“We might talk about it over a ’arf-pint,” he ses.
“No, thank you,” I ses. “I ’ad a ’arf-pint the day before yesterday,
and I’m not thirsty.”
He stood there fidgeting about for a bit, and then he puts his ’and on
my shoulder.
“Well, come to the end of the jetty,” he ses. “I’ve got something
private to say.”
I got up slow-like and followed ’im. I wasn’t a bit curious. Not a bit.
But if a man asks for my ’elp I always give it.
“It’s like this,” he ses, looking round careful, “only I don’t want the
other chaps to hear because I don’t want to be laughed at. Last week an
old uncle o’ mine died and left me thirty pounds. It’s just a week ago,
and I’ve already got through five of ’em, and besides that the number
of chaps that want to borrow ten bob for a couple o’ days would
surprise you.”
“I ain’t so easy surprised,” I ses, shaking my ’ead.
“It ain’t safe with me,” he ses; “and the favour I want you to do is to
take care of it for me. I know it’ll go if I keep it. I’ve got it
locked up in this box. And if you keep the box I’ll keep the key, and
when I want a bit I’ll come and see you about it.”
He pulled a little box out of ’is pocket and rattled it in my ear.
“There’s five-and-twenty golden goblins in there,” he ses. “If you take
charge of ’em they’ll be all right. If you don’t, I’m pretty certain I
sha’n’t ’ave one of ’em in a week or two’s time.”
At fust I said I wouldn’t ’ave anything to do with it, but he begged so
’ard that I began to alter my mind.
“You’re as honest as daylight, Bill,” he ses, very earnest. “I don’t
know another man in the world I could trust with twenty-five quid—
especially myself. Now, put it in your pocket and look arter it for me.
One of the quids in it is for you, for your trouble.”
He slipped the box in my coat-pocket, and then he said ’is mind was so
relieved that ’e felt like ’arf a pint. I was for going to the Bear’s
Head, the place I generally go to, because it is next door to the
wharf, so to speak, but George wanted me to try the beer at another
place he knew of.
“The wharf’s all right,” he ses. “There’s one or two ’ands on the ship,
and they won’t let anybody run away with it.”
From wot he said I thought the pub was quite close, but instead o’ that
I should think we walked pretty nearly a mile afore we got there. Nice
snug place it was, and the beer was all right, although, as I told
George Tebb, it didn’t seem to me any better than the stuff at the
Bear’s Head.
He stood me two ’arf-pints and was just going to order another, when ’e
found ’e ’adn’t got any money left, and he wouldn’t hear of me paying
for it, because ’e said it was his treat.
“We’ll ’ave a quid out o’ the box,” he ses. “I must ’ave one to go on
with, anyway.” I shook my ’ead at ’im.
“Only one,” he ses, “and that’ll last me a fortnight. Besides, I want
to give you the quid I promised you.”
I gave way at last, and he put his ’and in ’is trouser-pocket for the
key, and then found it wasn’t there.
“I must ha’ left it in my chest,” he ses. “I’ll ’op back and get it.”
And afore I could prevent ’im he ’ad waved his ’and at me and gorn.
My fust idea was to go arter ’im, but I knew I couldn’t catch ’im, and
if I tried to meet ’im coming back I should most likely miss ’im
through the side streets. So I sat there with my pipe and waited.
I suppose I ’ad been sitting down waiting for him for about ten
minutes, when a couple o’ sailormen came into the bar and began to make
themselves a nuisance. Big fat chaps they was, and both of ’em more
than ’arf sprung. And arter calling for a pint apiece they began to
take a little notice of me.
“Where d’you come from?” ses one of ’em. “’Ome,” I ses, very quiet.
“It’s a good place—’ome,” ses the chap, shaking his ’ead. “Can you sing
‘’Ome, Sweet ’Ome’? You seem to ’ave got wot I might call a ‘singing
face.’”
“Never mind about my face,” I ses, very sharp. “You mind wot you’re
doing with that beer. You’ll ’ave it over in a minute.”
The words was ’ardly out of my mouth afore ’e gave a lurch and spilt
his pint all over me. From ’ead to foot I was dripping with beer, and I
was in such a temper I wonder I didn’t murder ’im; but afore I could
move they both pulled out their pocket-’ankerchers and started to rub
me down.
“That’ll do,” I ses at last, arter they ’ad walked round me
’arf-a-dozen times and patted me all over to see if I was dry. “You get
off while you’re safe.”
“It was my mistake, mate,” ses the chap who ’ad spilt the beer.
“You get outside,” I ses. “Go on, both of you, afore I put you out.”
They gave one look at me, standing there with my fists clenched, and
then they went out like lambs, and I ’eard ’em trot round the corner as
though they was afraid I was following. I felt a little bit damp and
chilly, but beer is like sea-water—you don’t catch cold through it—and
I sat down agin to wait for George Tebb.
He came in smiling and out o’ breath in about ten minutes’ time, with
the key in ’is ’and, and as soon as I told ’im wot had ’appened to me
with the beer he turned to the landlord and ordered me six o’ rum ’ot
at once.
“Drink that up,” he ses, ’anding it to me; “but fust of all give me the
box, so as I can pay for it.”
I put my ’and in my pocket. Then I put it in the other one, and arter
that I stood staring at George Tebb and shaking all over.
“Wot’s the matter? Wot are you looking like that for?” he ses.
“It must ha’ been them two,” I ses, choking. “While they was purtending
to dry me and patting me all over they must ’ave taken it out of my
pocket.”
“Wot are you talking about?” ses George, staring at me.
“The box ’as gorn,” I ses, putting down the ’ot rum and feeling in my
trouser-pocket. “The box ’as gorn, and them two must ’ave taken it.”
“Gorn!” ses George. “Gorn! My box with twenty-five pounds in, wot I
trusted you with, gorn? Wot are you talking about? It can’t be—it’s too
crool!”
He made such a noise that the landlord wot was waiting for ’is money,
asked ’im wot he meant by it, and, arter he ’ad explained, I’m blest if
the landlord didn’t advise him to search me. I stood still and let
George go through my pockets, and then I told ’im I ’ad done with ’im
and I never wanted to see ’im agin as long as I lived.
“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 skipper. “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.”