
 " I'm a bit deaf," ses the old gentleman, putting 
 his 'and to his ear. 
 
 " Good-evening ! " ses Henery Walker ag'in, 
 shouting. "I'm your grand-nephew, Henery 
 Walker ! " 
 
 " Ho, are you ?" ses the old gentleman, not at 
 all surprised. " Bob Pretty was telling me all 
 about you." 
 
 " I 'ope you didn't listen to 'im," ses Henery 
 Walker, all of a tremble. " Bob Pretty'd say 
 anything except his prayers." 
 
 "He ses you're arter my money," ses the old 
 gentleman, looking at 'im. 
 
 " He's a liar, then," ses Henery Walker ; 
 " he's arter it 'imself And it ain't a respectable 
 
IN THE FAMILY 165 
 
 place for you to stay at. Anybody'!! tel! you wot 
 a rascal Bob Pretty is. Why, he's a byword." 
 
 " Everybody is arter my money," ses the old 
 gentleman, looking round. " Everybody." 
 
 " I 'ope you'll know me better afore you've 
 done with me, uncle," ses Henery Walker, taking 
 a seat alongside of 'im. " Will you 'ave another 
 mug o' beer ? " 
 
 " Gin and beer," ses the old gentleman, cock- 
 ing his eye up very fierce at Smith, the landlord ; 
 " and mind the gin don't get out ag'in, same as it 
 did in the last." 
 
 Smith asked 'im wot he meant, but 'is deafness 
 come on ag'in. Henery Walker 'ad an extra 
 dose o' gin put in, and arter he 'ad tasted it the 
 old gentleman seemed to get more amiable-like, 
 and 'im and Henery Walker sat by theirselves 
 talking quite comfortable. 
 
 "Why not come and stay with me?" ses 
 Henery Walker, at last. " You can do as you 
 please and have the best of everything." 
 
 " Bob Pretty ses you're arter my money," ses 
 the old gentleman, shaking his 'ead. " I couldn't 
 trust you." 
 
 " He ses that to put you ag'in me," ses Henery 
 Walker, pleading-like. 
 
 "Well, wot do you want me to come and live 
 with you for, then ? ' ses old Mr. Walker. 
 
1 66 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 " Because you're my great-uncle," ses Henery 
 Walker, "and my 'ouse is the proper place for 
 you. Blood is thicker than water." 
 
 " And you don't want my money ? " ses the old 
 man, looking at 'im very sharp. 
 
 "Certainly not," ses Henery Walker. 
 
 "And 'ow much 'ave I got to pay a week?" 
 ses old Mr. Walker. " That's the question ? " 
 
 " Pay ? " ses Henery Walker, speaking afore he 
 'ad time to think. " Pay ? Why, I don't want 
 you to pay anything." 
 
 The old gentleman said as 'ow he'd think it 
 over, and Henery started to talk to 'im about his 
 father and an old aunt named Maria, but 'e 
 stopped 'im sharp, and said he was sick and tired 
 of the whole Walker family, and didn't want to 
 'ear their names ag'in as long as he lived. 
 Henery Walker began to talk about Australey 
 then, and asked 'im 'ow many sheep he'd got, and 
 the words was 'ardly out of 'is mouth afore the 
 old gentleman stood up and said he was arter his 
 money ag'in. 
 
 Henery Walker at once gave 'im some more 
 gin and beer, and arter he 'ad drunk it the old 
 gentleman said that he'd go and live with 'im for 
 a little while to see 'ow he liked it. 
 
 " But -I sha'n't pay anything," he ses, very 
 sharp ; " mind that." 
 
IN THE FAMILY 
 
 167 
 
 ' You leave go o' my lodger,' ses Bob Pretty." 
 
i68 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 " I wouldn't take it if you offered it to me," ses 
 Henery Walker. "You'll come straight 'ome 
 with me to-night, won't you ? " 
 
 Afore old Mr. Walker could answer the door 
 opened and in came Bob Pretty. He gave one 
 look at Henery Walker and then he walked 
 straight over to the old gentleman and put his 
 'and on his shoulder. 
 
 " Why, I've been looking for you everywhere, 
 Mr. Walker," he ses. " I couldn't think wot had 
 'appened to you." 
 
 " You needn't worry yourself, Bob," ses 
 Henery Walker; "he is coming to live with me 
 now." 
 
 " Don't you believe it," ses Bob Pretty, taking 
 hold of old Mr. Walker by the arm ; " he's my 
 lodger, and he's coming with me." 
 
 He began to lead the old gentleman towards 
 the door, but Henery Walker, wot was still sitting 
 down, threw 'is arms round his legs and held 'im 
 tight. Bob Pretty pulled one way- and Henery 
 Walker pulled the other, and both of 'em shouted 
 to each other to leave go. The row they made 
 was awful, but old Mr. Walker made more noise 
 than the two of 'em put together. 
 
 " You leave go o' my lodger," ses Bob Pretty. 
 
 " You leave go o' my great-uncle — my dear 
 great-uncle," ses Henery Walker, as the old 
 
IN THE FAMILY 169 
 
 gentleman called 'im a bad name and asked 'im 
 whether he thought he was made of iron. 
 
 " I believe they'd ha' been at it till closing- 
 time, on'y Smith, the landlord, came running in 
 from the back and told them to go outside. He 
 'ad to shout to make 'imself heard, and all four of 
 'em seemed to be trying which could make the 
 most noise. 
 
 "He's my lodger," ses Bob Pretty, "and he 
 can't go without giving me proper notice ; that's 
 the lor — a week's notice." 
 
 They all shouted ag'in then, and at last the old 
 gentleman told Henery Walker to give Bob 
 Pretty ten shillings for the week's notice and ha 
 done with 'im. Henery Walker 'ad only got four 
 shillings with 'im, but 'e borrowed the rest from 
 Smith, and arter he 'ad told Bob Pretty wot he 
 thought of 'im he took old Mr. Walker by the 
 arm and led him 'ome a'most dancing for joy. 
 
 Mrs. Walker was nearly as pleased as wot 'e 
 was, and the fuss they made of the old gentleman 
 was sinful a'most. He 'ad to speak about it 
 'imself at last, and he told 'em plain that when 'e 
 wanted arf-a-dozen sore-eyed children to be 
 brought down in their night-gowns to kiss 'im 
 while he was eating sausages, he'd say so. 
 
 Arter that Mrs. Walker was afraid that 'e might 
 object when her and her 'usband gave up their 
 
170 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 bedroom to 'im ; but he didn't. He took it all as 
 'is right, and when Henery Walker, who was 
 sleeping in the next room with three of 'is boys, 
 fell out o' bed for the second time, he got up and 
 rapped on the wall. 
 
 Bob Pretty came round the next morning with 
 a tin box that belonged to the old man, and 'e was 
 so perlite and nice to 'im that Henery Walker 
 could see that he 'ad 'opes of getting 'im back 
 ag'in. The box was carried upstairs and put 
 under old Mr. Walker's bed, and 'e was so 
 partikler about its being locked, and about nobody 
 being about when 'e opened it, that Mrs. Walker 
 went arf out of her mind with curiosity. 
 
 " I s'pose you've looked to see that Bob Pretty 
 didn't take anything out of it?" ses Henery 
 Walker. 
 
 " He didn't 'ave the chance," ses the old 
 gentleman. " It's always kep' locked." 
 
 " It's a box that looks as though it might 'ave 
 been made in Australey," ses Henery Walker, 
 who was longing to talk about them parts. 
 
 " If you say another word about Australey to 
 me," ses old Mr. Walker, firing up, " off I go. 
 Mind that ! You're arter my money, and if 
 you're not careful you sha'n't 'ave a farthing 
 of it." 
 
 That was the last time the word " Australey " 
 
IN THE FAMILY 171 
 
 passed Henery Walker's lips, and even when 'e 
 saw his great-uncle writing letters there he didn't 
 say anything. And the old man was so suspicious 
 of Mrs. Walker's curiosity that all the letters that 
 was wrote to 'im he 'ad sent to Bob Pretty's. 
 He used to call there pretty near every morning 
 to see whether any 'ad come for 'im. 
 
 In three months Henery Walker 'adn't seen 
 the colour of 'is money once, and, wot was worse 
 still, he took to giving Henery's things away. 
 Mrs. Walker 'ad been complaining for some time 
 of 'ow bad the hens had been laying, and one 
 morning at breakfast-time she told her 'usband 
 that, besides missing eggs, two of 'er best hens 
 'ad been stolen in the night. 
 
 " They wasn't stolen," ses old Mr. Walker, 
 putting down 'is teacup. " I took 'em round this 
 morning and give 'em to Bob Pretty." 
 
 "Give 'em to Bob Pretty?" ses Henery 
 Walker, arf choking. " Wot for ? " 
 
 " 'Cos he asked me for 'em," ses the old 
 gentleman. " Wot are you looking at me like 
 that for ? " 
 
 Henery couldn't answer 'im, and the old gentle- 
 man, looking very fierce, got up from the table 
 and told Mrs. Walker to give 'im his hat. 
 Henery Walker clung to 'im with tears in his 
 eyes a' most and begged 'im not to go, and arter 
 
172 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 a lot of talk old Mr. Walker said he'd look over 
 it this time, but it mustn't occur ag'in. 
 
 Arter that 'e did as 'e liked with Henery 
 Walker's things, and Henery dursen't say a word 
 to 'im. Bob Pretty used to come up and flatter 
 'im and beg 'im to go back and lodge with 'im, 
 and Henery was so afraid he'd go that he didn't 
 say a word when old Mr. Walker used to give 
 Bob Pretty things to make up for 'is disappoint- 
 ment. He 'eard on the quiet from Bill Chambers, 
 who said that the old man 'ad told it to Bob 
 Pretty as a dead secret, that 'e 'ad left 'im all his 
 money, and he was ready to put up with anything. 
 
 The old man must ha' been living with Henery 
 Walker for over eighteen months when one night 
 he passed away in 'is sleep. Henery knew that his 
 'art was wrong, because he 'ad just paid Dr. 
 Green 'is bill for saying that 'e couldn't do any- 
 thing for 'im, but it was a surprise to 'im all the 
 same. He blew his nose 'ard and Mrs. Walker 
 kept rubbing 'er eyes with her apron while they 
 talked in whispers and wondered 'ow much money 
 they 'ad come in for. 
 
 In less than ten minutes the news was all over 
 Claybury, and arf the people in the place hanging 
 round in front of the 'ouse waiting to hear 'ow 
 much the Walkers 'ad come in for. Henery 
 Walker pulled the blind on one side for a moment 
 
IN THE FAMILY 173 
 
 and shook his 'ead at them to go away. Some of 
 them did go back a yard or two, and then they 
 stood staring at Bob Pretty, wot come up as bold 
 as brass and knocked at the door. 
 
 "Wot's this I 'ear?" he ses, when Henery 
 Walker opened it. " You don't mean to tell me 
 that the pore old gentleman has really gone ? I 
 told 'im wot would happen if 'e came to lodge 
 with you." 
 
 "You be off," ses Henery Walker ; "he hasn't 
 left you anything." 
 
 " I know that," ses Bob Pretty, shaking his 
 'ead. "You're welcome to it, Henery, if there is 
 anything. I never bore any malice to you for 
 taking of 'im away from us. I could see you'd took 
 a fancy to 'im from the fust. The way you pre- 
 tended 'e was your great-uncle showed me that." 
 
 "Wot are you talking about?" ses Henery 
 Walker. " He was my great-uncle ! " 
 
 " Have it your own way, Henery," ses Bob 
 Pretty ; " on'y, if you asked me, I should say that 
 he was my wife's grandfather." 
 
 ' ' Your — wifes — grandfather ?" ses H enery 
 Walker, in a choking voice. 
 
 He stood staring at 'im, stupid-like, for a 
 minute or two, but he couldn't get out another 
 word. In a flash 'e saw 'ow he'd been done, and 
 how Bob Pretty 'ad been deceiving 'im all along. 
 
174 
 
 IN THE FAMILY 
 
 £=^3S^^D 
 
 ' He slammed the door in Bob Pretty's face." 
 
IN THE FAMILY 175 
 
 and the idea that he 'ad arf ruined himself keep- 
 ing Mrs. Pretty's grandfather for 'em pretty near 
 sent 'im out of his mind. 
 
 "But how is it 'is name was Josiah Walker, 
 same as Henery's great-uncle ? " ses Bill Cham- 
 bers, who 'ad been crowding round with the 
 others. " Tell me that ! " 
 
 " He 'ad a fancy for it," ses Bob Pretty, "and 
 being a 'armless amusement we let him 'ave his 
 own way. I told Henery Walker over and over 
 ag'in that it wasn't his uncle, but he wouldn't 
 believe me. I've got witnesses to it. Wot did 
 you say, Henery ? " 
 
 Henery Walker drew 'imself up as tall as he 
 could and stared at him. Twice he opened 'is 
 mouth to speak but couldn't, and then he made a 
 odd sort o' choking noise in his throat, and 
 slammed the door in Bob Pretty's face. 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 12 
 
A Love-Knot 
 
 MR. NATHANIEL CLARK and Mrs. 
 Bowman had just finished their third 
 game of draughts. It had been a difficult game 
 for Mr. Clark, the lady's mind having been so 
 occupied with other matters that he had had 
 great difficulty in losing. Indeed, it was only by 
 pushing an occasional piece of his own off the 
 board that he had succeeded. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts, Amelia," he said, 
 at last. 
 
 Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly. " They were far 
 away," she confessed. 
 
 Mr. Clark assumed an expression of great 
 solemnity ; allusions of this kind to the late Mr. 
 Bowman were only too frequent. He was 
 fortunate when they did not grow into re- 
 miniscences of a career too blameless for suc- 
 cessful imitation. 
 
 " I suppose," said the widow, slowly — " I 
 suppose I ought to tell you : I've had a letter." 
 
 Mr. Clark's face relaxed. 
 
 12* 
 
i8o A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 " It took me back to the old scenes," continued 
 Mrs. Bowman, dreamily. " I have never kept 
 anything back from you, Nathaniel. I told you 
 all about the first man I ever thought anything 
 of — Charlie Tucker ? " 
 
 Mr. Clark cleared his throat. " You did," he 
 said, a trifle hoarsely. " More than once." 
 
 " I've just had a letter from him," said Mrs. 
 Bowman, simpering. " Fancy, after all these 
 years ! Poor fellow, he has only just heard of my 
 husband's death, and, by the way he writes " 
 
 She broke off and drummed nervously on the 
 table. 
 
 " He hasn't heard about me, you mean," said 
 Mr. Clark, after waiting to give her time to 
 finish. 
 
 " How should he ? " said the widow. 
 
 " If he heard one thing, he might have heard 
 the other," retorted Mr. Clark. " Better write 
 and tell him. Tell him that in six weeks' time 
 you'll be Mrs. Clark. Then, perhaps, he won't 
 write again." 
 
 Mrs. Bowman sighed. "I thought, after all 
 these years, that he must be dead," she said, 
 slowly, " or else married. But he says in his 
 letter that he has kept single for my sake all 
 these years." 
 
 " Well, he'll be able to go on doing it," said 
 
A LOVE-KNOT i8i 
 
 Mr. Clark ; " it'll come easy to him after so much 
 practice." 
 
 " He — he says in his letter that he is coming to 
 see me," said the widow, in a low voice, " to — to 
 — this evening." 
 
 "Coming to see you?" repeated Mr. Clark, 
 sharply. " What for ? " 
 
 " To talk over old times, he says," was the 
 reply. " I expect he has altered a great deal ; he 
 was a fine-looking fellow — and so dashing. After 
 I gave him up he didn't care what he did. The 
 last I heard of him he had gone abroad." 
 
 Mr. Clark muttered something under his 
 breath, and, in a mechanical fashion, began to 
 build little castles with the draughts. He was 
 just about to add to an already swaying structure 
 when a thundering rat-tat-tat at the door dispersed 
 the draughts to the four corners of the room. 
 The servant opened the door, and the next 
 moment ushered in Mrs. Bowman's visitor. 
 
 A tall, good-looking man in a frock-coat, with a 
 huge spray of mignonette in his button-hole, met 
 the critical gaze of Mr. Clark. He paused at the 
 door and, striking an attitude, pronounced in 
 tones of great amazement the Christian name of 
 the lady of the house. 
 
 " Mr. Tucker ! " said the widow, blushing. 
 
 " The same girl," said the visitor, looking 
 
1 82 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 round wildly, " the same as the day she left me. 
 Not a bit changed ; not a hair different." 
 
 He took her extended hand and, bending over 
 it, kissed it respectfully. 
 
 " It's — it's very strange to see you again, Mr. 
 Tucker," said Mrs. Bowman, withdrawing her 
 hand in some confusion. 
 
 " Mr. Tucker ! " said that gentleman, reproach- 
 fully ; " it used to be Charlie." 
 
 Mrs. Bowman blushed again, and, with a side 
 glance at the frowning Mr. Clark, called her visi- 
 tor's attention to him and introduced them. The 
 gentlemen shook hands stiffly. 
 
