him again. Meanwhile, Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock had devoted the interval
to the benevolent purpose of cheering up Mr. Dobb, and so successful had
they been that Mr. Clark, on his return, stood awhile at the threshold of
the “Red Lion” tap-room to listen in amazement to the careless mirth
within.
For Mr. Dobb, fully persuaded by his companions that the encounter with
Miss Radling did not necessarily presage evil, had become even more
eloquent than they in voicing the folly of meeting trouble half-way. And
now, drawing equally on reminiscence and invention, the three were
exchanging diverting anecdotes concerning occasions when alarm had proved
groundless. Mr. Tridge had just concluded a droll story about a cheese in
a sack, a policeman, a runaway horse, and himself, and Mr. Dobb and Mr.
Lock were chuckling very heartily at the dénouement, when Mr. Clark
thrust open the door of the tap-room.
“That’s right, ’Orace!” he observed, significantly. “You laugh while you
can!”
At these ill-omened words, the merriment faded abruptly, and Mr. Dobb was
distinctly heard to groan.
“I’ve seed ’er,” announced Mr. Clark; and advancing, patted Mr. Dobb
thrice on the shoulder, very slowly, and solemnly.
“Well, then,” hotly cried Mr. Tridge, with due understanding of this
action, “she’s a mink! That’s what she is—a mink!”
“You take my advice, ’Orace,” recommended Mr. Clark. “Hostralia!”
There was a little wait while the quailing Mr. Dobb was sorrowfully
regarded by his three friends, as though even now they were bidding him
farewell on his departure to the Antipodes. Mr. Dobb gazed back,
horror-struck, at each of his three companions in turn, and when his
glance rested upon Mr. Lock, that gentleman rose and shook hands with him
with a long and lingering clasp. And then Mr. Dobb shakily emptied each
of the glasses on the table before him, and no one had the hardness of
heart to bid him nay.
And next, Mr. Clark proceeded to narrate his interview with Miss Radling.
He had found her, it transpired, in the High Street, and had at length
managed to recall himself to her memory, a task which had been rendered a
little protracted by the fact that Miss Radling gave but superficial
attention to him at first, being more zealously employed in taking close
heed of the faces of all male passers-by.
When, however, Miss Radling had recognized Mr. Clark as an old
acquaintance of the “Jane Gladys” she had expressed the keenest
satisfaction in meeting him, and had at once asked for the address of Mr.
Horace Dobb.
Mr. Clark immediately professed ignorance of Mr. Dobb’s whereabouts, but
pretended to a vague belief that the late cook of the “Jane Gladys” was
now somewhere in Scotland. Miss Radling promptly controverted this,
stating with complete certainty that she had herself seen Mr. Dobb in
Shorehaven during that very afternoon. She had also added, with sinister
vehemence, that she intended to see Mr. Dobb again and again before she
had finished with him.
“But—but—but what for?” interposed the miserable Mr. Dobb.
“Just what I says to her,” responded Mr. Clark. “‘What for?’ I says.
And she says as ’ow you was hengaged to ’er, and you ’adn’t wrote ’er a
line for months. ‘Though,’ she says, ‘the letters ’e wrote me before
that is quite enough to do the trick. I’ve kept ’em all,’ she says, ‘and
I’m going to get even with ’im some’ow. Either ’e’s got to put the banns
up or else I goes to the best lawyer in Shore’aven. I’ve found out, by
chance, that ’Orace Dobb is living in these parts, and,’ says she—”
“Now, ’ow the dooce did she find that out?” questioned Mr. Tridge,
wrathfully.
“Wasn’t the ‘Raven’ in ’arbour here a fortnight or so after you settled
into your shop, ’Orace?” put forward Mr. Lock.
“It was!” bellowed Mr. Dobb. “Well, there’s a nasty, low, mean,
under’and, sneaking trick to—”
“Anyway,” said Mr. Clark, “she ’asn’t got your correct address. She said
she’d been looking all over the town for a shop with Dobb on it. And
nacherally I didn’t tell ’er that the board still showed your wife’s name
of Goffley. And she didn’t know that you’re married yet, neither.”
