“You can't be TOO careful WHO you marry,” said Mr. Brisher, and pulled
thoughtfully with a fat-wristed hand at the lank moustache that hides
his want of chin.
“That's why--” I ventured.
“Yes,” said Mr. Brisher, with a solemn light in his bleary, blue-grey
eyes, moving his head expressively and breathing alcohol INTIMATELY at
me. “There's lots as 'ave 'ad a try at me--many as I could name in this
town--but none 'ave done it--none.”
I surveyed the flushed countenance, the equatorial expansion, the
masterly carelessness of his attire, and heaved a sigh to think that
by reason of the unworthiness of women he must needs be the last of his
race.
“I was a smart young chap when I was younger,” said Mr. Brisher. “I 'ad
my work cut out. But I was very careful--very. And I got through...”
He leant over the taproom table and thought visibly on the subject of my
trustworthiness. I was relieved at last by his confidence.
“I was engaged once,” he said at last, with a reminiscent eye on the
shuv-a'penny board.
“So near as that?”
He looked at me. “So near as that. Fact is--” He looked about him,
brought his face close to mine, lowered his voice, and fenced off an
unsympathetic world with a grimy hand. “If she ain't dead or married to
some one else or anything--I'm engaged still. Now.” He confirmed this
statement with nods and facial contortions. “STILL,” he said, ending the
pantomime, and broke into a reckless smile at my surprise. “ME!”
“Run away,” he explained further, with coruscating eyebrows. “Come 'ome.
“That ain't all.
“You'd 'ardly believe it,” he said, “but I found a treasure. Found a
regular treasure.”
I fancied this was irony, and did not, perhaps, greet it with proper
surprise. “Yes,” he said, “I found a treasure. And come 'ome. I tell you
I could surprise you with things that has happened to me.” And for some
time he was content to repeat that he had found a treasure--and left it.
I made no vulgar clamour for a story, but I became attentive to Mr.
Brisher's bodily needs, and presently I led him back to the deserted
lady.
“She was a nice girl,” he said--a little sadly, I thought. “AND
respectable.”
He raised his eyebrows and tightened his mouth to express extreme
respectability--beyond the likes of us elderly men.
“It was a long way from 'ere. Essex, in fact. Near Colchester. It was
when I was up in London--in the buildin' trade. I was a smart young
chap then, I can tell you. Slim. 'Ad best clo'es 's good as anybody.
'At--SILK 'at, mind you.” Mr. Brisher's hand shot above his head towards
the infinite to indicate it silk hat of the highest. “Umbrella--nice
umbrella with a 'orn 'andle. Savin's. Very careful I was....”
He was pensive for a little while, thinking, as we must all come to
think sooner or later, of the vanished brightness of youth. But he
refrained, as one may do in taprooms, from the obvious moral.
“I got to know 'er through a chap what was engaged to 'er sister. She
was stopping in London for a bit with an aunt that 'ad a 'am an' beef
shop. This aunt was very particular--they was all very particular
people, all 'er people was--and wouldn't let 'er sister go out with this
feller except 'er other sister, MY girl that is, went with them. So 'e
brought me into it, sort of to ease the crowding. We used to go walks in
Battersea Park of a Sunday afternoon. Me in my topper, and 'im in 'is;
and the girl's--well--stylish. There wasn't many in Battersea Park 'ad
the larf of us. She wasn't what you'd call pretty, but a nicer girl I
never met. _I_ liked 'er from the start, and, well--though I say it who
shouldn't--she liked me. You know 'ow it is, I dessay?”