 " Any friend of yours is a friend of mine," said 
 Mr. Tucker, with a patronizing air. " How are 
 you, sir ? " 
 
 Mr. Clark replied that he was well, and, after 
 some hesitation, said that he hoped he was the 
 same. Mr. Tucker took a chair and, leaning 
 back, stroked his huge moustache and devoured 
 the widow with his eyes. " Fancy seeing you 
 aafain ! " said the latter, in some embarrassment. 
 " How did you find me out ? " 
 
 " It's a long story," replied the visitor, "but I 
 always had the idea that we should meet again. 
 Your photograph has been with me all over the 
 world. In the backwoods of Canada, in the bush 
 of Australia, it has been my one comfort and guid- 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 183 
 
 ing star. If ever I was tempted to do wrong, I 
 used to take your photograph out and look at it." 
 
 " I s'pose you took it out pretty often ? " said 
 Mr. Clark, restlessly, " To look at, I mean," he 
 added, hastily, as Mrs. Bowman gave him an 
 indignant glance. 
 
 " Every day," said the visitor, solemnly. 
 " Once when I injured myself out hunting, and 
 was five days without food or drink, it was the 
 only thing that kept me alive." 
 
 Mr. Clark's gibe as to the size of the photo- 
 graph was lost in Mrs. Bowman's exclamations 
 of pity. 
 
 " / once lived on two ounces of gruel and a cup 
 of milk a day for ten days," he said, trying to 
 catch the widow's eye. " After the ten days " 
 
 " When the Indians found me I was delirious," 
 continued Mr. Tucker, in a hushed voice, "and 
 when I came to my senses I found that they were 
 calling me ' Amelia.' " 
 
 Mr. Clark attempted to relieve the situation by 
 a jocose inquiry as to whether he was wearing a 
 moustache at the time, but Mrs. Bowman frowned 
 him down. He began to whistle under his 
 breath, and Mrs. Bowman promptly said, "H'sk!" 
 
 " But how did you discover me ? " she inquired, 
 turning again to the visitor. 
 
 " Wandering over the world," continued Mr. 
 
1 84 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 Tucker, " here to-day and there to-morrow, and 
 unable to settle down anywhere, I returned to 
 Northtown about two years ago. Three days 
 since, in a tramcar, I heard your name mentioned. 
 I pricked up my ears and listened ; when I heard 
 that you were free I could hardly contain myself. 
 I got into conversation with the lady and obtained 
 your address, and after travelling fourteen hours 
 here I am." 
 
 " How very extraordinary ! " said the widow. 
 " I wonder who it could have been ? Did she 
 mention her name ? " 
 
 Mr. Tucker shook his head. Inquiries as to 
 the lady's appearance, age, and dress were alike 
 fruitless. "There was a mist before my eyes," 
 he explained. " I couldn't realize it. I couldn't 
 believe in my good fortune." 
 
 "I can't think " began Mrs. Bowman. 
 
 " What does it matter ? " inquired Mr. Tucker, 
 softly. " Here we are together again, with life 
 all before us and the misunderstandings of long 
 ago all forgotten." 
 
 Mr. Clark cleared his throat preparatory to 
 speech, but a peremptory glance from Mrs. 
 Bowman restrained him. 
 
 " I thought you were dead," she said, turning 
 to the smiling Mr. Tucker. " I never dreamed 
 of seeing you again." 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 185 
 
 " Nobody would," chimed in Mr. Clark. 
 " When do you go back ?" 
 
 " Back ? " said the visitor. " Where ? " 
 
 " Australia," replied Mr. Clark, with a glance 
 of defiance at the widow. " You must ha' been 
 missed a great deal all this time." 
 
 Mr. Tucker regarded him with a haughty stare. 
 Then he bent towards Mrs. Bowman. 
 
 "Do you wish me to go back?" he asked, 
 impressively. 
 
 " We don't wish either one way or the other," 
 said Mr. Clark, before the widow could speak. 
 " It don't matter to us." 
 
 " We ? " said Mr. Tucker, knitting his brows 
 and gazing anxiously at Mrs. Bowman. " IVe ? " 
 
 "We are going to be married in six weeks' 
 time," said Mr. Clark. 
 
 Mr. Tucker looked from one to the other in 
 silent misery ; then, shielding his eyes with his 
 hand, he averted his head. Mrs. Bowman, with 
 her hands folded in her lap, regarded him with 
 anxious solicitude. 
 
 " I thought perhaps you ought to know," said 
 Mr. Clark. 
 
 Mr. Tucker sat bolt upright and gazed at him 
 fixedly. " I wish you joy," he said, in a hollow 
 voice. 
 
 " Thankee," said Mr. Clark ; " we expect to be 
 
1 86 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 pretty happy." He smiled at Mrs. Bowman, 
 but she made no response. Her looks wandered 
 from one to the other — from the good-looking, 
 interesting companion of her youth to the short, 
 prosaic little man who was exulting only too 
 plainly in his discomfiture. 
 
 Mr. Tucker rose with a sigh. " Good-bye," he 
 said, extending his hand. 
 
 " You are not going — yet ? " said the widow. 
 
 Mr. Tucker's low-breathed " I must " was 
 just audible. The widow renewed her expostu- 
 lations. 
 
 " Perhaps he has got a train to catch," said the 
 thoughtful Mr. Clark. 
 
 " No, sir," said Mr. Tucker. "As a matter of 
 fact, I had taken a room at the George Hotel for 
 a week, but I suppose I had better get back home 
 again." 
 
 " No ; why should you ? " said Mrs. Bowman, 
 with a rebellious glance at Mr. Clark. "Stay, 
 and come in and see me sometimes and talk over 
 old times. And Mr. Clark will be glad to see 
 you, I'm sure. Won't you Nath — Mr. Clark ?" 
 
 " I shall be — delighted," said Mr. Clark, staring 
 hard at the mantelpiece. " De-lighted." 
 
 Mr. Tucker thanked them both, and after 
 groping for some time for the hand of Mr. Clark, 
 who was still intent upon the mantelpiece, pressed 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 187 
 
 ' On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for a walk. ' 
 
1 88 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 it warmly and withdrew. Mrs. Bowman saw 
 him to the door, and a low-voiced colloquy, in 
 which Mr. Clark caught the word " afternoon," 
 ensued. By the time the widow returned to the 
 room he was busy building with the draughts 
 again. 
 
 Mr. Tucker came the next day at three o'clock, 
 and the day after at two. On the third morning 
 he took Mrs. Bowman out for a walk, airily ex- 
 plaining to Mr. Clark, who met them on the way, 
 that they had come out to call for him. The day 
 after, when Mr. Clark met them returning from a 
 walk, he was assured that his silence of the day 
 before was understood to indicate a distaste for 
 exercise. 
 
 " And, you see, I like a long walk," said Mrs. 
 Bowman, "and you are not what I should call a 
 good walker." 
 
 " You never used to complain," said Mr. Clark ; 
 " in fact, it was generally you that used to suggest 
 turning back." 
 
 " She wants to be amused as well," remarked 
 Mr. Tucker ; " then she doesn't feel the fatigue." 
 
 Mr. Clark glared at him, and then, shortly de- 
 clining Mrs. Bowman's invitation to accompany 
 them home, on the ground that he required 
 exercise, proceeded on his way. He carried him- 
 self so stiffly, and his manner was so fierce, that a 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 189 
 
 well-meaning neighbour who had crossed the road 
 to join him, and offer a little sympathy if occasion 
 offered, talked of the weather for five minutes and 
 inconsequently faded away at a corner. 
 
 Trimington as a whole watched the affair with 
 amusement, although Mr. Clark's friends adopted 
 an inflection of voice in speaking to him which 
 reminded him strongly of funerals. Mr. Tucker's 
 week was up, but the landlord of the George was 
 responsible for the statement that he had post- 
 poned his departure indefinitely. 
 
 Matters being in this state, Mr. Clark went 
 round to the widow's one evening with the air of 
 a man who has made up his mind to decisive 
 action. He entered the room with a bounce and, 
 hardly deigning to notice the greeting of Mr. 
 Tucker, planted himself in a chair and surveyed 
 him grimly. " I thought I should find you here," 
 he remarked. 
 
 " Well, I always am here, ain't I ? " retorted 
 Mr. -Tucker, removing his cigar and regarding 
 him with mild surprise. 
 
 " Mr. Tucker is my friend," interposed Mrs. 
 Bowman. " I am the only friend he has got in 
 Trimington. It's natural he should be here." 
 
 Mr. Clark quailed at her glance. 
 
 " People are beginning to talk," he muttered, 
 feebly. 
 
190 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 " Talk ? " said the widow, with an air of mysti- 
 fication belied by her colour. " What about ? " 
 
 Mr. Clark quailed again. " About — about our 
 wedding," he stammered. 
 
 Mr. Tucker and the widow exchanged glances. 
 Then the former took his cigar from his mouth 
 and, with a hopeless gesture, threw it into the 
 grate. 
 
 " Plenty of time to talk about that," said Mrs. 
 Bowman, after a pause. 
 
 " Time is going," remarked Mr. Clark. " I 
 was thinking, if it was agreeable to you, of putting 
 up the banns to-morrow." 
 
 " There — there's no hurry," was the reply. 
 
 " ' Marry in haste, repent at leisure,' " quoted 
 Mr. Tucker, gravely. 
 
 " Don't you want me to put 'em up ? " de- 
 manded Mr. Clark, turning to Mrs. Bowman. 
 
 " There's no hurry," said Mrs. Bowman again. 
 " I-r-I want time to think." 
 
 Mr. Clark rose and stood over her, and after a 
 vain attempt to meet his gaze she looked down at 
 the carpet. 
 
 " I understand," he said, loftily. " I am not 
 blind." 
 
 " It isn't my fault," murmured the widow, 
 drawing patterns with her toe on the carpet. 
 " One can't help their feehngs." 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 191 
 
 Mr. Clark gave a short, hard laugh. " What 
 about my feelings ? " he said, severely. " What 
 about the life you have spoiled ? I couldn't have 
 believed it of you." 
 
 "I'm sure I'm very sorry," murmured Mrs. 
 Bowman, " and anything that I can do I will. I 
 never expected to see Charles again. And it 
 was so sudden ; it took me unawares. I hope we 
 shall still be friends." 
 
 " Friends ! " exclaimed Mr. Clark, with extra- 
 ordinary vigour. " With him, ? " 
 
 He folded his arms and regarded the pair with 
 a bitter smile ; Mrs. Bowman, quite unable to 
 meet his eyes, still gazed intently at the floor. 
 
 " You have made me the laughing-stock of 
 Trimington," pursued Mr. Clark. " You have 
 wounded me in my tenderest feelings ; you have 
 destroyed my faith in women. I shall never be 
 the same man again. I hope that you will never 
 find out what a terrible mistake you've made." 
 
 Mrs. Bowman made a noise half-way between 
 a sniff and a sob ; Mr. Tucker's snifif was unmis- 
 takable. 
 
 " I will return your presents to-morrow," said 
 Mr. Clark, rising. " Good-bye, for ever ! " 
 
 He paused at the door, but Mrs. Bowman did 
 not look up. A second later the front door closed 
 and she heard him walk rapidly away. 
 
192 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 For some time after his departure she pre- 
 served a silence which Mr. Tucker endeavoured 
 in vain to break. He took a chair by her side, 
 and at the third attempt managed to gain posses- 
 sion of her hand. 
 
 " I deserved all he said," she cried, at last. 
 " Poor fellow, I hope he will do nothing des- 
 perate." 
 
 " No, no," said Mr. Tucker, soothingly. 
 
 "His eyes were quite wild," continued the 
 widow. " If anything happens to him I shall 
 never forgive myself. I have spoilt his life." 
 
 Mr. Tucker pressed her hand and spoke of the 
 well-known refining influence a hopeless passion 
 for a good woman had on a man. He cited his 
 own case as an example. 
 
 " Disappointment spoilt my life so far as Worldly 
 success goes," he said, softly, " but no doubt the 
 discipline was good for me." 
 
 Mrs. Bowman smiled faintly, and began to be a 
 little comforted. Conversation shifted from the 
 future of Mr. Clark to the past of Mr. Tucker ; 
 the widow's curiosity as to the extent of the 
 latter's worldly success remaining unanswered by 
 reason of Mr. Tucker's sudden remembrance of 
 a bear-fight. 
 
 Their future was discussed after supper, and 
 the advisability of leaving Trimington considered 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 193 
 
 at some length. The towns and villages of Eng- 
 land were at their disposal ; Mr. Tucker's 
 business, it appeared, being independent of place. 
 He drew a picture of life in a bungalow with 
 modern improvements at some seaside town, and, 
 the cloth having been removed, took out his 
 pocket-book and, extracting an old envelope, 
 drew plans on the back. 
 
 It was a delightful pastime and made Mrs. 
 Bowman feel that she was twenty and beginning 
 life again. She toyed with the pocket-book and 
 complimented Mr. Tucker on his skill as a 
 draughtsman. A letter or two fell out and she 
 replaced them. Then a small newspaper cutting, 
 which had fluttered out with them, met her eye. 
 
 "A little veranda with roses climbing up it," 
 murmured Mr. Tucker, still drawing, "and a 
 couple of " 
 
 His pencil was arrested by an odd, gasping 
 noise from the window. He looked up and saw 
 her sitting stiffly in her chair. Her face seemed 
 to have swollen and to be coloured in patches ; 
 her eyes were round and amazed. 
 
 " Aren't you well .'' " he inquired, rising in dis- 
 order. 
 
 Mrs. Bowman opened her lips, but no sound 
 came from them. Then she gave a long, shiver- 
 ing sigh. 
 
 13 
 
194 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 "Heat of the room too much for you?" in- 
 quired the other, anxiously. 
 
 Mrs. Bowman took another long, shivering 
 breath. Still incapable of speech, she took the 
 slip of paper in her trembling fingers and an in- 
 voluntary exclamation of dismay broke from Mr. 
 Tucker. She dabbed fiercely at her burning eyes 
 with her handkerchief and read it again. 
 
 " Tucker. — If this should meet the eye of 
 
 Charles Tucker, who knew Amelia Wyborn 
 
 twenty -five years ago, he will hear of something 
 
 greatly to his advantage by coutmunicating with 
 
 N.C., Royal Hotel, Northtown." 
 
 Mrs. Bowman found speech at last. " N. C. — 
 Nathaniel Clark," she said, in broken tones. 
 " So that is where he went last month. Oh, 
 what a fool I've been ! Oh, what a simple 
 fool ! " 
 
 Mr. Tucker gave a deprecatory cough. " I — I 
 had forgotten it was there," he said, nervously. 
 
 "Yes," breathed the widow, " I can quite be- 
 lieve that." 
 
 " I was going to show you later on," declared 
 the other, regarding her carefully. " I was, really. 
 I couldn't bear the idea of keeping a secret from 
 you long." 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 195 
 
 ' I had forgotten it was there,' he said, nervously.'' 
 
 13* 
 
196 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 Mrs. Bowman smiled — a terrible smile. " The 
 audacity of the man," she broke out, "to stand 
 there and lecture me on my behaviour. To talk 
 about his spoilt life, and all the time " 
 
 She got up and walked about the room, angrily 
 brushing aside the proffered attentions of Mr. 
 Tucker. 
 
 " Laughing-stock of Trimington, is he .'' " she 
 stormed. "He shall be more than that before I 
 have done with him. The wickedness of the 
 man ; the artfulness ! " 
 
 " That's what I thought," said Mr. Tucker, 
 shaking his head. " I said to him " 
 
 " You're as bad," said the widow, turning on 
 him fiercely. " All the time you two men were 
 talking at each other you were laughing in your 
 sleeves at me. And I sat there like a child 
 taking it all in. I've no doubt you met every 
 night and arranged what you were to do next day." 
 
 Mr. Tucker's lips twitched. " I would do 
 more than that to win you, Amelia," he said, 
 humbly. 
 
 " You'll have to," was the grim reply. " Now 
 I want to hear all about this from the beginning. 
 And don't keep anything from me, or it'll be the 
 worse for you." 
 
 She sat down again and motioned him to 
 proceed. 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 197 
 
 " When I saw the advertisement in the North- 
 town Chronicle" began Mr. Tucker, in husky 
 voice, " I danced with " 
 
 " Never mind about that," interrupted the 
 widow, dryly. 
 
 " I went to the hotel and saw Mr. Clark," 
 resumed Mr. Tucker, somewhat crestfallen. 
 " When I heard that you were a widow, all the 
 old times came back to me again. The years fell 
 from me like a mantle. Once again 1 saw myself 
 walking with you over the footpath to Cooper's 
 farm ; once again I felt your hand in mine. Your 
 voice sounded in my ears " 
 
 " You saw Mr. Clark," the widow reminded 
 him. 
 
 "He had heard all about our early love from 
 you," said Mr. Tucker, " and as a last desperate 
 chance for freedom he had come down to try and 
 hunt me up, and induce me to take you off his 
 hands." 
 
 Mrs. Bowman uttered a smothered exclamation. 
 
 "He tempted me for two days," said Mr. 
 Tucker, gravely. " The temptation was too 
 great and I fell. Besides that, I wanted to 
 rescue you from the clutches of such a man." 
 
 "Why didn't he tell me himself?" inquired 
 the widow. 
 
 "Just what I asked him," said the other, " but 
 
198 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 he said that you were much too fond of him to 
 give him up. He is not worthy of you, Amelia ; 
 he is fickle. He has got his eye on another 
 lady." 
 