“Can’t you just see them ‘Raven’ chaps a-grinning when they fixed all
this up for me?” growled Mr. Dobb.
“Did she seem sort of forgiving at all, Sam?” asked Mr. Lock.
“Oh, dear me, no!” returned Mr. Clark. “Quite the contrary, in fact.
You oughter seen the way she folded ’er lips. A nice-spoken,
pleasant-looking, ladylike gal like that, too! I was surprised ’ow sharp
and determined she could be.”
And now Mr. Clark, with considerable pride in his diplomacy, proceeded to
speak of the clever foundations he had laid for an alibi. Insisting that
Mr. Dobb was not within a hundred miles of Shorehaven, he had admitted to
Miss Radling that the remaining members of the “Jane Gladys” crew now
resided in the town. This, he suggested to her, might explain matters.
Confusion of identity, he had reminded her, was of frequent occurrence
among the mercantile marine.
“‘But I see ’Orace with my very own eyes,’ she says, and goes on to
describe the very clothes you’re wearing, ’Orace,” continued Mr. Clark.
“‘Why,’ says I, ‘that just shows ’ow wrong you are! Them clothes is the
clothes worn by Peter Lock on ’igh days and ’olidays,’ I says.”
Mr. Lock uttered an exclamation denoting surprise.
“Well, I chose you because you was always the dressy one on the ‘Jane
Gladys,’ Peter,” explained Mr. Clark. “‘That there’s Peter Lock in ’is
Sunday clothes you saw,’ I tells ’er, ‘and you mistook ’im for ’Orace
Dobb. You’ve forgot what ’Orace looked like, and Peter Lock ’aving been
on the ‘Jane Gladys,’ to your knowledge—”
“That’s it, that’s it?” approved Mr. Dobb. “I’ll lend you these ’ere
clothes, Peter, for a hour or two, if you takes care of ’em, and you can
meet ’er in them and prove old Sam was right.”
“Anyway, you can _try_ to,” said Mr. Clark, soberly. “I must say she
didn’t look altogether convinced, as it might be.”
But Mr. Dobb, already excitedly divesting himself of his coat and
waistcoat was paying no heed. And Mr. Lock, delicately massaging the
nape of his neck with a forefinger, was immersed in thought.
“Wait a bit!” he requested, coldly, at last. “Seems to me, if I don’t
help you now, ’Orace, you’re in a tight corner?”
“Ah, I’m lucky to ’ave a true friend like you, Peter!” babbled Mr. Dobb.
“Wonder if they’ve got a outhouse they can lend us for a few minutes?”
“And you’ve got a motto, too, ain’t you, ’Orace?” went on Mr. Lock, in
steely accents. “‘Strictly business’—that’s what has been your motto
ever since you went into your shop, ain’t it? Oh, you’ve drove it home
to us often enough when it’s been convenient to you and ill-convenient to
us. Well, my motto’s going to be ‘strictly business’ now!” he ended,
firmly.
“Meaning?” invited Mr. Dobb, ceasing to struggle with a bootlace.
“Meaning I don’t borrer clothes from nobody to help ’em out of trouble.
See? If you want me to help you, you’ve got to give me that rig-out.
See? Otherwise I shouldn’t dream of putting it on for a single moment.”
Mr. Dobb agitatedly stigmatized this as blackmail and robbery, and Mr.
Lock quite unemotionally agreed with him in this view, but declined to be
affected by it. Mr. Tridge and Mr. Clark, with eyes that glistened
admiringly on Mr. Lock, said that, to them, it seemed a very fair
bargain.
Ten minutes later Mr. Dobb and Mr. Lock made an exchange of vesture in an
outhouse. Mr. Dobb somewhat huffily declined to agree with Mr. Tridge
and Mr. Clark in their openly expressed opinion that Mr. Lock looked a
real toff in the hirsute garments.
“I’ll stroll along with Peter and ’ave a look for Miss Radling,” said Mr.
