Deep Waters, the Entire Collection

“I dare say,” ses George, “I dare say. But you’ll come along with me to the wharf and see the skipper. I’m not going to lose five-and-twenty quid through your carelessness.”

I marched along in front of ‘im with my ‘ead in the air, and when he spoke to me I didn’t answer him. He went aboard the ship when we got to the wharf, and a minute or two arterwards ‘e came to the side and said the skipper wanted to see me.

The airs the skipper gave ‘imself was sickening. He sat down there in ‘is miserable little rat-’ole of a cabin and acted as if ‘e was a judge and I was a prisoner. Most of the ‘ands ‘ad squeezed in there too, and the things they advised George to do to me was remarkable.

“Silence!” ses the skipper. “Now, watchman, tell me exactly ‘ow this thing ‘appened.”

“I’ve told you once,” I ses.

“I know,” ses the skipper, “but I want you to tell me again to see if you contradict yourself. I can’t understand ‘ow such a clever man as you could be done so easy.”

I thought I should ha’ bust, but I kept my face wonderful. I just asked ‘im wot the men was like that got off with ‘is watch and chain and two pounds, in case they might be the same.

“That’s different,” he ses.

“Oh!” ses I. “‘Ow?”

“I lost my own property,” he ses, “but you lost George’s, and ‘ow a man like you, that’s so much sharper and cleverer than other people, could be had so easy, I can’t think. Why, a child of five would ha’ known better.”

“A baby in arms would ha’ known better,” ses the man wot ‘ad bought the di’mond ring. “‘Ow could you ‘ave been so silly, Bill? At your time o’ life, too!”

“That’s neither ‘ere nor there,” ses the skip-per. “The watchman has lost twenty-five quid belonging to one o’ my men. The question is, wot is he going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” I ses. “I didn’t ask ‘im to let me mind the box. He done it of ‘is own free will. It’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Oh, hasn’t it?” ses the skipper, drawing ‘imself up. “I don’t want to be too ‘ard on you, but at the same time I can’t let my man suffer. I’ll make it as easy as I can, and I order you to pay ‘im five shillings a week till the twenty-five pounds is cleared off.”

I laughed; I couldn’t ‘elp it. I just stood there and laughed at ‘im.

“If you don’t,” ses the skipper, “then I shall lay the facts of the case afore the guv’nor. Whether he’ll object to you being in a pub a mile away, taking care of a box of gold while you was supposed to be taking care of the wharf, is his bisness. My bisness is to see that my man ‘as ‘is rights.”

“‘Ear, ‘ear !” ses the crew.

“You please yourself, watchman,” ses the skipper. “You’re such a clever man that no doubt you could get a better job to-morrow. There must be ‘eaps of people wanting a man like you. It’s for you to decide. That’s all I’ve got to say—five bob a week till pore George ‘as got ‘is money back, or else I put the case afore the guv’nor. Wot did you say?”

I said it agin, and, as ‘e didn’t seem to understand, I said it once more.

“Please yourself,” ‘e ses, when I ‘ad finished. “You’re an old man, and five bob a week can’t be much loss to you. You’ve got nothing to spend it on, at your time o’ life. And you’ve got a very soft job ‘ere. Wot?”

I didn’t answer ‘im. I just turned round, and, arter giving a man wot stood in my way a punch in the chest, I got up on deck and on to the wharf, and said my little say all alone to myself, behind the crane.

I paid the fust five bob to George Tebb the next time the ship was up, and arter biting ‘em over and over agin and then ringing ‘em on the deck ‘e took the other chaps round to the Bear’s Head.

“P’r’aps it’s just as well it’s ‘appened,” he ses. “Five bob a week for nearly two years ain’t to be sneezed at. It’s slow, but it’s sure.”

I thought ‘e was joking at fust, but arter working it out in the office with a bit o’ pencil and paper I thought I should ha’ gorn crazy. And when I complained about the time to George ‘e said I could make it shorter if I liked by paying ten bob a week, but ‘e thought the steady five bob a week was best for both of us.