 "What ? " said the widow, with sudden loud- 
 ness. 
 
 Mr. Tucker nodded mournfully. " Miss Hack- 
 butt," he said, slowly. " I saw her the other day, 
 and what he can see in her I can't think." 
 
 "Miss Hackbutt ? " repeated the widow, in a 
 
 smothered voice. " Miss " She got up and 
 
 began to pace the room again. 
 
 " He must be blind," said Mr. Tucker, 
 positively. 
 
 Mrs. Bowman stopped suddenly and stood 
 regarding him. There was a light in her eye 
 which made him feel anything but comfortable. 
 He was glad when she transferred her gaze to 
 the clock. She looked at it so long that he 
 murmured something about going. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said. 
 
 Mr. Tucker began to repeat his excuses, but 
 she interrupted him. " Not now," she said, 
 decidedly. " I'm tired. Good-night." 
 
 Mr. Tucker pressed her hand. " Good-night," 
 he said, tenderly. " I am afraid the excitement 
 has been too much for you. May I come round 
 at the usual time to-morrow .■* " 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 199 
 
 " Yes," said the widow. 
 
 She took the advertisement from the table and, 
 folding it carefully, placed it in her purse. Mr. 
 Tucker withdrew as she looked up. 
 
 He walked back to the "George" deep in 
 thought, and over a couple of pipes in bed 
 thought over the events of the evening. He fell 
 asleep at last and dreamed that he and Miss 
 Hackbutt were being united in the bonds of 
 holy matrimony by the Rev. Nathaniel Clark. 
 
 The vague misgivings of the previous night 
 disappeared in the morning sunshine. He shaved 
 carefully and spent some time in the selection of 
 a tie. Over an excellent breakfast he arranged 
 further explanations and excuses for the appease- 
 ment of Mrs. Bowman. 
 
 He was still engaged on the task when he 
 started to call on her. Half-way to the house he 
 arrived at the conclusion that he was looking too 
 cheerful. His face took on an expression of 
 deep seriousness, only to give way the next 
 moment to one of the blankest amazement. In 
 front of him, and approaching with faltering steps, 
 was Mr. Clark, and leaning trustfully on his arm 
 the comfortable figure of Mrs. Bowman. Her 
 brow was unruffled and her lips smiling. 
 
 " Beautiful morning," she said, pleasantly, as 
 they met. 
 
200 A LOVE-KNOT 
 
 "Lovely!" murmured the wondering Mr. 
 Tucker, trying, but in vain, to catch the eye of 
 Mr. Clark. 
 
 " I have been paying an early visit," said the 
 widow, still smiling. " I surprised you, didn't I, 
 Nathaniel ? " 
 
 "You did," said Mr. Clark, in an unearthly 
 voice. 
 
 " We got talking about last night," continued 
 the widow, " and Nathaniel started pleading with 
 me to give him another chance. I suppose that 
 
 I am soft-hearted, but he was so miserable 
 
 You were never so miserable in your life before, 
 were you, Nathaniel ? " 
 
 "Never," said Mr. Clark, in the same strange 
 voice. 
 
 " He was so wretched that at last I gave way," 
 said Mrs. Bowman, with a simper. " Poor 
 fellow, it was such a shock to him that he hasn't 
 got back his cheerfulness yet." 
 
 Mr. Tucker said, " Indeed ! " 
 
 " He'll be all right soon," said Mrs. Bowman, 
 in confidential tones. " We are on the way to 
 put our banns up, and once that is done he will 
 feel safe. You are not really afraid of losing me 
 again, are you, Nathaniel ? " 
 
 Mr. Clark shook his head, and, meeting the 
 eye of Mr. Tucker^ in the process, favoured him 
 
A LOVE-KNOT 201 
 
 with a glance of such utter venom that the latter 
 was almost startled. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Tucker," said the widow, 
 holding out her hand. " Nathaniel did think of 
 inviting you to come to my wedding, but perhaps 
 it is best not. However, if I alter my mind, I 
 will get him to advertise for you again. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 She placed her arm in Mr. Clark's again, and 
 led him slowly away. Mr. Tucker stood watch- 
 ing them for some time, and then, with a glance 
 in the directon of the " George, " where he had 
 left a very small portmanteau, he did a hasty 
 sum in comparative values and made his way 
 to the railway-station. 
 
HER UNCLE 
 
Her Uncle 
 
 MR. WRAGG sat in a high-backed Windsor 
 chair at the door of his house, smoking. 
 Before him the road descended steeply to the 
 harbour, a small blue patch of which was visible 
 from his door. Children over five were at school ; 
 children under that age, and suspiciously large 
 for their years, played about in careless disregard 
 of the remarks which Mr. Wragg occasionally 
 launched at them. Twice a ball had whizzed 
 past him ; and a small but select party, with a 
 tip-cat of huge dimensions and awesome points, 
 played just out of reach. Mr. Wragg, snapping 
 his eyes nervously, threatened in vain. 
 
 " Morning, old crusty-patch," said a cheerful 
 voice at his elbow. 
 
 Mr. Wragg glanced up at the young fisherman 
 towering above him, and eyed him disdainfully. 
 
 " Why don't you leave 'em alone ? " inquired 
 the young man. " Be cheerful and smile at 'em. 
 You'd soon be able to smile with a little practice." 
 
 " You mind your business, George Gale, and 
 
2o6 HER UNCLE 
 
 I'll mind mine," said Mr. Wragg, fiercely; " I've 
 'ad enough of your impudence, and I'm not going 
 to have any more. And don't lean up agin my 
 house, 'cos I won't 'ave it." 
 
 Mr. Gale laughed. " Got out o' bed the wrong 
 side again, haven't you?" he inquired. "Why 
 don't you put that side up against the wall ? " 
 
 Mr. Wragg puffed on in silence and became 
 absorbed in a fishing-boat gliding past at the 
 bottom of the hill. 
 
 " I hear you've got a niece coming to live with 
 you ?" pursued the young man. 
 
 Mr. Wragg smoked on. 
 
 "Poor thing!" said the other, with a sigh. 
 " Does she take after you — in looks, I mean ? " 
 
 "If I was twenty years younger nor what I 
 am," said Mr. Wragg, sententiously, "I'd give 
 you a hiding, George Gale." 
 
 " It's what I want," agreed Mr. Gale, placidly. 
 " Well, so long, Mr. Wragg. I can't stand talk- 
 ing to you all day." 
 
 He was about to move off, after pretending to 
 pinch the ear of the infuriated Mr. Wragg, when 
 he noticed a station-fly, with a big trunk on the 
 box-seat, crawling slowly up the hill towards 
 them. 
 
 " Good riddance," said Mr. Wragg, sug- 
 gestively. 
 
HER UNCLE 207 
 
 The other paid no heed. The vehicle came 
 nearer, and a girl, who plainly owed none of her 
 looks to Mr. Wragg's side of the family, came 
 into view behind the trunk. She waved her 
 hand, and Mr. Wragg, removing his pipe from 
 his mouth, waved it in return. Mr. Gale edged 
 away about eighteen inches, and, with an air of 
 assumed carelessness, gazed idly about him. 
 
 He saluted the driver as the fly stopped and 
 gazed hard at the apparition that descended. 
 Then he caught his breath as the girl, approach- 
 ing her uncle, kissed him affectionately. Mr. 
 Wragg, looking up fiercely at Mr. Gale, was 
 surprised at the expression on that gentleman's 
 face. 
 
 " Isn't it lovely here ? " said the girl, looking 
 about her ; " and isn't the air nice ? " 
 
 She followed Mr. Wragg inside, and the 
 driver, a small man and elderly, began tug- 
 ging at the huge trunk. Mr. Gale's moment had 
 arrived. 
 
 " Stand away, Joe," he said, stepping forward. 
 " I'll take that in for you." 
 
 He hoisted the trunk on his shoulders, and, 
 rather glad of his lowered face, advanced slowly 
 into the house. Uncle and niece had just 
 vanished at the head of the stairs, and Mr. Gale, 
 after a moment's hesitation, followed. 
 
2o8 HER UNCLE 
 
 " In 'ere," said Mr. Wragg, throwing open a 
 door. " Halloa ! What are you doing in my 
 house ? Put it down. Put it down at once ; d'ye 
 hear ? " 
 
 Mr. Gale caught the girl's surprised glance and, 
 somewhat flustered, swung round so suddenly 
 that the corner of the trunk took the gesticulating 
 Mr. Wragg by the side of the head and bumped 
 it against the wall. Deaf to his out-cries, Mr. 
 Gale entered the room and placed the box on the 
 floor. 
 
 "Where shall I put it?" he inquired of the 
 girl, respectfully. 
 
 "You go out of my house," stormed Mr. 
 Wragg, entering with his hand to his head. "Go 
 on. Out you go." 
 
 The young man surveyed him with solicitude. 
 
 "I'm very sorry if I hurt you, Mr. Wragg " 
 
 he began. 
 
 " Out you go," repeated the other. 
 
 "It was a pure accident," pleaded Mr. Gale. 
 
 " And don't you set foot in my 'ouse agin," 
 said the vengeful Mr. Wragg. " You made your- 
 self officious bringing that box in a-purpose to 
 give me a clump o' the side of the head with it." 
 
 Mr. Gale denied the charge so eagerly, and 
 withal so politely, that the elder man regarded 
 him in amazement. Then his glance fell on his 
 
HER UNCLE 
 
 209 
 
 ' The corner of the trunk took the gesticulating Mr. Wragg 
 by the side of the head." 
 
 14 
 
210 HER UNCLE 
 
 niece, and he smiled with sudden malice as Mr. 
 Gale slowly and humbly descended the stairs. 
 
 " One o' the worst chaps about here, my dear," 
 he said, loudly. " Mate o' one o' the fishing- 
 boats, and as impudent as they make 'em. 
 Many's the time I've clouted his head for 'im." 
 
 The girl regarded his small figure with sur- 
 prised respect. 
 
 " When he was a boy, I mean," continued Mr. 
 Wragg. " Now, there's your room, and when 
 you've put things to rights, come down and I'll 
 show you over the house." 
 
 He glanced at his niece several times during 
 the day, trying hard to trace a likeness, first to 
 his dead sister and then to himself. Several 
 times he scrutinized himself in the small glass 
 on the mantelpiece, but in vain. Even when he 
 twisted his thin beard in his hand and tried 
 to ignore his moustache, the likeness still eluded 
 him. 
 
 His opinion of Miss Miller's looks was more 
 than shared by the young men of Waterside. It 
 was a busy youth who could not spare five 
 minutes to chat with an uncle so fortunate, and 
 in less than a couple of weeks Mr. Wragg was 
 astonished at his popularity, and the deference 
 accorded to his opinions. 
 
 The most humble of them all was Mr. Gale, 
 
HER UNCLE 211 
 
 and, with a pertinacity which was almost proof 
 against insuh, he strove to force his company 
 upon the indignant Mr. Wragg. Debarred from 
 that, he took to haunting the road, on one occa- 
 sion passing the house no fewer than fifty-seven 
 times in one afternoon. His infatuation was plain 
 to be seen of all men. Wise men closed their 
 eyes to it ; others had theirs closed for them, Mr. 
 Gale being naturally incensed to think that there 
 was anything in his behaviour that attracted 
 attention. 
 
 His father was at sea, and, to the dismay of the 
 old woman who kept house for him, he began 
 to neglect his food. A melancholy but not un- 
 pleasing idea that he was slowly fading occurred 
 to him when he found that he could only eat two 
 herrings for breakfast instead of four. His par- 
 ticular friend, Joe Harris, to whom he confided 
 the fact, remonstrated hotly. 
 
 " There's plenty of other girls," he suggested. 
 
 " Not hke her," said Mr. Gale. 
 
 " You're getting to be a by-word in the place," 
 complained his friend. 
 
 Mr. Gale flushed. " I'd do more than that for 
 her sake," he said, softly. 
 
 " It ain't the way," said Mr. Harris, impa- 
 tiently. " Girls like a man o' spirit ; not a chap 
 who hangs about without speaking, and looks as 
 
 14* 
 
212 HER UNCLE 
 
 though he has been caught stealing the cat's milk. 
 Why don't you go round and see her one after- 
 noon when old Wragg is out ? " 
 
 Mr. Gale shivered. " I dursen't," he confessed. 
 
 Mr. Harris pondered. " She was going to be 
 a hospital nurse afore she came down here," he 
 said, slowly. " P'r'aps if you was to break your 
 leg or something she'd come and nurse you. 
 She's wonderful fond of it, I understand." 
 
 " But then, you see, I haven't broken it," said 
 the other, impatiently. 
 
 " You've got a bicycle,'' said Mr. Harris. 
 
 " You — wait a minute " he half-closed his eyes 
 
 and waved aside a remark of his friend's. " Sup- 
 pose you 'ad an accident and fell off it, just in 
 front of the house ? " 
 
 " I never fall off," said Mr. Gale, simply. 
 
 " Old Wragg is out, and me and Charlie Brown 
 carry you into the house," continued Mr. Harris, 
 closing his eyes entirely. " When you come to 
 your senses, she's bending over you and crying." 
 
 He opened his eyes suddenly and then, closing 
 one, gazed hard at the bewildered Gale. " To- 
 morrow afternoon at two," he said, briskly, "me 
 and Charlie'll be there waiting." 
 
 " Suppose old Wragg ain't out .'' " objected Mr. 
 Gale, after ten minutes' explanation. 
 
 "He's at the 'Lobster Pot' five days out of 
 
HER UNCLE 213 
 
 six at that time," was the reply ; " if he ain't 
 there to-morrow, it can't be helped." 
 
 Mr. Gale spent the evening practising falls in a 
 quiet lane, and by the time night came had 
 attained to such proficiency that on the way home 
 he fell off without intending it. It seemed an 
 easier thing than he had imagined, and next day 
 at two o'clock punctually he put his lessons into 
 practice. 
 
 By a slight error in judgment his head came 
 into contact with Mr. Wragg's doorstep, and, 
 half-stunned, he was about to rise, when Mr. 
 Harris rushed up and forced him down again. 
 Mr. Brown, who was also in attendance, helped 
 to restore his faculties by a well-placed kick. 
 
 " He's lost his senses," said Mr. Harris, look- 
 ing up at Miss Miller, as she came to the 
 door. ' 
 
 " You could ha' heard him fall arf a mile 
 away," added Mr. Brown. 
 
 Miss Miller stooped and examined the victim 
 carefully. There was a nasty cut on the side of 
 his head, and a general limpness of body which 
 was alarming. She went indoors for some water, 
 and by the tim2 she returned the enterprising 
 Mr. Harris had got the patient in the passage. 
 
 " I'm afraid he's going," -he said, in answer to 
 the girl's glance. 
 
214 HER UNCLE 
 
 " Run for the doctor," she said, hastily. 
 " Quick ! " 
 
 "We don't like to leave 'im, miss," said Mr. 
 Harris, tenderly. " I s'pose it would be too 
 much to ask you to go ? " 
 
 Miss Miller, with a parting glance at the 
 prostrate man, departed at once. 
 
 "What did you do that for?" demanded Mr. 
 Gale, sitting up. " I don't want the doctor ; he'll 
 spoil everything. Why didn't you go away and 
 leave us ?" 
 
 " I sent 'er for the doctor," said Mr. Harris, 
 slowly. " I sent 'er for the doctor so as we can 
 get you to bed afore she comes back." 
 
 ''Bed?" exclaimed Mr. Gale. 
 
 " Up you go," said Mr. Harris, briefly. 
 " We'll tell her we carried you up. Now, don't 
 waste time." 
 
 Pushed by his friends, and stopping to expos- 
 tulate at every step, Mr. Gale was thrust at last 
 into Mr. Wragg's bedroom. 
 
 " Off with your clothes," said the leading spirit. 
 " What's the matter with you, Charlie Brown .-•" 
 
 " Don't mind me ; I'll be all right in a minute," 
 said that gentleman, wiping his eyes. " I'm 
 thinking of old Wragg." 
 
 Before Mr. Gale had made up his mind his 
 coat and waistcoat were off, and Mr. Brown was 
 
HER UNCLE 
 
 215 
 
 ' What did you do ihat for ? ' demanded Ut. Gale, sitting up/ 
 
2i6 HER UNCLE 
 
 at work on his boots. In five minutes' time he 
 was tucked up in Mr. Wragg's bed ; his clothes 
 were in a neat little pile on a chair, and Messrs. 
 Harris and Brown were indulging in a congratu- 
 latory double-shuffle by the window. 
 
 " Don't come to your senses yet awhile," said 
 the former; "and when you do, tell the doctor 
 you can't move your limbs." 
 
 " If they try to pull you out o' bed," said Mr. 
 Brown, " scream as though you're being killed. 
 H'shl Here they are." 
 
 Voices sounded below ; Miss Miller and the 
 doctor had met at the door with Mr. Wragg, and 
 a violent outburst on that gentleman's part died 
 away as he saw that the intruders had disappeared. 
 He was still grumbling when Mr. Harris, putting 
 his head over the balusters, asked him to make a 
 little less noise. 
 