Tridge, as the quartet took their places in the ferry-boat. “I’ll be
able to back him up by saying you don’t live anywhere in these parts. As
for you, you’d better stay at ’ome while she’s in the town, ’Orace.”
“Stay at ’ome? I’m going straight to bed,” declared Mr. Dobb, “and I
ain’t coming down again till the coast is quite clear, neither!”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Tridge. “You leave it to me and Peter. We’ll
convince ’er all right.”
That same evening Mr. Dobb lay fretfully in bed, suffering from a vague
ailment which, he averred, was not serious enough to demand a doctor, but
too serious to permit of Mrs. Dobb’s ministrations as a nurse. In these
circumstances, two visitors who called to see Mr. Dobb were about to be
sent away by his wife, when Mr. Dobb, who happened to be standing at his
open bedroom door, gave orders that they should ascend to his apartment.
“Well,” he asked, breathlessly, as Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock entered, “’ave
you convinced ’er? Is she gone?”
“No, she ain’t,” said Mr. Tridge, regretfully. “She’s looking for a
situation in the town. And, do you know, I don’t believe she quite took
in what we told ’er about mistaking Peter for you. I believe she’s
sharper than we think.”
“But you’ve _got_ to make ’er believe it!” wrathfully snapped Mr. Dobb.
“I doubt if she’s the sort you can _make_ do anything,” said Mr. Lock.
“A most determined young person,” said Mr. Tridge. “When she makes up
’er mind, I should say—”
“She ain’t half bitter against you, ’Orace,” remarked Mr. Lock. “You
ought to hear the things she said about you! What was that bit she told
us about the bag of sweets, Joe?”
“I don’t want to ’ear about sweets!” exclaimed Mr. Dobb, impatiently. “I
want to ’ear about ’er plans!”
“Well, she _said_ she was going to try for two ’undred and fifty,”
replied Mr. Tridge. “Soon as ever she knew where to find you, she said,
she was coming round to—”
Mr. Dobb, in an excess of nervous depression, dived beneath the
bedclothes, moaning faintly.
“This I will say,” maintained Mr. Lock. “Them chaps on the ‘Raven’ have
gone a bit beyond a joke this time. Well, so-long, ’Orace! Keep
smiling!”
“We’ll do our best for you,” promised Mr. Tridge. “We’ll keep on telling
’er she was mistook this afternoon.”
“You keep on letting ’er see you in them clothes, Peter, till she sees
she’s wrong,” directed Mr. Dobb, reappearing.
“I’m going to meet her to-morrow afternoon in them,” replied Mr. Lock.
“I’m going to help her look for you.”
“’Ere!” croaked Mr. Dobb, in alarm; and then, at sight of Mr. Lock’s
humorous eyelid, he smiled wanly. “You’re a artful one, Peter!” he
stated.
“I am!” agreed Mr. Lock; and followed Mr. Tridge down the stairs.
Next evening, when Mr. Lock again called to report progress, Mr. Dobb was
still clinging to the sanctuary of bed.
“Well, you ain’t found me yet, then?” he asked, with effort to be
cheerful.
“Not yet,” admitted Mr. Lock, grinning. “We’ve been looking all over the
place for you, too!”
“Ain’t she losing ’eart yet?”
“I can’t say she is,” returned Mr. Lock, sorrowfully. “It only seems to
make ’er firmer in mind. If you only knew how the soles of my feet was
aching!”
“She still thinks I’m about, eh?”
“She’s sure of it. She says she ain’t going to give up looking for you
till she’s found you, if it takes ten years!”
“There’s hobstinicy!” growled Mr. Dobb, dashed.
“One thing, she ain’t going to find you as long as I’m helping her to
look,” said Mr. Lock. “So it’ll be a long job, anyway.”
“Thank you for nothing! I suppose you fancies yourself, walking about in
all them la-de-da clothes with a attractive young female?” harshly
suggested Mr. Dobb.
“I do,” said Mr. Lock.
