Short Cruises
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W.W. Jacobs >> Short Cruises
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SHORT CRUISES
BY
W. W. JACOBS
CONTENTS
THE CHANGELING
MIXED RELATIONS
HIS LORDSHIP
ALF'S DREAM
A DISTANT RELATIVE
THE TEST
IN THE FAMILY
A LOVE-KNOT
HER UNCLE
THE DREAMER
ANGELS' VISITS
A CIRCULAR TOUR
ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM DRAWINGS BY WILL OWEN
"'And what about my voice?' he demanded"
"'George!' she exclaimed sharply"
"He struck a match and, holding it before his face, looked up at the
window"
"Mr. Stokes, taking his dazed friend by the arm, led him gently away"
"The mate smiled too"
"Sarcasm they did try, but at that the cook could more than hold his
own"
"'Good-by,' he said slowly; 'and I wish you both every happiness'"
"'She's got your eyes,' said his lordship"
"'I like fools better than lords'"
"He patted 'im on the shoulder and said 'ow well he was filling out"
"Mr. Potter was then introduced and received a gracious reception"
"A gold watch and chain lent an air of substance to his waistcoat"
"'And we don't want you following us about,' said Mr. Dix, sharply"
"'I tell you he can't swim,' repeated Mr. Heard, passionately"
"'You leave go o' my lodger,' ses Bob Pretty"
"He slammed the door in Bob Pretty's face"
"On the third morning he took Mrs. Bowman out for a walk"
"'I had forgotten it was there,' he said, nervously"
"The corner of the trunk took the gesticulating Mr. Wragg by the side of
the head"
"'What did you do that for?' demanded Mr. Gale, sitting up"
"'Why didn't you tell me then?' ses Ted"
"'I shall take my opportunity,' he ses, 'and break it to 'er gentle
like'"
"He astonished Mrs. Jobling next day by the gift of a geranium"
"They offered Mrs. Jobling her choice of at least a hundred plans for
bringing him to his senses"
"'She asked 'im whether 'e'd got a fancy for any partikler spot to be
buried in"
"'All right,' ses the cabman, taking his 'orse out and leading it into a
stable, 'mind you don't catch cold'" "So long"
[Illustration: 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 offensive 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 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 explanation. "Clock's fast," he
said, rising and adjusting 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. Henshaw, 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 respectable!"
"It wasn't me," reiterated the unfortunate.
"When I called out to you," pursued the unheeding 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. Henshaw.
"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.
"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 favorite 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. Henshaw, 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."
"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 consideration; "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 looking 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 neighboring 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 concern.
"You wait till you're married," said Mr. Henshaw, 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 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. "Tomorrow 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.
Mr. Stokes winked. "On account o' the surprising likeness," he said,
smiling. "It is surprising, 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 difficulties."
"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.
"We thought we was," said Mr. Stokes, with a 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 wonderful! 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."
[Illustration: "'And what about my voice?' he demanded."]
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
behavior 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. Fragments 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, surveyed
him with grinning satisfaction. Under his directions Mr. Henshaw also
darkened his eyebrows 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, carelessly, 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."
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," explained Mr. Stokes, "and,
foolish-like, he went outside a 'bus with me the other night and made it
worse."
"Oh-h!" said Mrs. Henshaw, slowly. "Indeed! Really!"
"He's quite curious to see George," said Mr. Stokes. "In fact, he was
going back to Ireland tonight 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.
[Illustration: "'George!' she exclaimed, sharply."]
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Stokes, sternly. "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."
"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 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 hesitation.
"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 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 everybody," 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 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'raps 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, _I_ 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 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-by, 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."
"It's my opinion she recognized 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 increasing in loudness. At the fourth knock a light
appeared in the room above, the window was raised, and Mrs. Henshaw
leaned out
"_Mr. Bell!_" she said, in tones of severe surprise.
"_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!"
"It's me, I tell you--George!" said her husband, desperately. "What do
you mean by calling me Bell?"
[Illustration: "He struck a match and, holding it before his face,
looked up at the window."]
"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."
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 to
his relief he heard somebody moving about upstairs 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?"
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