 Mr. Wragg came upstairs in three bounds, and 
 his mien was so terrible that Messrs. Harris and 
 Brown huddled together for protection. Then 
 his gaze fell on the bed and he strove in vain for 
 speech. 
 
 " We done it for the best," faltered Mr. Harris. 
 
 Mr. Wragg made a gurgling noise in. his 
 throat, and, as the doctor entered the room, 
 pointed with a trembling finger at the bed. The 
 other two gentlemen edged towards the door. 
 
HER UNCLE 217 
 
 " Take him away ; take him away at once," 
 vociferated Mr. Wragg. 
 
 The doctor motioned him to silence, and Joe 
 Harris and Mr. Brown held their breaths ner- 
 vously as he made an examination. For ten 
 minutes he prodded and puzzled over the in- 
 sensible form in the bed ; then he turned to the 
 couple at the door. 
 
 "How did it happen ? " he inquired. 
 
 Mr. Harris told him. He also added that he 
 thought it was best to put him to bed at once 
 before he came round, 
 
 " Quite right," said the doctor, nodding. " It's 
 a very serious case." 
 
 " Well, I can't 'ave him 'ere," broke in Mr. 
 Wragg. 
 
 "It won't be for long," said the doctor, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 " I can't 'ave him 'ere at all, and, what's more, 
 I won't. Let him go to his own bed," said Mr. 
 Wragg, quivering with excitement. 
 
 "He is not to be moved," said the doctor, 
 decidedly. " If he comes to his senses and gets 
 out of bed you must coax him back again." 
 
 "Coax?" stuttered Mr. Wragg. ''Coax? 
 What's he got to do with me ? This house isn't 
 a 'orsepittle. Put his clothes on and take 'im 
 away." 
 
2i8 HER UNCLE 
 
 " Do nothing of the kind," was the stern reply. 
 " In fact, his clothes had better be taken out of 
 the room, in case he comes round and tries to 
 dress." 
 
 Mr. Harris skipped across to the clothes and 
 tucked them gleefully under his arm ; Mr. Brown 
 secured the boots. 
 
 " When he will come out of this stupor I can't 
 say," continued the doctor. " Keep him perfectly 
 quiet and don't let him see a soul." 
 
 " Look 'ere " began Mr. Wragg, in a 
 
 broken voice. 
 
 " As to diet — water," said the doctor, looking 
 round. 
 
 " Water ? " said Miss Miller, who had come 
 quietly into the room. 
 
 "Water," repeated the doctor; "as much as 
 he likes to take, of course. Let me see : to-day 
 is Tuesday. I'll look in on Friday, or Saturday 
 at latest ; but till then he must have nothing but 
 clear cold water." 
 
 Mr. Harris shot a horrified glance at the bed, 
 which happened just then to creak. " But 
 s'pose he asks for food, sir ? " he said, respect- 
 fully. 
 
 " He mustn't have it," said the other, sharply. 
 " If he is very insistent," he added, turning to the 
 sullen Mr. Wragg, "tell him that he has just had 
 
HER UNCLE 219 
 
 food. He won't know any better, and he will be 
 quite satisfied." 
 
 He motioned them out of the room, and then, 
 lowering the blinds, followed downstairs on tip- 
 toe. A murmur of voices, followed by the closing 
 of the front door, sounded from below ; and Mr. 
 Gale, getting cautiously out of bed, saw Messrs. 
 Harris and Brown walk up the street talking 
 earnestly. He stole back on tip-toe to the door, 
 and strove in vain to catch the purport of the low- 
 voiced discussion below. Mr. Wragg's voice was 
 raised, but indistinct. Then he fancied that he 
 heard a laugh. 
 
 He waited until the door closed behind the 
 doctor, and then- went back to bed, to try and 
 think out a situation which was fast becoming 
 mysterious. 
 
 He lay in the darkened room until a cheerful 
 clatter of crockery below heralded the approach of 
 tea-time. He heard Miss Miller call her uncle in 
 from the garden, and with some satisfaction heard 
 her pleasant voice engaged in brisk talk. At 
 intervals Mr. Wragg laughed loud and long. 
 
 Tea was cleared away, and the long evening 
 dragged along in silence. Uncle and niece were 
 apparently sitting in the garden, but they came in 
 to supper, and later on the fumes of Mr. Wragg's 
 pipe pervaded the house. At ten o'clock he 
 
220 HER UNCLE 
 
 heard footsteps ascending the stairs, and through 
 half-closed eyes saw Mr. Wragg enter the bed- 
 room with a candle. 
 
 " Time the pore feller had 'is water," he said to 
 his niece, who remained outside. 
 
 " Unless he is still insensible," was the reply. 
 
 Mr. Gale, who was feeling both thirsty and 
 hungry, slowly opened his eyes, and fixed them in 
 a vacant stare on Mr. Wragg. 
 
 "Where am I ?" he inquired, in a faint voice. 
 
 " Buckingham Pallis," replied Mr. Wragg, 
 promptly. 
 
 Mr. Gale ground his teeth. "How did I come 
 here ? " he said, at last. 
 
 " The fairies brought you," said Mr. Wragg. 
 
 The young man rubbed his eyes and blinked 
 at the candle. " I seem to remember falling," he 
 said, slowly ; "has anything happened ? " 
 
 " One o' the fairies dropped you," said Mr. 
 Wragg, with great readiness; "fortunately, you 
 fell on your head." 
 
 A sound suspiciously like a giggle came from 
 the landing and fell heavily on Gale's ears. He 
 closed his eyes and tried to think. 
 
 " How did I get in your bedroom, Mr. 
 Wragg .-* " he inquired, after a long pause. 
 
 " Light-'eaded," confided Mr. Wragg to the 
 landing, and significantly tapping his forehead. 
 
HER UNCLE 221 
 
 " This ain't my bedroom," he said, turning to the 
 invalid. " It's the King's. His Majesty gave 
 up 'is bed at once, direckly he 'eard you was 
 'urt." 
 
 " And he's going to sleep on three chairs in the 
 front parlour — if he can," said a low voice from 
 the landing. 
 
 The humour faded from Mr. Wragg's face and 
 was succeeded by an expression of great sour- 
 ness. "Where is the pore feller's supper?" he 
 inquired. " I don't suppose he can eat anything, 
 but he might try." 
 
 He went to the door and a low-voiced colloquy 
 ensued. The rival merits of cold chicken versus 
 steak-pie as an invalid diet were discussed at 
 some length. Finally the voice of Miss Miller 
 insisted on chicken, and a glass of port-wine. 
 
 " I'll tell 'im it's chicken and port-wine then," 
 said Mr. Wragg, reappearing with a bedroom jug 
 and a tumbler, which he placed on a small table 
 by the bedside. 
 
 " Don't let him eat too much, mind," said the 
 voice from the landing, anxiously. 
 
 Mr. Wragg said that he would be careful, and 
 addressing Mr. Gale implored him not to over- 
 eat himself The young man stared at him 
 offensively, and, pretty certain now of the true 
 state of affairs, thought only of escape. 
 
222 HER UNCLE 
 
 " I feel better," he said, slowly. " I think I 
 will go home." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the other, soothingly. 
 
 " If you will fetch my clothes," continued Mr. 
 Gale, " I will go now." 
 
 " Clothes V said Mr. Wragg, in an astonished 
 voice. " Why, you didn't 'ave any." 
 
 Mr. Gale sat up suddenly in bed and shook his 
 
 fist at him. " Look here " he began, in a 
 
 choking voice. 
 
 "The fairies brought you as you was," con- 
 tinued Mr. Wragg, grinning furiously ; " and of 
 all the perfect picturs " 
 
 A series of gasping sobs sounded from the 
 landing, the stairs creaked, and a door slammed 
 violently below. In spite of this precaution the 
 sounds of a maiden in dire distress were distinctly 
 audible. 
 
 "You give me my clothes," shouted the now 
 furious Mr. Gale, springing out of bed. 
 
 Mr. Wragg drew back. " I'll go and fetch 
 'em," he said, hastily. 
 
 He ran lightly downstairs, and the young man, 
 sitting on the edge of the bed, waited. Ten 
 minutes passed, and he heard Mr. Wragg return- 
 ing, followed by his niece. He slipped back into 
 bed again. 
 
 " It's 'is pore brain again," he heard, in the 
 
HER UNCLE 223 
 
 unctuous tones which Mr. Wragg appeared to 
 keep for this emergency. " It's clothes he wants 
 now ; by and by I suppose it'll be something 
 else. Well, the doctor said we'd got to humour 
 him." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " sighed Miss Miller, with a 
 break in her voice. 
 
 " See 'ow his face'll light up when he sees 
 them," said her uncle. 
 
 He pushed the door open, and after surveying 
 the patient with a benevolent smile triumphantly 
 held up a collar and tie for his inspection and 
 threw them on the bed. Then he disappeared 
 hastily and, closing the door, turned the key in 
 the lock. 
 
 "If you want any more chicken or anything," 
 he cried through the door, " ring the bell." 
 
 The horrified prisoner heard them pass down- 
 stairs again, and, after a glass of water, sat down 
 by the window and tried to think. He got up 
 and tried the door, but it opened inwards, and 
 after a severe onslaught the handle came off in 
 his hand. Tired out at last he went to bed again, 
 and slept fitfully until morning. 
 
 Mr. Wragg visited him again after breakfast, 
 but with great foresight only put his head in at 
 the door, while Miss Miller remained outside in 
 case of need. In these circumstances Mr. Gale 
 
234 HER UNCLE 
 
 met his anxiolis inquiries with a sullen silence, 
 and the other, tired at last of baiting him, turned 
 to go. 
 
 " I'll be back soon," he said, with a grin. 
 "I'm just going out to tell folks 'ow you're getting 
 on. There's a lot of 'em anxious." 
 
 He was as good as his word, and Mr. Gale, 
 peeping from the window, raged helplessly as 
 little knots of neighbours stood smiling up at 
 the house. Unable to endure it any longer he 
 returned to bed, resolving to wait until night 
 came, and then drop from the window and run 
 home in a blanket. 
 
 The smell of dinner was almost painful, but he 
 made no sign. Mr. Wragg in high good humour 
 smoked a pipe after his meal, and then went out 
 again. The house was silent except for the 
 occasional movements of the girl below. Then 
 there was a sudden tap at his door. 
 
 " Well ? " said Mr. Gale. 
 
 The door opened and, hardly able to believe 
 his eyes, he saw his clothes thrown into the room. 
 Hunger was forgotten, and he almost smiled as he 
 hastily dressed himself. 
 
 The smile vanished as he thought of the people 
 in the streets, and in a thoughtful fashion he made 
 his way slowly downstairs. The bright face of 
 Miss Miller appeared at the parlour door. 
 
HER UNCLE 225 
 
 " Better?" she smiled. 
 
 Mr. Gale reddened and, drawing himself up 
 stiffly, made no reply. 
 
 " That's polite," said the girl, indignantly. 
 "After giving you your clothes, too. What do 
 you think my uncle will say to me ? He was 
 going to keep you here till Friday." 
 
 Mr. Gale muttered an apology. " I've made a 
 fool of myself," he added. 
 
 Miss Miller nodded cheerfully. " Are you 
 hungry ? " she inquired. 
 
 The other drew himself up again. 
 
 " Because there is some nice cold beef left," 
 said the girl, glancing into the room. 
 
 Mr. Gale started and, hardly able to believe in 
 his good fortune, followed her inside. In a very 
 short time the cold beef was a thing of the past, 
 and the young man, toying with his beer-glass, 
 sat listening to a lecture on his behaviour couched 
 in the severest terms his hostess could devise. 
 
 " You'll be the laughing-stock of the place," 
 she concluded. 
 
 " I shall go away," he said, gloomily. 
 
 " I shouldn't do that," said the girl, with a 
 judicial air ; " live it down." 
 
 " I shall go away," repeated Mr. Gale, de- 
 cidedly. " I shall ship for a deep-sea voyage," 
 
 Miss Miller sighed. " It's too bad," she said, 
 
 15 
 
226 HER UNCLE 
 
 slowly ; " perhaps you wouldn't look so foolish 
 if " 
 
 " If what ? " inquired the other, after a long 
 pause. 
 
 " If," said Miss Miller, looking down, " if— 
 if " 
 
 Mr. Gale started and trembled violently, as a 
 wild idea, born of her blushes, occurred to him. 
 
 " If," he said, in quivering tones, "if — if " 
 
 " Go on," said the girl, softly. " Why, I got as 
 far as that : and you are a man." 
 
 Mr. Gale's voice became almost inaudible. 
 " If we got married, do you mean .■* " he said, at 
 last. 
 
 " Married ! " exclaimed Miss Miller, starting 
 back a full two inches. " Good gracious ! the 
 man is mad after all." 
 
 The bitter and loudly expressed opinion of Mr. 
 Wragg when he returned an hour later was that 
 they were^bothmad. 
 
THE DREAMER 
 
 15* 
 
The Dreamer 
 
 DREAMS and warnings are things I don't 
 believe in, said the night watchman. The 
 only dream I ever 'ad that come anything like 
 true was once when I dreamt I came in for a 
 fortune, and next morning I found half a crown in 
 the street, which I sold to a man for fourpence. 
 And once, two days arter my missis *ad dreamt 
 she *ad spilt a cup of tea down the front of 'er 
 Sunday dress, she spoilt a pot o' paint of mine by 
 sitting in it. 
 
 The only other dream I know of that come 
 true happened to the cook of a barque I was 
 aboard of once, called the Southern Belle. He 
 was a silly, pasty-faced sort o' chap, always giving 
 hisself airs about eddication to sailormen who 
 didn't believe in it, and one night, when we was 
 homeward-bound from Sydney, he suddenly sat 
 up in 'is bunk and laughed so loud that he woke 
 us all up. 
 
 " Wot's wrong, cookie ? " ses one o' the chaps. 
 
230 THE DREAMER 
 
 " I was dreaming," ses the cook, "such a funny 
 dream. I dreamt old Bill Foster fell out o' the 
 foretop and broke 'is leg." 
 
 " Well, wot is there to laugh at in that ?" ses 
 old Bill, very sharp. 
 
 " It was funny in my dream," ses the cook. 
 " You looked so comic with your leg doubled up 
 under you, you can't think. It would ha' made a 
 cat laugh." 
 
 Bill Foster said he'd make 'im laugh the other 
 side of his face if he wasn't careful, and then we 
 went off to sleep agin and forgot all about it. 
 
 If you'll believe me, on'y three days arterwards 
 pore Bill did fall out o' the foretop and break his 
 leg. He was surprised, but I never see a man so 
 surprised as the cook was. His eyes was nearly 
 starting out of 'is head, but by the time the other 
 chaps 'ad picked Bill up and asked 'im whether 
 he was hurt, cook 'ad pulled 'imself together agin 
 and was giving himself such airs it was perfectly 
 sickening. 
 
 " My dreams always come true," he ses. '^' It's 
 a kind o' second sight with me. It's a gift, and, 
 being tender-'arted, it worries me terrible some- 
 times." 
 
 He was going on like that, taking credit for a 
 pure accident, when the second officer came up 
 and told 'em to carry Bill below. He was in 
 
THE DREAMER 231 
 
 agony, of course, but he kept 'is presence of 
 mind, and as they passed the cook he gave 'im 
 such a clip on the side of the 'ead as nearly 
 broke it. 
 
 " That's for dreaming about me," he ses. 
 
 The skipper and the fust officer and most of 
 the hands set 'is leg between them, and arter the 
 skipper 'ad made him wot he called comfortable, 
 but wot Bill called something that I won't soil my 
 ears by repeating, the officers went off and the 
 cook came and sat down by the side o' Bill and 
 talked about his gift. 
 
 " I don't talk about it as a rule," he ses, " 'cos 
 it frightens people." 
 
 " It's a wonderful gift, cookie," ses Charlie 
 Epps. 
 
 All of 'em thought the same, not knowing wot 
 a fust-class liar the cook was, and he sat there and 
 lied to 'em till he couldn't 'ardly speak, he was so 
 'oarse. 
 
 " My grandmother was a gipsy," he ses, "and 
 it's in the family. Things that are going to 
 'appen to people I know come to me in dreams 
 same as pore Bill's did. It's curious to me some- 
 times when I look round at you chaps, seeing you 
 going about 'appy and comfortable, and knowing 
 all the time 'orrible things that is going to 'appen 
 to you. Sometimes it gives me the fair shivers.' 
 
232 THE DREAMER 
 
 "Horrible things to us, slushy?" ses Charlie, 
 staring. 
 
 "Yes," ses the cook, nodding. " I never was 
 on a ship afore with such a lot of unfortunit men 
 aboard. Never. There's two pore fellers wot'll 
 be dead corpses inside o' six months, sitting 'ere 
 laughing and talking as if they was going to live 
 to ninety. Thank your stars you don't 'ave such 
 dreams." 
 
 " Who — who are the two, cookie ? " ses Charlie, 
 arter a bit. 
 
 " Never mind, Charlie," ses the cook, in a sad 
 voice ; "it would do no good if I was to tell you. 
 Nothing can alter it." 
 
 " Give us a hint," ses Charlie. 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you this much," ses the cook, 
 arter sitting with his 'ead in his 'ands, thinking ; 
 " one of 'em is nearly the ugliest man in the 
 fo'c's'le and the other ain't." 
 