“I—I wonder, Peter,” remarked Mr. Dobb, sitting up suddenly and striving
to sound casual—“I wonder you don’t take up with ’er yourself!”
“Can’t afford it, for one thing,” said Mr. Lock, quietly.
“Walking about in a suit of clothes you’ve ’ad give to you don’t cost
much,” contended Mr. Dobb.
“Ah, but you can’t set up a home on a suit of clothes!” pointed out Mr.
Lock, regretfully; and then he laughed quite merrily. “Why, I hardly
know the young lady, either!”
“A nice, pretty, well-spoken girl she is, too!” said Mr. Dobb. “Make any
man a good wife, she would. I tell you straight, if I wasn’t married—”
“I must say, I can’t make out how you had the heart to do it, ’Orace,”
observed Mr. Lock.
“Neither can I, now! Serves me right! I—I couldn’t ever be really
worthy of ’er. A nice, smart, good-looking young fellow, that’s ’oo she
deserves for a ’usband. A young fellow just like you, Peter,” he ended
softly.
“Me? Oh, I dunno!” murmured Mr. Lock, in confused modesty.
“Well, I do!” cried Mr. Dobb. “You take my advice, my boy, and go in and
win!”
“And leave everything nice and clear for you, eh?” asked Mr. Lock.
“I—I wasn’t thinking about myself,” said Mr. Dobb. “I ain’t so selfish as
all that, Peter.”
“Anyway, what’s the good of talking?” demanded Mr. Lock, irritably. “I
can’t afford to set up house-keeping. Where am I to get the furniture
from for a start off?”
“Why, you can run up a bill with me!” quickly proffered Mr. Dobb.
“That ain’t my idea, starting married life in debt.”
“Well, I—I might give you a few things as a wedding present. Jugs and so
on.”
“Mind you, I wouldn’t mind taking up with her,” said Mr. Lock.
“Looie-Miss Radling—she’s just my sort, and I don’t mind admitting that
I’ve thought a lot about her since I met her yesterday. But—”
“And—and to think that you was a ’ardy British mariner once!” urgently
cried Mr. Dobb. “You go in and win!”
“I reckon it’ll cost me all of fifty quid to set up a home,” said Mr.
Lock, gazing squarely at Mr. Dobb. For a long time Mr. Dobb defiantly
held Mr. Lock’s regard, and then he glanced away.
“And, after all,” added Mr. Lock, softly, “it’ll come cheaper for _you_,
’Orace.”
“I see what you’re after!” rasped Mr. Dobb. “Call that friendship?”
“No,” said Mr. Lock, honestly, “I don’t! I’m a sort of pupil of yours,
’Orace, and I calls it ‘strictly business’! However, we were _only
talking_, after all. Good-night, old sport, and sleep well!”
Two days elapsed. Mr. Dobb, attaining sufficient convalescence, had left
his couch and spent most of his time behind his window curtain, watching
the traffic of the street in considerable trepidation. And whenever the
shop-bell jangled Mr. Dobb crept silently to the head of the stairs and
stood there to listen with bated breath till persuaded that there was no
cause for alarm.
Mr. Lock had not visited him once during those two days, and the only
news he had derived of that gentleman was from Mr. Tridge, who, paying a
brief visit, let fall the information that Mr. Lock and Miss Radling had
been observed together at a matinée performance at the local kinema
theatre.
Mrs. Dobb had just locked the little shop for the night, and Mr. Dobb,
upstairs, was feeling a consequent measure of relief, when the private
bell rang. Mr. Dobb, as though pulled by the same wire, at once listened
at the top of the stairs. Hearing only the voices of his wife and Mr.
Lock, Mr. Dobb summoned the callers upstairs.
“Thought you’d like to know,” said Mr. Lock, entering the room and
carefully closing the door, “me and Looie have fixed it all up this very
afternoon.”
“No!” cried Mr. Dobb, joyously. “Well, there’s quick work!”
“I see I was wrong now to suggest about that fifty quid to you, ’Orace,”
said Mr. Lock, penitently.