I got to ‘ate the sight of ‘im. Every week regular as clockwork he used to come round to me with his ‘and out, and then go and treat ‘is mates to beer with my money. If the ship came up in the day-time, at six o’clock in the evening he’d be at the wharf gate waiting for me; and if it came up at night she was no sooner made fast than ‘e was over the side patting my trouser-pocket and saying wot a good job it was for both of us that I was in steady employment.

Week arter week and month arter month I went on paying. I a’most forgot the taste o’ beer, and if I could manage to get a screw o’ baccy a week I thought myself lucky. And at last, just as I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, the end came.

I ‘ad just given George ‘is week’s money—and ‘ow I got it together that week I don’t know—when one o’ the chaps came up and said the skipper wanted to see me on board at once.

“Tell ‘im if he wants to see me I’m to be found on the wharf,” I ses, very sharp.

“He wants to see you about George’s money,” ses the chap. “I should go if I was you. My opinion is he wants to do you a good turn.”

I ‘ung fire for a bit, and then, arter sweeping up for a little while deliberate-like, I put down my broom and stepped aboard to see the skipper, wot was sitting on the cabin skylight purtending to read a newspaper.

He put it down when ‘e see me, and George and the others, wot ‘ad been standing in a little bunch for’ard, came aft and stood looking on.

“I wanted to see you about this money, watchman,” ses the skipper, putting on ‘is beastly frills agin. “O’ course, we all feel that to a pore man like you it’s a bit of a strain, and, as George ses, arter all you have been more foolish than wicked.”

“Much more,” ses George.

“I find that you ‘ave now paid five bob a week for nineteen weeks,” ses the skipper, “and George ‘as been kind enough and generous enough to let you off the rest. There’s no need for you to look bashful, George; it’s a credit to you.”

I could ‘ardly believe my ears. George stood there grinning like a stuck fool, and two o’ the chaps was on their best behaviour with their ‘ands over their mouths and their eyes sticking out.

“That’s all, watchman,” ses the skipper; “and I ‘ope it’ll be a lesson to you not to neglect your dooty by going into public-’ouses and taking charge of other people’s money when you ain’t fit for it.”

“I sha’n’t try to do anybody else a kindness agin, if that’s wot you mean,” I ses, looking at ‘im.

“No, you’d better not,” he ses. “This partickler bit o’ kindness ‘as cost you four pounds fifteen, and that’s a curious thing when you come to think of it. Very curious.”

“Wot d’ye mean?” I ses.

“Why,” he ses, grinning like a madman, “it’s just wot we lost between us. I lost a watch and chain worth two pounds, and another couple o’ pounds besides; Joe lost ten shillings over ‘is di’mond ring; and Charlie lost five bob over a pipe. ‘That’s four pounds fifteen—just the same as you.”

Them silly fools stood there choking and sobbing and patting each other on the back as though they’d never leave off, and all of a sudden I ‘ad a ‘orrible suspicion that I ‘ad been done.

“Did you see the sovereigns in the box?” I ses, turning to the skipper.

“No,” he ses, shaking his ‘ead.

“‘Ow do you know they was there, then?” ses I.

“Because you took charge of ‘em,” said the skipper; “and I know wot a clever, sharp chap you are. It stands to reason that you wouldn’t be responsible for a box like that unless you saw inside of it. Why, a child o’ five wouldn’t!”

I stood there looking at ‘im, but he couldn’t meet my eye. None of ‘em could; and arter waiting there for a minute or two to give ‘em a chance, I turned my back on ‘em and went off to my dooty.

MADE TO MEASURE

Mr. Mott brought his niece home from the station with considerable pride. Although he had received a photograph to assist identification, he had been very dubious about accosting the pretty, well-dressed girl who had stepped from the train and gazed around with dove-like eyes in search of him. Now he was comfortably conscious of the admiring gaze of his younger fellow-townsmen.

“You’ll find it a bit dull after London, I expect,” he remarked, as he inserted his key in the door of a small house in a quiet street.

“I’m tired of London,” said Miss Garland. “I think this is a beautiful little old town—so peaceful.”