 O' course, that didn't 'elp 'em much, but it 
 caused a lot of argufying, and the ugliest man 
 aboard, instead o' being grateful, behaved more 
 like a wild beast than a Christian when it was 
 pointed out to him that he was safe. 
 
 Arter that dream about Bill, there was no 
 keeping the cook in his place. He 'ad dreams 
 pretty near every night, and talked little bits of 
 'em in his sleep. Little bits that you couldn't 
 
THE DREAMER 233 
 
 make head nor tail of, and when we asked 'im 
 next morning he'd always shake his 'ead and say, 
 " Never mind." Sometimes he'd mention a 
 chap's name in 'is sleep and make 'im nervous for 
 days. 
 
 It was an unlucky v'y'ge that, for some of 'em. 
 About a week arter pore Bill's accident Ted Jones 
 started playing catch-ball with another chap and a 
 empty beer-bottle, and about the fifth chuck 
 Ted caught it with his face. We thought 'e 
 was killed at fust — he made such a noise ; but 
 they got 'im down below, and, arter they 'ad 
 picked out as much broken glass as Ted would 
 let 'em, the second officer did 'im up in stick- 
 ing-plaster and told 'im to keep quiet for an hour 
 or two. 
 
 Ted was very proud of 'is looks, and the way 
 he went on was alarming. Fust of all he found 
 fault with the chap 'e was playing with, and then 
 he turned on the cook. 
 
 " It's a pity you didn't see that in a dream," he 
 ses, tryin' to sneer, on'y the sticking-plaster was 
 too strong for 'im. 
 
 " But I did see it," ses the cook, drawin' 'imself 
 up. 
 
 " Wot?'' ses Ted, starting. 
 
 " I dreamt it night afore last, just exactly as it 
 'appened," ses the cook, in a off-hand way. 
 
234 THE DREAMER 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me, then?" ses Ted, 
 choking. 
 
 " It 'ud ha' been no good," ses the cook, 
 smiling and shaking his 'ead. "Wot I see must 
 'appen. I on'y see the future, and that must be." 
 
 " But you stood there watching me chucking 
 the bottle about," ses Ted, getting out of 'is bunk. 
 " W^hy didn't you stop me ? " 
 
 -"You don't understand," ses the cook. "If 
 you'd 'ad more eddication " 
 
 He didn't 'ave time to say any more afore Ted 
 was on him, and cookie, being no fighter, 'ad to 
 cook with one eye for the next two or three days. 
 He kept quiet about 'is dreams for some time 
 arter that, but it was no good, because George 
 Hall, wot was a firm believer, gave 'im a licking 
 for not warning 'im of a sprained ankle he got 
 skylarking, and Bob Law took it out of 'im for 
 not telling 'im that he was going to lose 'is suit of 
 shore-going togs at cards. 
 
 _The only chap that seemed to show any good 
 feeling for the cook was a young feller named 
 Joseph Meek, a steady young chap wot was goin' 
 to be mirried to old Bill Foster's niece as soon as 
 we got 'ome. Nobody else knew it, but he told 
 the cook all about it on the quiet. He said she 
 was too good for 'im, but, do all he could, he 
 couldn't get her to see it. 
 
THE DREAMER 
 
 23s 
 
 ' ' Why didn't you tell me, then ? ' ses Ted." 
 
236 THE DREAMER 
 
 " My feelings 'ave changed," he ses. 
 
 " P'r'aps they'll change agin," ses the cook, 
 trying to comfort 'im. 
 
 Joseph shook his 'ead. "No, I've made up 
 my mind," he ses, very slow. " I'm young yet, 
 and, besides, I can't afford it ; but 'ow to get out 
 of it I don't know. Couldn't you 'ave a dream 
 agin it for me ? " 
 
 "Wot d'ye mean ?" ses the cook, firing up. 
 " Do you think I make my dreams up ?" 
 
 " No, no ; cert'inly not," ses Joseph, patting 
 'im on the shoulder ; " but couldn't you do it just 
 for once ? 'Ave a dream that me and Emily are 
 killed a few days arter the wedding. Don't say 
 in wot way, 'cos she might think we could avoid 
 it ; just dream we are killed. Bill's always been 
 a superstitious man, and since you dreamt about 
 his leg he'd believe anything ; and he's that fond 
 of Emily I believe he'd 'ave the wedding put off, 
 at any rate — if I put him up to it." 
 
 It took 'im three days and a silver watch- 
 chain to persuade the cook, but he did at last ; 
 and one arternoon, when old Bill, who was getting 
 on fust-class, was resting 'is leg in 'is bunk, 
 the cook went below and turned in for a quiet 
 sleep. 
 
 For ten minutes he was as peaceful as a lamb, 
 and old Bill, who 'ad been laying in 'is bunk with 
 
THE DREAMER 237 
 
 an eye open watching 'im, was just dropping off 
 'imself, when the cook began to talk in 'is sleep, 
 and the very fust words made Bill sit up as though 
 something 'ad bit 'im. 
 
 " There they go," ses the cook, " Emily Foster 
 and Joseph Meek — and there's old Bill, good old 
 Bill, going to give the bride away. How 'appy 
 they all look, especially Joseph ! " 
 
 Old Bill put his 'and to his ear and leaned out 
 of his bunk. 
 
 " There they go," ses the cook agin ; " but wot 
 is that 'orrible black thing with claws that's 'anging 
 over Bill ? " 
 
 Pore Bill nearly fell out of 'is bunk, but he 
 saved 'imself at the last moment and lay there as 
 pale as death, listening. 
 
 " It must be meant for Bill," ses the cook. 
 " Well, pore Bill ; he won't know of it, that's one 
 thing. Let's 'ope it'll be sudden." 
 
 He lay quiet for some time and then he began 
 again. 
 
 " No," he ses, " it isn't Bill ; it's Joseph and 
 Emily, stark and stiff, and they've on'y been 
 married a week. 'Ow awful they look! Pore 
 things. Oh! oh! o-oh!" 
 
 He woke up with a shiver and began to groan, 
 and then 'e sat up in his bunk and saw old Bill 
 leaning out and staring at 'im. 
 
238 THE DREAMER 
 
 " You've been dreaming, cook," ses Bill, in a 
 trembling voice. 
 
 " 'Ave I ? " ses the cook. " How do you know .-' " 
 
 " About me and my niece," ses Bill ; " you was 
 talking in your sleep." 
 
 " You oughtn't to 'ave listened," ses the cook, 
 getting out of 'is bunk and going over to 'im. 
 " I 'ope you didn't 'ear all I dreamt. 'Ow much 
 did you hear." 
 
 Bill told 'im, and the cook sat there, shaking his 
 'ead. " Thank goodness, you didn't 'ear the 
 worst of it," he ses. 
 
 " Worst ! " ses Bill. " Wot, was there any 
 more of it ? " 
 
 " Lots more," ses the cook. " But promise me 
 you won't tell Joseph, Bill. Let 'im be happy 
 while he can ; it would on'y make 'im miserable, 
 and it wouldn't do any good." 
 
 " I don't know so much about that," ses Bill, 
 thinking about the arguments some of them had 
 'ad with Ted about the bottle. " Was it arter 
 they was married, cookie, that it 'appened .-' Are 
 you sure ? ' ' 
 
 " Certain sure. It was a week arter," ses the 
 cook. 
 
 " Very well, then," ses Bill, slapping 'is bad leg 
 by mistake ; " if they didn't marry, it couldn't 
 'appen, could it?" 
 
THE DREAMER 239 
 
 " Don't talk foolish," ses the cook ; " they must 
 marry. I saw it in my dream." 
 
 "Well, we'll see," ses Bill. "I'm going to 
 'ave a quiet talk with Joseph about it, and see wot 
 he ses. I ain't a-going to 'ave my pore gal 
 murdered just to please you and make your 
 dreams come true." 
 
 He 'ad a quiet talk with Joseph, but Joseph 
 wouldn't 'ear of it at fust. He said it was all the 
 cook's nonsense, though 'e owned up that it was 
 funny that the cook should know about the 
 wedding and Emily's name, and at last he said 
 that they would put it afore Emily and let her 
 decide. it 
 
 That was about the last dream the cook had 
 that v'y'ge, although he told old Bill. one day that 
 he had 'ad the same dream about Joseph and 
 Emily agin, so that he was quite certain they 'ad 
 got to be married and killed. He wouldn't tell 
 Bill 'ow they was to be killed, because 'e said it 
 would make 'im an old man afore his time ; but, 
 of course, he 'ad to say that if they wasn't 
 married the other part couldn't come true. He 
 said that as he 'ad never told 'is dreams before — 
 except in the case of Bill's leg — he couldn't say 
 for certain that they couldn't be prevented 
 by taking care, but p'r'aps they could ; and 
 Bill pointed out to 'im wot a useful man he 
 
240 THE DREAMER 
 
 would be if he could dream and warn people in 
 time. 
 
 By the time we got into the London river old 
 Bill's leg was getting on fust-rate, and he got 
 along splendid on a pair of crutches the carpenter 
 'ad made for him. Him and Joseph and the cook 
 had 'ad a good many talks about the dream, and 
 the old man 'ad invited the cook to come along 
 'ome with 'em, to be referred to when he told the 
 tale. 
 
 "I shall take my opportunity," he ses, "and 
 break it to 'er gentle like. When I speak to you, 
 you chip in, and not afore. D'ye understand ? " 
 
 We went into the East India Docks that 
 v'y'ge, and got there early on a lovely summer's 
 evening. Everybody was 'arf crazy at the idea o' 
 going ashore agin, and working as cheerful and 
 as willing as if they liked it. There was a few 
 people standing on the pier-head as we went in, 
 and among 'em several very nice-looking young 
 wimmen. 
 
 " My eye, Joseph," ses the cook, who 'ad been 
 staring hard at one of 'em, " there's a fine gal — 
 lively, too. Look 'ere ! " 
 
 He kissed 'is dirty paw — which is more than I 
 should 'ave liked to 'ave done if it 'ad been mine 
 — and waved it, and the gal turned round and 
 shook her 'ead at 'im. 
 
THE DREAMER 
 
 241 
 
 " ' I shall take my opportunity,' he ses, 'and break it to 'er 
 gentle like.' " 
 
 16 
 
242 THE DREAMER 
 
 " Here, that'll do," ses Joseph, very cross. 
 " That's my gal ; that's my Emily." 
 
 "Eh?" says the cook. "Well, 'ow was I to 
 know ? Besides, you're a-giving of her up." 
 
 Joseph didn't answer 'im. He was staring at 
 Emily, and the more he stared the better-looking 
 she seemed to grow. She really was an un- 
 common nice-looking gal, and more than the cook 
 was struck with her. 
 
 "Who's that chap standing alongside of her ?" 
 ses the cook. 
 
 " It's one o' Bill's sister's lodgers," ses Joseph, 
 who was looking very bad-tempered. " I should 
 like to know wot right he 'as to come 'ere to wel- 
 come me 'ome. I don't want 'im." 
 
 " P'raps he's fond of 'er," ses the cook. " I 
 could be, very easy." 
 
 " I'll chuck 'im in the dock if he ain't careful," 
 ses Joseph, turning red in the face. 
 
 He waved his 'and to Emily, who didn't 'appen 
 to be looking at the moment, but the lodger 
 waved back in a careless sort of way and then 
 spoke to Emily, and they both waved to old Bill, 
 who was standing on his crutches further aft. 
 
 By the time the ship was berthed and every- 
 thing snug it was quite dark, and old Bill didn't 
 know whether to take the cook 'ome with 'im and 
 break the news that night, or wait a bit. He 
 
THE DREAMER 243 
 
 made up his mind at last to get it over and done 
 with, and arter waiting till the cook 'ad cleaned 
 'imself they got a cab and drove off. 
 
 Bert Simmons, the lodger, 'ad to ride on the 
 box, and Bill took up so much room with 'is bad 
 leg that Emily found it more comfortable to sit on 
 Joseph's knee ; and by the time they got to the 
 'ouse he began to see wot a silly mistake he was 
 making. 
 
 " Keep that dream o' yours to yourself till I 
 make up my mind," he ses to the cook, while Bill 
 and the cabman were calling each other names. 
 
 " Bill's going to speak fust," whispers the cook. 
 
 The lodger and Emily 'ad gone inside, and 
 Joseph stood there, fidgeting, while the cabman 
 asked Bill, as a friend, why he 'adn't paid two- 
 pence more for his face, and Bill was wasting his 
 time trying to think of something to say to 'urt 
 the cabman's feelings. Then he took Bill by the 
 arm as the cab drove off and told 'im not to say 
 nothing about the dream, because he was going 
 to risk it. 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense," ses Bill. " I'm going to 
 tell Emily. It's my dooty. Wot's the good o* 
 being married if you're going to be killed .'' " 
 
 He stumped in on his crutches afore Joseph 
 could say any more, and, arter letting his sister 
 kiss 'im, went into the front room and sat down. 
 
 16* 
 
244 THE DREAMER 
 
 There was cold beef and pickles on the table and 
 two jugs o' beer, and arter just telling his sister 
 'ow he fell and broke 'is leg, they all sat down to 
 supper. 
 
 Bert Simmons sat on one side of Emily and 
 Joseph the other, and the cook couldn't 'elp 
 feeling sorry for 'er, seeing as he did that some- 
 times she was 'aving both hands squeezed at 
 once under the table and could -'ardly get a bite 
 in edgeways. 
 
 Old Bill lit his pipe arter supper, and then, 
 taking another glass o' beer, he told 'em about 
 the cook dreaming of his accident three days afore 
 it happened. They couldn't 'ardly believe it at 
 fust, but when he went on to tell 'em the other 
 things the cook 'ad dreamt, and that everything 
 'ad 'appened just as he dreamt it, they all edged 
 away from the cook and sat staring at him with 
 their mouths open. 
 
 " And that ain't the worst of it," ses Bill. 
 
 " That's enough for one night. Bill," ses 
 Joseph, who was staring at Bert Simmons as 
 though he could eat him. " Besides, I believe it 
 was on'y chance. When cook told you 'is dream 
 it made you nervous, and that's why you fell." 
 
 " Nervous be blowed ! " ses Bill ; and then he 
 told 'em about the dream he 'ad heard while he 
 was laying in 'is bunk. 
 
THE DREAMER 245 
 
 Bill's sister gave a scream when he 'ad finished, 
 and Emily, wot was sitting next to Joseph, got 
 up with a shiver and went and sat next to Bert 
 Simmons and squeezed his coat-sleeve. 
 
 " It's all nonsense ! " ses Joseph, starting up. 
 " And if it wasn't, true love would run the risk. 
 I ain't afraid ! " 
 
 "It's too much to ask a gal," ses Bert 
 Simmons, shaking is 'ead. 
 
 " I couldn't dream of it," ses Emily. " Wot's 
 the use of being married for a week ? Look at 
 uncle's leg — that's enough for me ! " 
 
 They all talked at once then, and Joseph tried 
 all he could to persuade Emily to prove to the 
 cook that 'is dreams didn't always come true ; but 
 it was no good. Emily said she wouldn't marry 
 'im if he 'ad a million a year, and her aunt and 
 uncle backed her up in it — to say nothing of Bert 
 Simmons. 
 
 " I'll go up and get your presents, Joseph," she 
 ses ; and she ran upstairs afore anybody could 
 stop her. 
 
 Joseph sat there as if he was dazed, while 
 everybody gave 'im good advice, and said *ow 
 thankful he ought to be that the cook 'ad saved 
 him by 'is dreaming. And by and by Emily came 
 downstairs agin with the presents he 'ad given 
 'er and put them on the table in front of 'im. 
 
246 THE DREAMER 
 
 " There's everything there but that little silver 
 brooch you gave me, Joseph," she ses, " and I 
 lost that the other evening when I was out with — 
 with — for a walk." 
 
 Joseph tried to speak, but couldn't. 
 
 " It was six-and-six, 'cos I was with you when 
 you bought it," ses Emily ; " and as I've lost it, 
 it's on'y fair I should pay for it." 
 
 She put down 'arf a sovereign with the pre- 
 sents, and Joseph sat staring at it as if he 'ad 
 never seen one afore. 
 
 " And you needn't mind about the change, 
 Joseph," ses Emily ; " that'll 'elp to make up for 
 your disappointment. 
 
 Old Bill tried to turn things off with a bit of a 
 laugh. " Why, you're made o' money, Emily," 
 he ses. 
 
 " Ah ! I haven't told you yet," ses Emily, smil- 
 ing at him ; " that's a little surprise I was keep- 
 ing for you. Aunt Emma — pore Aunt Emma, I 
 should say — died while you was away and left me 
 all 'er furniture and two hundred pounds." 
 
 Joseph made a choking noise in his throat and 
 then 'e got up, leaving the presents and the 'arf- 
 sovereign on the table, and stood by the door, 
 staring at them. 
 
 " Good-night all," he ses. Then he went to 
 the front door and opened it, and arter standing 
 
THE DREAMER 247 
 
 there a moment came back as though he 'ad for- 
 gotten something. 
 
 " Are you coming along now ? " he ses to the 
 cook. 
 
 " Not just yet," ses the cook, very quick. 
 