“Don’t mention it!” begged Mr. Dobb. “I never give it another thought.”
“Yes, I know now I was wrong,” repeated Mr. Lock. “Looie pointed it out
to me soon as ever I told ’er.”
“Ah, a nice, sensible, right-minded girl!”
“Yes; as she says, if we wants money to set up housekeeping with, let’s
wait till after—”
“After what?” asked Mr. Dobb, as Mr. Lock stopped.
“Why, till after she’s got her breach of promise damages out of you. She
reckons on at least a hundred and fifty.”
“But—but now she’s hengaged to you she’s got no claim on _me_!”
“They’ll only have your word at the court that she’s hengaged to me,
’Orace. We ain’t told no one else yet,” observed Mr. Lock, happily. “By
the way, I’m bringing her round to see you to-morrow.”
“She’ll never get a hundred and fifty pounds out of _me_!”
“No; but she’ll have a jolly good try to! In any case, I bet she don’t
get less than a clear fifty, so we shan’t be no worse off,” said Mr.
Lock. “And on the other hand, your missis—”
Mr. Dobb, with his hands clasped at the back of that garment he
euphemistically described as a dressing-gown, stalked moodily about the
bedroom for a few moments. The voice of Mrs. Dobb, engaged in a trifling
dispute with a neighbour, came shrilly up to him and he shivered.
“All right, I’m beat!” he yielded. “Talk about nourishing a viper!”
“I’ll call round to-morrow morning and go to the bank with you, ’Orace,”
said Mr. Lock.
And it was so.
In rather less than six weeks’ time the wedding of Mr. Peter Lock and
Miss Louise Radling was solemnized.
The occurrence is still remembered in Shorehaven, very largely on account
of the extreme height and niggardly circumference of Mr. Samuel Clark’s
top-hat, and for the remarkable exhibition of agility given by the best
man, Mr. Joseph Tridge, out in the High Street, towards the close of the
festivities.
Mr. Horace Dobb, an old friend of the bridegroom and bride, attended the
ceremony, in company with Mrs. Horace Dobb. Many people subsequently
expressed the opinion that Mr. Dobb took the affair far too seriously for
a mere guest.
It was just before Mr. and Mrs. Peter Lock were setting forth on their
honeymoon that the newly fledged husband summoned Mr. Dobb aside.
“You must be sure to come and see us in our little ’ome when we come
back, ’Orace,” said Mr. Lock, fondly. “I’m sure no one’s got a better
right among our pals to sit on them tables and chairs—”
“All right!” growled Mr. Dobb. “Don’t rub it in!”
“I just want to tell you something, though. You know that motto of yours
what you’ve got painted on a board hanging in your shop? ‘Strictly
business,’ it says, don’t it? Well, mottoes is like curses—they come
home to roost sometimes!”
“Meaning?” loftily queried Mr. Dobb.
“Why, I felt so sorry for Looie when she come down to the old ‘Jane
Gladys’ to ask for you, and you’d jilted her, that I—I got sort of
writing to her to cheer her up; and before long we got engaged. Oh, four
or five months ago it must have been, though we didn’t tell anybody! You
see, I’d got an idea up my sleeve, and I was only waiting till my wages
was raised.”
“Then—then—then really she was hengaged to you when she come to
Shore’aven?” queried Mr. Dobb, in a stifled voice.
“She was. Why, it was me who managed the whole thing. It was me who
wrote and told her to come to Shore’aven. It was me who told her what to
say to Sam and Joe.”
“You—you—you—” breathed Mr. Dobb, irately; and then became aware of the
approach of Mrs. Dobb. “You mind you don’t miss your train,” he
finished, lamely.
Late that same evening Mr. Dobb took a small lettered board off a nail in
his shop. In grim silence he surveyed its legend of “Strictly Business!”
. . .
Mrs. Dobb, coming down next morning to light the kitchen fire, found that
self-same panel, neatly chopped into very small pieces, lying ready to
her hand in the fender.
THE END