 " I'll wait outside for you, then," ses Joseph, 
 grinding his teeth. " Don't be long." 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 
 
Angels' Visits 
 
 MR. WILLIAM JOBLING leaned against 
 his door-post, smoking. The evening 
 air, pleasant in its coolness after the heat of the 
 day, caressed his shirt-sleeved arms. Children 
 played noisily in the long, dreary street, and an 
 organ sounded faintly in the distance. To Mr. 
 Jobling, who had just consumed three herrings 
 and a pint and a half of strong tea, the scene was 
 delightful. He blew a little cloud of smoke in 
 the air, and with half-closed eyes corrected his 
 first impression as to the tune being played round 
 the corner. 
 
 " Bill ! " cried the voice of Mrs. Jobling, who 
 was washing-up in the tiny scullery. 
 
 "'Ullo!" responded Mr. Jobling, gruffly. 
 
 "You've been putting your wet teaspoon in 
 the sugar-basin, and — well, I declare, if you 
 haven't done it again." 
 
 " Done what ? " inquired her husband, hunch- 
 ing his shoulders. 
 
252 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 " Putting your herringy knife in the butter. 
 Well, you can eat it now ; I won't. A lot of 
 good me slaving from morning to night and 
 buying good food when you go and spoil it like 
 that." 
 
 Mr. Jobling removed the pipe from his mouth. 
 " Not so much of it," he commanded. " I like 
 butter with a little flavour to it. As for your 
 slaving all day, you ought to come to the works 
 for a week ; you'd know what slavery was 
 then." 
 
 Mrs. Jobling permitted herself a thin, derisive 
 cackle, drowned hurriedly in a clatter of tea-cups 
 as her husband turned and looked angrily up the 
 little passage. 
 
 " Nag ! nag! nag! " said Mr. Jobling. 
 
 He paused expectantly. 
 
 " Nag ! nag ! nag ! from morning till night," he 
 resumed. " It begins in the morning and it goes 
 on till bedtime." 
 
 " It's a pity " began Mrs. Jobling. 
 
 " Hold your tongue," said her husband, 
 sternly ; "I don't want any of your back answers. 
 It goes on all day long up to bedtime, and last 
 night I laid awake for two hours listening to you 
 nagging in your sleep." 
 
 He paused again. 
 
 " Nagging in your sleep," he repeated. 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 253 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Two hours ! " he said, invitingly ; " two 
 whole hours, without a stop." 
 
 " I 'ope it done you good," retorted his wife. 
 " I noticed you did wipe one foot when you come 
 in to-night." 
 
 Mr. Jobling denied the charge hotly, and, by 
 way of emphasizing his denial, raised his foot and 
 sent the mat flying along the passage. Honour 
 satisfied, he returned to the door-post and, 
 looking idly out on the street again, exchanged a 
 few desultory remarks with Mr. Joe Brown, who, 
 with his hands in his pockets, was balancing him- 
 self with great skill on the edge of the kerb 
 opposite. 
 
 His gaze wandered from Mr. Brown to a 
 young and rather stylishly-dressed woman who 
 was approaching — a tall, good-looking girl with 
 a slight limp, whose hat encountered unspoken 
 feminine criticism at every step. Their eyes met 
 as she came up, and recognition flashed suddenly 
 into both faces. 
 
 " Fancy seeing you here ! " said the girl. 
 " Well, this is a pleasant surprise." 
 
 She held out her hand, and Mr. Jobling, with 
 a fierce glance at Mr. Brown, who was not be- 
 having, shook it respectfully. 
 
 " I'm so glad to see you again," said the girl ; 
 
254 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 " I know I didn't thank you half enough the other 
 night, but I was too upset." 
 
 " Don't mention it," said Mr. Jobling, in a 
 voice the humility of which was in strong con- 
 trast to the expression with which he was regard- 
 ing the antics of Mr. Brown, as that gentleman 
 wafted kisses to the four winds of heaven. 
 
 There was a pause, broken by a short, dry 
 cough from the parlour window. The girl, who 
 was almost touching the sill, started nervously. 
 
 " It's only my missis," said Mr. Jobling. 
 
 The girl turned and gazed in at the window. 
 Mr. Jobling, with the stem of his pipe, performed 
 a brief ceremony of introduction. 
 
 "Good-evening," said Mrs. Jobling, in a thin 
 voice. " I don't know who you are, but I s'pose 
 my 'usband does." 
 
 " I met him the other night," said the girl, 
 with a bright smile ; " I slipped on a piece of 
 peel or something and fell, and he was passing 
 and helped me up." 
 
 Mrs. Jobling coughed again. " First I've 
 heard of it," she remarked. 
 
 " I forgot to tell you," said Mr. Jobling, 
 carelessly. " I hope you wasn't hurt much, 
 miss ? " 
 
 " I twisted my ankle a bit, that's all," said the 
 girl ; it's painful when I walk." 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 255 
 
 "Painful now?" inquired Mr. Jobling, in- 
 concern. 
 
 The girl nodded. " A little ; not very." 
 
 Mr. Jobling hesitated ; the contortions of Mr. 
 Brown's face as he strove to make a wink carry 
 across the road would have given pause to a 
 bolder man ; and twice his wife's husky little 
 cough had sounded from the window. 
 
 " I s'pose you wouldn't like to step inside and 
 rest for five minutes ? " he said, slowly. 
 
 " Oh, thank you," said the girl, gratefully ; " I 
 should like to. It — it really is very painful. I 
 ought not to have walked so far." 
 
 She limped in behind Mr. Jobling, and after 
 bowing to Mrs. Jobling sank into the easy-chair 
 with a sigh of relief and looked keenly round the 
 room. Mr. Jobling disappeared, and his wife 
 flushed darkly as he came back with his coat on 
 and his hair wet from combing. An awkward 
 silence ensued. 
 
 "How strong your husband is ! " said the girl, 
 clasping her hands impulsively. 
 
 " Is he ? " said Mrs. Jobling. 
 
 "He lifted me up as though I had been a 
 feather," responded the girl. "He just put his 
 arm round my waist and had me on my feet 
 before I knew where I was." 
 
 " Round your waist ? " repeated Mrs. Jobling. 
 
256 ANGELS' ^VISITS 
 
 " Where else should I put it ? " broke in her 
 husband, with sudden violence. 
 
 His wife made no reply, but sat gazing in a 
 hostile fashion at the bold, dark eyes and stylish 
 hat of the visitor. 
 
 " I should like to be strong," said the latter, 
 smiling agreeably over at Mr. Jobling. 
 
 "When I was younger," said that gratified 
 man, " I can assure you I didn't know my own 
 strength, as the saying is. I used to hurt people 
 just in play like, without knowing it. I used to 
 have a hug like a bear." 
 
 "Fancy being hugged like that!" said the 
 girl. " How awful ! " she added, hastily, as she 
 caught the eye of the speechless Mrs. Jobling. 
 
 " Like a bear," repeated Mr. Jobling, highly 
 pleased at the impression he had made. "I'm 
 pretty strong now ; there ain't many as I'm afraid 
 of" 
 
 He bent his arm and thoughtfully felt his biceps, 
 and Mrs. Jobling almost persuaded herself that 
 she must be dreaming, as she saw the girl lean 
 forward and pinch Mr. Jobling's arm. Mr. 
 Jobling was surprised too, but he had the 
 presence of mind to bend the other. 
 
 " Enormous ! " said the girl, "and as hard as 
 iron. What a prize-fighter you'd have made ! " 
 
 " He don't want to do no prize-fighting," said 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 257 
 
 Mrs. Jobling, recovering her speech ; " he's a 
 respectable married man." 
 
 Mr. Jobling shook his head over lost op- 
 portunities. " I'm too old," he remarked. 
 
 " He's forty-seven," said his wife. 
 
 " Best age for a man, in my opinion," said the 
 girl; "just entering his prime. And a man is 
 as old as he feels, you know." 
 
 Mr. Jobling nodded acquiescence and ob- 
 served that he always felt about twenty-two ; a 
 state of affairs which he ascribed to regular habits, 
 and a great partiality for the company of young 
 people. 
 
 " I was just twenty-two when I married," he 
 mused, "and my missis was just six months " 
 
 " You leave my age alone," interrupted his 
 wife, trembling with passion. " I'm not so fond 
 of telling my age to strangers." 
 
 " You told mine," retorted Mr. Jobling, " and 
 nobody asked you to do that. Very free you was 
 in coming out with mine." 
 
 " I ain't the only one that's free," breathed the 
 quivering Mrs. Jobling. " I 'ope your ankle is 
 better ? " she added, turning to the visitor. 
 
 " Much better, thank you," was the reply. 
 
 " Got far to go ? " queried Mrs. Jobling. 
 
 The girl nodded. "But I shall take a tram at 
 the end of the street," she said, rising. 
 
 17 
 
258 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 Mr. Jobling rose too, and all that he had ever 
 heard or read about etiquette came crowding into 
 his mind. A weekly journal patronized by his 
 wife had three columns regularly, but he taxed 
 his memory in vain for any instructions concern- 
 ing brown-eyed strangers with sprained ankles. 
 He felt that the path of duty led to the tram-lines. 
 In a somewhat blundering fashion he proffered 
 his services ; the girl accepted them as a matter 
 of course. 
 
 Mrs. Jobling, with lips tightly compressed, 
 watched them from the door. The girl, limping 
 slightly, walked along with the utmost compo- 
 sure, but the bearing of her escort betokened 
 a mind fully conscious of the scrutiny of the 
 street. 
 
 He returned in about half an hour, and having 
 this lime to run the gauntlet of the street alone, 
 entered with a mien which caused his wife's com- 
 plaints to remain unspoken. The cough of Mr. 
 Brown, a particularly contagious one, still rang 
 in his ears, and he sat for some time in fierce 
 silence. 
 
 " I see her on the tram," he said, at last. 
 " Her name's Robinson — Miss Robinson." 
 
 " In-deed ! " said his wife. 
 
 " Seems a nice sDrt o' girl," said Mr. Jobling, 
 carelessly. " She's took quite a fancy to you," 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 259 
 
 " He astonished Mrs. Jobling next day by the gift of a. geranium." 
 
 17* 
 
26o ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 "I'm sure I'm much obliged to her," retorted 
 his wife. 
 
 " So I — so I asked her to give you a look in 
 now and then," continued Mr. Jobling, filling his 
 pipe with great care, "and she said she would. 
 It'll cheer you up a bit." 
 
 Mrs. Jobling bit her lip and, although she had 
 never felt more fluent in her life, said nothing. 
 Her husband lit his pipe, and after a rapid glance 
 in her direction took up an old newspaper and 
 began to read. 
 
 He astonished Mrs. Jobling next day by the 
 gift of a geranium in full bloom. Surprise im- 
 peded her utterance, but she thanked him at last 
 with some warmth, and after a little deliberation 
 decided to put it in the bedroom. 
 
 Mr. Jobling looked like a man who has suddenly 
 discovered a flaw in his calculations. " I was 
 thinking of the front parlour winder," he said, at 
 last. 
 
 " It'll get more sun upstairs," said his wife. 
 
 She took the pot in her arms and disappeared. 
 Her surprise when she came down again and 
 found Mr. Jobling rearranging the furniture, and 
 even adding a choice ornament or two from the 
 kitchen, was too elaborate to escape his notice. 
 
 " Been going to do it for some time," he re- 
 marked. 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 261 
 
 Mrs. Jobling left the room and strove with her- 
 self in the scullery. She came back pale of face 
 and with a gleam in her eye which her husband 
 was too busy to notice. 
 
 " It'll never look much till we get a new hearth- 
 rug," she said, shaking her head. " They've got 
 one at Jackson's that would be just the thing ; 
 and they've got a couple of tall pink vases that 
 would brighten up the fireplace wonderful. 
 They're going for next to nothing, too." 
 
 Mr. Jobling's reply took the form of uncouth 
 and disagreeable growlings. After that phase 
 had passed he sat for some time with his hand 
 placed protectingly in his trouser - pocket. 
 Finally, in a fierce voice, he inquired the cost. 
 
 Ten minutes later, in a state fairly evenly 
 divided between pleasure and fury, Mrs. Jobling 
 departed with the money. Wild yearnings for 
 courage that would enable her to spend the money 
 differently, and confront the dismayed Mr. Jobling 
 in a new hat and jacket, possessed her on the 
 way ; but they were only yearnings, twenty-five 
 years' experience of her husband's temper being 
 a sufficient safeguard. 
 
 Miss Robinson came in the day after as they 
 were sitting down to tea. Mr. Jobling, who was 
 in his shirt-sleeves, just had time to disappear as 
 the girl passed the window. His wife let her in, 
 
2t52 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 and after five remarks about the weather sat 
 listening in grim pleasure to the efforts of Mr. 
 Jobling to find his coat. He found it at last, 
 under a chair cushion, and, somewhat red of face, 
 entered the room and greeted the visitor. 
 
 Conversation was at first rather awkward. 
 The girl's eyes wandered round the room and 
 paused in astonishment on the pink vases ; the 
 beauty of the rug also called for notice. 
 
 " Yes, they're pretty good," said Mr. Jobling, 
 much gratified by her approval. 
 
 "Beautiful," murmured the girl. "What a 
 thing it is to have money ! " she said, wistfully. 
 
 " I could do with some," said Mr. Jobling, with 
 jocularity. He helped himself to bread and 
 butter and began to discuss money and how to 
 spend it. His ideas favoured retirement and a 
 nice little place in the country. 
 
 " I wonder you don't do it," said the girl, softly. 
 
 Mr. Jobling laughed. " Gingell and Watson 
 don't pay on those lines," he said. " We do the 
 work and they take the money." 
 
 " It's always the way," said the girl, indig- 
 nantly ; " they have all the luxuries, and the men 
 who make the money for them all the hardships. 
 I seem to know the name Gingell and Watson. 
 I wonder where I've seen it ? " 
 
 " In the paper, p'r'aps," said Mr. Jobling. 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 263 
 
 " Advertising ? " asked the girl. 
 
 Mr. Jobling shook his head. " Robbery," he 
 replied, seriously. " It was in last week's paper. 
 Somebody got to the safe and got away with nine 
 hundred pounds in gold and bank-notes." 
 
 " I remember now," said the girl, nodding. 
 " Did they catch them ? " 
 
 " No, and not likely to," was the reply. 
 
 Miss Robinson opened her big eyes and looked 
 round with an air of pretty defiance. " I am glad 
 of it," she said. 
 
 " Glad ? " said Mrs. Jobling, involuntarily 
 breaking a self-imposed vow of silence. " Glad ? " 
 
 The girl nodded. " I like pluck," she said, 
 with a glance in the direction of Mr. Jobling ; 
 "and, besides, whoever took it had as much right 
 to it as Gingell and Watson ; they didn't earn it." 
 
 Mrs. Jobling, appalled at such ideas, glanced at 
 her husband to see how he received them. " The 
 man's a thief," she said, with great energy, "and 
 he won't enjoy his gains." 
 
 " I dare say — I dare say he'll enjoy it right 
 enough," said Mr. Jobling, " if he ain't caught, 
 that is." 
 
 " I believe he is the sort of man I should like," 
 declared Miss Robinson, obstinately. 
 
 " I dare say," said Mrs. Jobling ; "and I've no 
 doubt he'd like you. Birds of a " 
 
264 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 " That'll do," said her husband, peremptorily ; 
 " that's enough about it. The guv'nors can afford 
 to lose it ; that's one comfort." 
 
 He leaned over as the girl asked for more sugar 
 and dropped a spoonful in her cup, expressing 
 surprise that she should like her tea so sweet. 
 Miss Robinson, denying the sweetness, proffered 
 her cup in proof, and Mrs. Jobling sat watching 
 with blazing eyes the antics of her husband as he 
 sipped at it. 
 
 " Sweets to the sweet," he said, gallantly, as 
 he handed it back. 
 
 Miss Robinson pouted, and, raising the cup to 
 her lips, gazed ardently at him over the rim. Mr. 
 Jobling, who certainly felt not more than twenty- 
 two that evening, stole her cake and received in 
 return a rap from a teaspoon. Mr. Jobling re- 
 taliated, and Mrs. Jobling, unable to eat, sat look- 
 ing on in helpless fury at little arts of fascination 
 which she had discarded — at Mr. Jobling's earnest 
 request — soon after their marriage. 
 
 By dint of considerable self-control, aided 
 by an occasional glance from her husband, she 
 managed to preserve her calm until he returned 
 from seeing the visitor to her tram. Then her pent- 
 up feelings found vent. Quietly scornful at first, 
 she soon waxed hysterical over his age and figure. 
 Tears followed as she bade him remember what 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 26s 
 
 ' — ' — "'^^ b '-^ j 
 
 ' ' They offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a hundred plans for 
 bringing him to his senses." 
 
266 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 a good wife she had been to him, loudly claiming 
 that any other woman would have poisoned him 
 long ago. Speedily finding that tears were of no 
 avail, and that Mr. Jobling seemed to regard them 
 rather as a tribute to his worth than otherwise, she 
 gave way to fury, and, in a fine, but unpunctuated 
 passage, told him her exact opinion of Miss 
 Robinson. 
 
 " It's no good carrying on like that," said Mr. 
 Jobling, magisterially, " and, what's more, I won't 
 have it." 
 
 " Walking into my house and making eyes at 
 my 'usband," stormed his wife. 
 
 " So long as I don't make eyes at her there's no 
 harm done," retorted Mr. Jobling. " I can't help 
 her taking a fancy to me, poor thing." 
 
 "I'd poor thing her," said his wife. 
 
 " She's to be pitied," said Mr. Jobling, sternly. 
 " I know how she feels. She can't help herself, 
 but she'll get over it in time. I don't suppose she 
 thinks for a moment we have noticed her — her — 
 her liking for me, and I'm not going to have her 
 feelings hurt." 
 
 " What about my feelings ? " demanded his 
 wife. 
 
 " Vou have got me," Mr. Jobling reminded her. 
 
 The nine points of the law was Mrs. Jobling's 
 only consolation for the next few days. Neigh- 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 267 
 
 bouring matrons, exchanging sympathy for infor- 
 mation, wished, strangely enough, that Mr. 
 Jobling was their husband. Failing that they 
 offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a 
 hundred plans for bringing him to his senses. 
 
 Mr. Jobling, who was a proud man, met their 
 hostile glances as he passed to and from his work 
 with scorn, until a day came when the hostility 
 vanished and gave place to smiles. Never so 
 many people in the street, he thought, as he 
 returned from work ; certainly never so many 
 smiles. People came hurriedly from their back 
 premises to smile at him, and, as he reached his 
 door, Mr. Joe Brown opposite had all the appear- 
 ance of a human sunbeam. Tired of smiling 
 faces, he yearned for that of his wife. She came 
 out of the kitchen and met him with a look of sly 
 content. The perplexed Mr. Jobling eyed her 
 morosely. 
 
 " What are you laughing at me for ? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 " I wasn't laughing at you," said his wife. 
 
 She went back into the kitchen and sang 
 blithely as she bustled over the preparations 
 for tea. Her voice was feeble, but there was a 
 triumphant effectiveness about the high notes 
 which perplexed the listener sorely. He seated 
 himself in the new easy-chair — procured to satisfy 
 
268 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 the supposed eesthetic tastes of Miss Robinson — 
 and stared at the window. 
 
 " You seem very happy all of a sudden," he 
 growled, as his wife came in with the tray. 
 
 " Well, why shouldn't I be ? " inquired Mrs. 
 Jobling. " I've got everything to make me so." 
 
 Mr. Jobling looked at her in undisguised 
 amazement. 
 
 "New easy-chair, new vases, and a new hearth- 
 rug," explained his wife, looking round the room. 
 " Did you order that little table you said you 
 would?" 
 
 " Yes," growled Mr. Jobling. 
 
 " Pay for it ? " inquired his wife, with a trace 
 of anxiety. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Jobling again. 
 
 Mrs. Jobling's face relaxed. " I shouldn't like 
 to lose it at the last moment," she said. "You 
 'ave been good to me lately. Bill ; buying all 
 these nice things. There's not many women 
 have got such a thoughtful husband as what I 
 have." 
 
 "Have you gone dotty.'' or what.-*" inquired 
 her bewildered husband. 
 
 " It's no wonder people like you," pursued Mrs. 
 Jobling, ignoring the question, and smiling again 
 as she placed three chairs at the table. " I'll wait 
 a minute or two before I soak the tea ; I expect 
 
ANGELS' VISITS 269 
 
 Miss Robinson won't be long, and she likes it 
 fresh." 
 
 Mr. Jobling, to conceal his amazement and to 
 obtain a little fresh air, walked out of the room 
 and opened the front door. 
 
 "Cheer oh!" said the watchful Mr. Brown, 
 with a benignant smile. 
 
 Mr. Jobling scowled at him. 
 
 " It's all right," said Mr. Brown. " You go in 
 and set down ; I'm watching for her." 
 
 He nodded reassuringly, and, not having 
 curiosity enough to accept the other's offer and 
 step across the road and see what he would get, 
 shaded his eyes with his hand and looked with 
 exaggerated anxiety up the road. Mr. Jobling, 
 heavy of brow, returned to the parlour and looked 
 hard at his wife. 
 
 " She's late," said Mrs. Jobling, glancing at 
 the clock. " I do hope she's all right, but I 
 should feel anxious about her if she was my gal. 
 It's a dangerous life." 
 
 " Dangerous life ! " said Mr. Jobling, roughly. 
 " What's a dangerous life ? " 
 
 "Why, hers," replied his wife, with a nervous 
 smile. "Joe Brown told me. He followed her 
 'ome last night, and this morning he found out 
 all about her." 
 
 The mention of Mr. Brown's name caused Mr. 
 
3/0 ANGELS' VISITS 
 
 Jobling at first to assume an air of indifference ; 
 but curiosity overpowered him. 
 
 " What lies has he been telling ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I don't think it's a lie, Bill," said his wife, 
 mildly. " Putting two and two " 
 
 "What did he say?" cried Mr. Jobling, rais- 
 ing his voice. 
 
 " He said, ' She — she's a lady detective,' " 
 stammered Mrs. Jobling, putting her handker- 
 chief to her unruly mouth. 
 
 " A tec ! " repeated her husband. " A lady tec ? " 
 
 Mrs. Jobling nodded. " Yes, Bill. She— she 
 —she " 
 
 "Well ?" said Mr. Jobling, in exasperation. 
 
 " She's being employed by Gingell and Wat- 
 son," said his wife. 
 
 Mr. Jobling sprang to his feet, and with scarlet 
 face and clenched fists strove to assimilate the 
 information and all its meaning. 
 
 " What — what did she come here for ? Do you 
 mean to tell me she thinks / took the money ? " 
 he said, huskily, after a long pause. 
 
 Mrs. Jobling bent before the storm. " I think 
 she took a fancy to you, Bill," she said, timidly. 
 
 Mr. Jobling appeared to swallow something ; 
 then he took a step nearer to her. "You let me 
 see you laugh again, that's all," he said, fiercely. 
 " As for that Jezzybill " 
 
ANGELS' VISITS a/i 
 
 " There she is," said his wife, as a knock sounded 
 at the door. " Don't say anything to hurt her 
 feelings, Bill. You said she was to be pitied. 
 And it must be a hard life to 'ave to go round 
 and flatter old married men. I shouldn't like it." 
 
 Mr. Jobling, past speech, stood and glared at 
 her. Then, with an inarticulate cry, he rushed to 
 the front door and flung it open. Miss Robin- 
 son, fresh and bright, stood smiling outside. 
 Within easy distance a little group of neighbours 
 were making conversation, while opposite Mr. 
 Brown awaited events. 
 
 "What d'you want?" demanded Mr. Jobling, 
 harshly. 
 
 Miss Robinson, who had put out her hand, 
 drew it back and gave him a swift glance. His 
 red face and knitted brows told their own story. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, with a winning smile, " will 
 you please tell Mrs. Jobling that I can't come to 
 tea with her this evening ? " 
 
 " Isn't there anything else you'd like to say ? " 
 inquired Mr. Jobling, disdainfully, as she turned 
 away. 
 
 The girl paused and appeared to reflect. " You 
 can say that I am sorry to miss an amusing 
 evening," she said, regarding him steadily. 
 " Good-bye." 
 
 Mr. Jobling summed the door, 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 i8 
 
A Circular Tour 
 
 ILLNESS ? said the night watchman, slowly. 
 Yes, sailormen get ill sometimes, but not 
 'aving the time for it that other people have, and 
 there being no doctors at sea, they soon pick up 
 agin. Ashore, if a man's ill he goes to a 
 horsepittle and 'as a nice nurse to wait on 'im ; at 
 sea the mate comes down and tells 'im that there 
 is nothing the matter with 'im, and asks 'im if he 
 ain't ashamed of 'imself The only mate I ever 
 knew that showed any feeling was one who 'ad 
 been a doctor and 'ad gone to sea to better 
 'imself. He didn't believe in medicine ; his idea 
 was to cut things out, and he was so kind and 
 tender, and so fond of 'is little box of knives and 
 saws, that you wouldn't ha' thought anybody could 
 'ave had the 'art to say " no " to him. But they did. 
 I remember 'im getting up at four o'clock one 
 morning to cut a man's leg off, and at ha' -past 
 three the chap was sitting up aloft with four pairs 
 o' trousers on and a belaying-pin in his 'and. 
 One chap I knew, Joe Summers by name, got 
 
 1 8* 
 
276 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 so sick o' work one v'y'ge that he went mad. 
 Not dangerous mad, mind you. Just silly. One 
 thing he did was to pretend that the skipper was 
 'is little boy, and foller 'im up unbeknown and pat 
 his 'ead. At last, to pacify him, the old man 
 pretended that he was 'is little boy, and a precious 
 handful of a boy he was too, I can tell you. Fust 
 of all he showed 'is father 'ow they wrestled at 
 school, and arter that he showed 'im 'ow he 'arf 
 killed another boy in fifteen rounds. Leastways 
 he was going to, but arter seven rounds Joe's 
 madness left 'im all of a sudden and he was as 
 right as ever he was. 
 
 Sailormen are more frequent ill ashore than at 
 sea ; they've got more time for it, I s'pose. Old 
 Sam Small, a man you may remember by name 
 as a pal o' mine, got ill once, and, like most 
 'ealthy men who get a little something the matter 
 with 'em, he made sure 'e was dying. He was 
 sharing a bedroom with Ginger Dick and Peter 
 Russet at the time, and early one morning he 
 woke up groaning with a chill or something which 
 he couldn't account for, but which Ginger 
 thought might ha' been partly caused through 'im 
 sleeping in the fireplace. 
 
 " Is that you, Sam ? " ses Ginger, waking up 
 with the noise and rubbing his eyes. " Wot's 
 the matter ? " 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 277 
 
 " I'm dying," ses Sam, with another awful 
 groan. " Good-bye, Ginger." 
 
 " Goo'-bye," ses Ginger, turning over and 
 falling fast asleep agin. 
 
 Old Sam picked 'imself up arter two or three 
 tries, and then he staggered over to Peter 
 Russet's bed and sat on the foot of it, groaning, 
 until Peter woke up very cross and tried to push 
 'im off with his feet. 
 
 " I'm dying, Peter," ses Sam, and 'e rolled 
 over and buried his face in the bed-clo'es and 
 kicked. Peter Russet, who was a bit scared, sat 
 up in bed and called for Ginger, and arter he 'ad 
 called pretty near a dozen times Ginger 'arf woke 
 up and asked 'im wot was the matter. 
 
 " Poor old Sam's dying," ses Peter. 
 
 " I know," ses Ginger, laying down and 
 cuddling into the piller agin. "He told me just 
 now. I've bid 'im good-bye." 
 
 Peter Russet asked 'im where his 'art was, but 
 Ginger was asleep agin. Then Peter sat up in 
 bed and tried to comfort Sam, and listened while 
 'e told 'im wot it felt like to die. How 'e was 
 'ot and cold all over, burning and shivering, with 
 pains in his inside that he couldn't describe if 'e 
 tried. 
 
 " It'll soon be over, Sam," ses Peter, kindly, 
 "and all your troubles will be at an end. While 
 
278 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 me and Ginger are knocking about at sea trying 
 to earn a crust o' bread to keep ourselves alive, 
 you'll be quiet and at peace." 
 
 Sam groaned. " I don't like being too quiet," 
 he ses. " I was always one for a bit o' fun — 
 innercent fun." 
 
 Peter coughed. 
 
 " You and Ginger 'av been good pals," ses 
 Sam ; " it's hard to go and leave you." 
 
 "We've all got to go some time or other, 
 Sam," ses Peter, soothing-like. " It's a wonder 
 to me, with your habits, that you've lasted as long 
 as you 'ave." 
 
 " My habits ? " ses Sam, sitting up all of a 
 sudden. "Why, you monkey-faced son of a sea- 
 cook, for two pins I'd chuck you out of the 
 winder." 
 
 " Don't talk like that on your death-bed," ses 
 Peter, very shocked. 
 
 Sam was going to answer 'im sharp agin, but 
 just then 'e got a pain which made 'im roll about 
 on the bed and groan to such an extent that 
 Ginger woke up agin and got out o' bed. 
 
 " Pore old Sam ! " he ses, walking across the 
 room and looking at 'im. "'Ave you got any 
 pain anywhere ? " 
 
 "Pain?" ses Sam. "Pain? I'm a mask o' 
 pains all over." 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 279 
 
 Ginger and Peter looked at 'im and shook 
 their 'eds, and then they went a little way off 
 and talked about 'im in whispers. 
 
 " He looks 'arf dead now," ses Peter, coming 
 back and staring at 'im. " Let's take 'is clothes 
 off, Ginger ; it's more decent to die with 'em off." 
 
 " I think I'll 'ave a doctor," ses Sam, in a 
 faint voice. 
 
 " You're past doctors, Sam," ses Ginger, in a 
 kind voice. 
 
 " Better 'ave your last moments in peace," ses 
 Peter, " and keep your money in your trouser- 
 pockets." 
 
 " You go and fetch a doctor, you murderers," 
 ses Sam, groaning, as Peter started to undress 
 'im. "Go on, else I'll haunt you with my ghost." 
 
 Ginger tried to talk to 'im about the sin o' 
 wasting money, but it was all no good, and arter 
 telling Peter wot to do in case Sam died afore he 
 come back, he went off. He was gone about 'arf 
 an hour, and then he come back with a sandy- 
 'aired young man with red eyelids and a black 
 bag. 
 
 " Am I dying, sir ? " ses Sam, arter the doctor 
 'ad listened to his lungs and his 'art and prodded 
 'im all over. 
 
 " We're all dying," ses the doctor, " only some 
 of us'll go sooner than others," 
 
28o A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 " Will he last the day, sir ? " ses Ginger. 
 
 The doctor looked at Sam agin, and Sam held 
 'is breath while 'e waited for him to answer. 
 " Yes," ses the doctor at last, " if he does just wot 
 I tell him and takes the medicine I send 'im." 
 
 He wasn't in the room 'arf an hour altogether, 
 and he charged pore Sam a shilling ; but wot 'urt 
 Sam even more than that was to hear 'im go off 
 downstairs whistling as cheerful as if there wasn't 
 a dying man within a 'undred miles. 
 
 Peter and Ginger Dick took turns to be with 
 Sam that morning, but in the arternoon the land- 
 lady's mother, an old lady who was almost as fat 
 as Sam 'imself, came up to look arter 'im a bit. 
 She sat on a chair by the side of 'is bed and tried 
 to amuse 'im by telling 'im of all the death-beds 
 she'd been at, and partikler of one man, the 
 living image of Sam, who passed away in his 
 sleep. It was past ten o'clock when Peter and 
 Ginger came 'ome, but they found pore Sam still 
 awake and sitting up in bed holding 'is eyes open 
 with his fingers. 
 
 Sam had another shilling's-worth the next day, 
 and 'is medicine was changed for the worse. If 
 anything he seemed a trifle better, but the land- 
 lady's mother, wot came up to nurse 'im agin, 
 said it was a bad sign, and that people often 
 brightened up just afore the end. She asked 'im 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 281 
 
 "She asked 'im whether 'e'd got a fancy for any partikler spot to 
 be buried in." 
 
282 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 whether 'e'd got a fancy for any partikler spot to 
 be buried in, and, talking about wot a lot o' 
 people 'ad been buried alive, said she'd ask the 
 doctor to cut Sam's 'ead off to prevent mistakes. 
 She got quite annoyed with Sam for saying, sup- 
 posing there was a mistake and he came round in 
 the middle of it, how'd he feel ? and said there 
 was no satisfying some people, do wot you 
 would. 
 
 At the end o' six days Sam was still alive and 
 losing a shilling a day, to say nothing of buying 
 'is own beef-tea and such-like. Ginger said it 
 was fair highway robbery, and tried to persuade 
 Sam to go to a 'orsepittle, where he'd 'ave lovely 
 nurses to wait on 'im hand and foot, and wouldn't 
 keep 'is best friends awake of a night making 
 'orrible noises. 
 
 Sam didn't take kindly to the idea at fust, but 
 as the doctor forbid 'im to get up, although he felt 
 much better, and his money was wasting away, he 
 gave way at last, and at seven o'clock one even- 
 ing he sent Ginger off to fetch a cab to take 'im 
 to the London Horsepittle. Sam said something 
 about putting 'is clothes on, but Peter Russet 
 said the horsepittle would be more likely to take 
 him in if he went in the blanket and counterpane, 
 and at last Sam give way. Ginger and Peter 
 helped 'im downstairs, and the cabman laid hold 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 283 
 
 o' one end o' the blanket as they got to the 
 street-door, under the idea that he was helping, 
 and very near gave Sam another chill. 
 
 " Keep your hair on," he ses, as Sam started 
 on 'im. " It'll be three-and-six for the fare, and 
 I'll take the money now." 
 
 " You'll 'ave it when you get there," ses 
 Ginger. 
 
 " I'll 'ave it now," ses the cabman. " I 'ad a 
 fare die on the way once afore." 
 
 Ginger — who was minding Sam's money for 
 'im because there wasn't a pocket in the counter- 
 pane — paid 'im, and the cab started. It jolted 
 and rattled over the stones, but Sam said the air 
 was doing 'im good. He kept 'is pluck up until 
 they got close to the horsepittle, and then 'e got 
 nervous. And 'e got more nervous when the 
 cabman got down off 'is box and put his 'ed in 
 at the winder and spoke to 'im. 
 
 " 'Ave you got any partikler fancy for the 
 London Horsepittle ? " he ses. 
 
 "No," ses Sam. "Why?" 
 
 " Well, I s'pose it don't matter, if wot your 
 mate ses is true — that you're dying," ses the 
 cabman. 
 
 " Wot d'ye mean ? " says Sam. 
 
 "Nothing," ses the cabman; "only, fust and 
 last, I s'pose I've driven five 'undred people to 
 
384 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 that 'orsepittle, and only one ever came out agin 
 — and he was smuggled out in a bread-basket." 
 
 Sam's flesh began to creep all over. 
 
 " It's a pity they don't 'ave the same rules as 
 Charing Cross H orsepittle," ses the cabman. 
 " The doctors 'ave five pounds apiece for every 
 patient that gets well there, and the consequence 
 is they ain't 'ad the blinds down for over five 
 months." 
 
 " Drive me there," ses Sam. 
 
 " It's a long way," ses the cabman, shaking his 
 'ed, "and it 'ud cost you another 'arf dollar. 
 S'pose you give the London a try ? " 
 
 "You drive to Charing Cross," ses Sam, 
 telling Ginger to give 'im the 'arf-dollar. "And 
 look sharp ; these things ain't as warm as they 
 might be." 
 
 The cabman turned his 'orse round and set off 
 agin, singing. The cab stopped once or twice 
 for a little while, and then it stopped for quite a 
 longr time, and the cabman climbed down off 'is 
 box and came to the winder agin. 
 
 " I'm sorry, mate," he ses, "but did you see 
 me speak to that party just now ? " 
 
 "The one you flicked with your whip?" ses 
 Ginger. 
 
 " No ; he was speaking to me," ses the cab- 
 man. " The last one, I mean." 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 285 
 
 " Wot about it ? " ses Peter. 
 
 " He's the under-porter at the horsepittle," ses 
 the cabman, spitting ; " and he tells me that 
 every bed is bung full, and two patients apiece in 
 some of em." 
 
 " I don't mind sleeping two in a bed," ses Sam, 
 who was very tired and cold. 
 
 "No," ses the cabman, looking at 'im ; "but 
 wot about the other one ? " 
 
 " Well, wot's to be done ? " ses Peter. 
 
 " You might go to Guy's," ses the cabman ; 
 " that's as good as Charing Cross." 
 
 " I b'lieve you're telling a pack o' lies," ses 
 Ginger. 
 
 " Come out o' my cab," ses the cabman, very 
 fierce. " Come on, all of you. Out you get." 
 
 Ginger and Peter was for getting out, but Sam 
 wouldn't 'ear of it. It was bad enough being 
 wrapped up in a blanket in a cab, without being 
 turned out in 'is bare feet on the pavement, and 
 at last Ginger apologized to the cabman by saying 
 'e supposed if he was a liar he couldn't 'elp it. 
 The cabman collected three shillings more to go 
 to Guy's 'orsepittle, and, arter a few words with 
 Ginger, climbed up on 'is box and drove off 
 agin. 
 
 They were all rather tired of the cab by this 
 time, and, going over Waterloo Bridge, Ginger 
 
286 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 began to feel uncommon thirsty, and, leaning out 
 of the winder, he told the cabman to pull up for a 
 drink. He was so long about it that Ginger 
 began to think he was bearing malice, but just as 
 he was going to tell 'im agin, the cab pulled up in 
 a quiet little street opposite a small pub. Ginger 
 Dick and Peter went in and 'ad something and 
 brought one out for Sam. They 'ad another 
 arter that, and Ginger, getting 'is good temper 
 back agin, asked the cabman to 'ave one. 
 
 " Look lively about it, Ginger," ses Sam, very 
 sharp. " You forget 'ow ill I am" 
 
 Ginger said they wouldn't be two seconds, and, 
 the cabman calling a boy to mind his 'orse, they 
 went inside. It was a quiet little place, but very 
 cosy, and Sam, peeping out of the winder, could 
 see all three of 'em leaning against the bar and 
 making themselves comfortable. Twice he made 
 the boy go in to hurry them up, and all the notice 
 they took was to go on at the boy for leaving the 
 horse. 
 
 Pore old Sam sat there hugging 'imself in the 
 bed-clo'es, and getting wilder and wilder. He 
 couldn't get out of the cab, and 'e couldn't call to 
 them for fear of people coming up and staring at 
 'im. Ginger, smiling all over with 'appiness, had 
 got a big cigar on and was pretending to pinch 
 the barmaid's flowers, and Peter and the cabman 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 287 
 
 was talking to some other chaps there. The 
 only change Sam 'ad was when the boy walked 
 the 'orse up and down the road. 
 
 He sat there for an hour and then 'e sent the 
 boy in agin. This time the cabman lost 'is 
 temper, and, arter chasing the boy up the road, 
 gave a young feller twopence to take 'is place and 
 promised *im another twopence when he came 
 out. Sam tried to get a word with 'im as 'e 
 passed, but he wouldn't listen, and it was pretty 
 near 'arf an hour later afore they all came out, 
 talking and laughing. 
 
 " Now for the 'orsepittle," ses Ginger, opening 
 the door. " Come on, Peter ; don't keep pore 
 old Sam waiting all night." 
 
 " 'Arf a tic," ses the cabman, " 'arf a tic ; 
 there's five shillings for waiting, fust." 
 
 "Wot?" ses Ginger, staring at 'im. "Arter 
 giving you all them drinks ? " 
 
 " Five shillings," ses the cabman ; " two hours' 
 waiting at half a crown an hour. That's the 
 proper charge." » 
 
 Ginger thought 'e was joking at fust, and when 
 he found 'e wasn't he called 'im all the names he 
 could think of, while Peter Russet stood by 
 smiling and trying to think where 'e was and wot 
 it was all about. 
 
 " Pay 'im the five bob. Ginger, and 'ave done 
 
288 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 with it," ses pore Sam, at last. " I shall never 
 get to the horsepittle at this rate." 
 
 " Cert' inly not," ses Ginger, " not if we stay 
 'ere all night." 
 
 " Pay 'im the five bob," ses, Sam, raising 'is 
 voice ; " it's my money." 
 
 "You keep quiet," ses Ginger, "and speak 
 when your spoke to. Get inside, Peter." 
 
 Peter, wot was standing by blinking and 
 smiling, misunderstood 'im, and went back inside 
 the pub. Ginger went arter 'im to fetch 'im 
 back, and hearing a noise turned round and saw 
 the cabman pulling Sam out o' the cab. He was 
 just in time to shove 'im back agin, and for the 
 next two or three minutes 'im and the cabman 
 was 'ard at it. Sam was too busy holding 'is 
 clothes on to do much, and twice the cabman got 
 'im 'arf out, and twice Ginger got him back agin 
 and bumped 'im back in 'is seat and shut 
 the door. Then they both stopped and took 
 breath. 
 
 " We'll see which gets tired fust," ses Ginger. 
 " Hold the door inside, Sam." 
 
 The cabman looked at 'im, and then 'e climbed 
 up on to 'is seat and, just as Ginger ran back for 
 Peter Russet, drove off at full speed. 
 
 Pore Sam leaned back in 'is seat panting and 
 trying to wrap 'imself up better in the counter- 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 289 
 
 " ' All right,' ses the cabman, taking his 'orse out and leading it into a stable. 
 ' Mind you don't catch cold.' " 
 
 19 
 
290 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 pane, which 'ad got torn in the struggle. They 
 went through street arter street, and 'e was just 
 thinking of a nice warm bed and a kind nurse 
 listening to all 'is troubles when 'e found they was 
 going over London Bridge. 
 
 "You've passed it," he ses, putting his 'ead out 
 of the winder. 
 
 The cabman took no notice, and afore Sam 
 could think wot to make of it they was in the 
 Whitechapel Road, and arter that, although Sam 
 kept putting his 'ead out of the winder and asking 
 'im questions, they kept going through a lot o' 
 little back streets until 'e began to think the cab- 
 man 'ad lost 'is way. They stopped at last in a 
 dark little road, in front of a brick wall, and then 
 the cabman got down and opened a door and led 
 his 'orse and cab into a yard. 
 
 " Do you call this Guy's Horsepittle ? " ses 
 Sam. 
 
 "Hullo!" ses the cabman. "Why, I thought 
 I put you out o' my cab once." 
 
 " I'll give you five minutes to drive me to the 
 'orsepittle," ses Sam. " Arter that I shall go for 
 the police." 
 
 " All right," ses the cabman, taking his 'orse 
 out and leading it into a stable. "Mind you 
 don't catch cold." 
 
 He lighted a lantern and began to look arter 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 291 
 
 the 'orse, and pore Sam sat there getting colder 
 and colder and wondering wot 'e was going 
 to do. 
 
 " I shall give you in charge for kidnapping 
 me," he calls out very loud. 
 
 " Kidnapping ? " ses the cabman. " Who do 
 you think wants to kidnap you ? The gate's 
 open, and you can go as soon as you like." 
 
 Sam climbed out of the cab, and holding up 
 the counterpane walked across the yard in 'is bare 
 feet to the stable. " Well, will you drive me 
 'ome ? " he ses. 
 
 " Cert'inly not," ses the cabman ; " I'm going 
 'ome myself now. It's time you went, 'cos I'm 
 going to lock up." 
 
 "'Ow can I go like this ?" ses Sam, bursting 
 with passion. " Ain't you got any sense ? " 
 
 " Well, wot are you going to do ? " ses the cab- 
 man, picking 'is teeth with a bit o' straw. 
 
 " Wot would you do if you was me ? " ses Sam, 
 calming down a bit and trying to speak civil. 
 
 "Well, if I was you," said the cabman, speak- 
 ing very slow, " I should be more perlite to begin 
 with ; you accused me just now— me, a 'ard- 
 working man — o' kidnapping you." 
 
 " It was only my fun," ses Sam, very quick. 
 " I ain't kidnapping you, am I ? " ses the cab- 
 man. 
 
 19* 
 
292 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 " Cert'inly not," ses Sam. 
 
 "Well, then," ses the cabman, " if I was you I 
 should pay 'arf a crown for a night's lodging in 
 this nice warm stable, and in the morning I 
 should ask the man it belongs to— that's me — to 
 go up to my lodging with a letter, asking for a 
 suit o' clothes and eleven-and-six." 
 
 " Eleven-and-six ? " ses Sam, staring. 
 
 "Five bob for two hours' wait," ses the cab- 
 man, " four shillings for the drive here, and 'arf a 
 crown for the stable. That's fair, ain't it ?" 
 
 Sam said it was — as soon as he was able to 
 speak — and then the cabman gave 'im a truss of 
 straw to lay on and a rug to cover 'im up with. 
 And then, ■ calling 'imself a fool for being so 
 tender-'earted, he left Sam the lantern, and locked 
 the stable-door and went off. 
 
 It seemed like a 'orrid dream to Sam, and the 
 only thing that comforted 'im was the fact that he 
 felt much better. His illness seemed to 'ave 
 gone, and arter hunting round the stable to see 
 whether 'e could find anything to eat, 'e pulled the 
 rug over him and went to sleep. 
 
 He was woke up at six o'clock in the morning 
 by the cabman opening the door. There was a 
 lovely smell o' hot tea from a tin he 'ad in one 
 'and, and a lovelier smell still from a plate o' 
 bread and butter and bloaters in the other. Sam 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 293 
 
 sniffed so 'ard that at last the cabman noticed it, 
 and asked 'im whether he 'ad got a cold. When 
 Sam explained he seemed to think a minute or 
 two, and then 'e said that it was 'is breakfast, but 
 Sam could 'ave it if 'e liked to make up the 
 money to a pound. 
 
 " Take it or leave it," he ses, as Sam began to 
 grumble. 
 
 Poor Sam was so 'ungry he took it, and it done 
 him good. By the time he 'ad eaten it he felt as 
 right as ninepence, and 'e took such a dislike to 
 the cabman 'e could hardly be civil to 'im. And 
 when the cabman spoke about the letter to Ginger 
 Dick he spoke up and tried to bate 'im down to 
 seven-and-six. 
 
 " You write that letter for a pound," ses the 
 cabman, looking at 'im very fierce, " or else you 
 can walk 'ome in your counterpane, with 'arf the 
 boys in London follering you and trying to pull it 
 off." 
 
 Sam rose 'im to seventeen-and-six, but it was 
 all no good, and at last 'e wrote a letter to Ginger 
 Dick, telling 'im to give the cabman a suit of 
 clothes and a pound. 
 
 " And look sharp about it," he ses. " I shall 
 expect 'em in 'arf an hour." 
 
 "You'll 'ave 'em, if you're lucky, when I come 
 back to change 'orses at four o'clock," ses the cab- 
 
294 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 man. " D'ye think I've got nothing to do but 
 fuss about arter you ? " 
 
 " Why not drive me back in the cab ? " ses 
 Sam. 
 
 " 'Cos I wasn't born yesterday," ses the cab- 
 man. 
 
 He winked at Sam, and then, whistling very 
 cheerful, took his 'orse out and put it in the cab. 
 He was so good-tempered that 'e got quite play- 
 ful, and Sam 'ad to tell him that when 'e wanted 
 to 'ave his legs tickled with a straw he'd let 'im 
 know. 
 
 Some people can't take a 'int, and, as the cab- 
 man wouldn't be'ave 'imself, Sam walked into a 
 shed that was handy and pulled the door to, and 
 he stayed there until he 'eard 'im go back to the 
 stable for 'is rug. It was only a yard or two from 
 the shed to the cab, and, 'ardly thinking wot he 
 was doing, Sam nipped out and got into it and 
 sat huddled up on the floor. 
 
 He sat there holding 'is breath and not daring 
 to move until the cabman 'ad shut the gate and 
 was driving off up the road, and then 'e got up on 
 the seat and lolled back out of sight. The shops 
 were just opening, the sun was shining, and Sam 
 felt so well that 'e was thankful that 'e hadn't got 
 to the horsepittle arter all. 
 
 The cab was going very slow, and two or three 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 295 
 
 times the cabman 'arf pulled up and waved his 
 whip at people wot he thought wanted a cab, but 
 at last an old lady and gentleman, standing on the 
 edge of the kerb with a big bag, held up their 
 'ands to 'im. The cab pulled in to the kerb, and 
 the old gentleman 'ad just got hold of the door 
 and was trying to open it when he caught sight 
 of Sam. 
 
 " Why, you've got a fare," he ses. 
 
 "No, sir," ses the cabman. 
 
 " But I say you 'ave," ses the old gentleman. 
 
 The cabman climbed down off 'is box and 
 looked in at the winder, and for over two minutes 
 he couldn't speak a word. He just stood there 
 looking at Sam and getting purpler and purpler 
 about the face. 
 
 " Drive on, cabby," ses Sam. " Wot are you 
 stopping for ? " 
 
 The cabman tried to tell 'im, but just then a 
 policeman came walking up to see wot was the 
 matter, and 'e got on the box agin and drove off. 
 Cabmen love policemen just about as much as 
 cats love dogs, and he drove down two streets 
 afore he stopped and got down agin to finish 'is 
 remarks. 
 
 " Not so much talk, cabman," ses Sam, who 
 was beginning to enjoy 'imself, "else I shall call 
 the police." 
 
296 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 "Are you coming out o' my cab ?" ses the 
 cabman, " or 'ave I got to put you out ?" 
 
 " You put me out ! " ses Sam, who 'ad tied 'is 
 clothes up with string while 'e was in the stable, 
 and 'ad got his arms free. 
 
 The cabman looked at 'im 'elpless for a 
 moment, and then he got up and drove off agin. 
 At fust Sam thought 'e was going to drive back 
 to the stable, and he clenched 'is teeth and made 
 up 'is mind to 'ave a fight for it. Then he 
 saw that 'e was really being driven 'ome, and 
 at last the cab pulled up in the next street to 
 'is lodgings, and the cabman, asking a man to 
 give an eye to his 'orse, walked on with the 
 letter. He was back agin in a few minutes, 
 and Sam could see by 'is face that something had 
 'appened. 
 
 "They ain't been 'ome all night," he ses, 
 sulky-like. 
 
 " Well, I shall 'ave to send the money on to 
 you," ses Sam, in a off-hand way. " Unless you 
 like to call for it." 
 
 " I'll call for it, matey," ses the cabman, with a 
 kind smile, as he took 'old of his 'orse and led it 
 up to Sam's lodgings. " I know I can trust you, 
 but it'll save you trouble. But s'pose he's been 
 on the drink and lost the money ? " 
 
 Sam got out and made a dash for the door, 
 
A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 297 
 
 ^^-^4*-, 
 
 'So long." 
 
398 A CIRCULAR TOUR 
 
 which 'appened to be open. " It won't make no 
 difference," he ses. 
 
 " No difference ? " ses the cabman, staring. 
 
 " Not to you, I mean," ses Sam, shutting the 
 door very slow. " So long." 
 
 Printed at Tlie Chapel River Pre.-<s, Kingston, Surrey. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4821.J2S5 1907a 
 
 Short cruises; with 38 illustratlonsby Wl 
 
 3 1924 013 487 669 
 
^' 
 
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