They're as like as two peas, him and 'is brother,” said the
night-watchman, gazing blandly at the indignant face of the lighterman
on the barge below; “and the on'y way I know this one is Sam is because
Bill don't use bad langwidge. Twins they are, but the likeness is only
outside; Bill's 'art is as white as snow.”
He cut off a plug of tobacco, and, placing it in his cheek, waited
expectantly.
“White as snow,” he repeated.
“That's me,” said the lighterman, as he pushed his unwieldy craft from
the jetty. “I'll tell Sam your opinion of 'im. So long.”
The watchman went a shade redder than usual. That's twins all over, he
said, sourly, always deceiving people. It's Bill arter all, and, instead
of hurting 'is feelings, I've just been flattering of 'im up.
It ain't the fust time I've 'ad trouble over a likeness. I've been a
twin myself in a manner o' speaking. It didn't last long, but it lasted
long enough for me to always be sorry for twins, and to make a lot of
allowance for them. It must be very 'ard to have another man going about
with your face on 'is shoulders, and getting it into trouble.
It was a year or two ago now. I was sitting one evening at the gate,
smoking a pipe and looking at a newspaper I 'ad found in the office,
when I see a gentleman coming along from the swing-bridge. Well-dressed,
clean-shaved chap 'e was, smoking a cigarette. He was walking slow and
looking about 'im casual-like, until his eyes fell on me, when he gave a
perfect jump of surprise, and, arter looking at me very 'ard, walked on
a little way and then turned back. He did it twice, and I was just going
to say something to 'im, something that I 'ad been getting ready for
'im, when he spoke to me.
“Good evening,” he ses.
“Good evening,” I ses, folding the paper over and looking at 'im rather
severe.
“I hope you'll excuse me staring,” he ses, very perlite; “but I've never
seen such a face and figger as yours in all my life—never.”
“Ah, you ought to ha' seen me a few years ago,” I ses. “I'm like
everybody else—I'm getting on.”
“Rubbish!” he ses. “You couldn't be better if you tried. It's
marvellous! Wonderful! It's the very thing I've been looking for. Why,
if you'd been made to order you couldn't ha' been better.”
I thought at fust he was by way of trying to get a drink out o' me—I've
been played that game afore—but instead o' that he asked me whether I'd
do 'im the pleasure of 'aving one with 'im.
We went over to the Albion, and I believe I could have 'ad it in a pail
if I'd on'y liked to say the word. And all the time I was drinking he
was looking me up and down, till I didn't know where to look, as the
saying is.
“I came down 'ere to look for somebody like you,” he ses, “but I never
dreamt I should have such luck as this. I'm an actor, and I've got to
play the part of a sailor, and I've been worried some time 'ow to make
up for the part. D'ye understand?”
“No,” I ses, looking at 'im.
“I want to look the real thing,” he ses, speaking low so the landlord
shouldn't hear. “I want to make myself the living image of you. If that
don't fetch 'em I'll give up the stage and grow cabbages.”
“Make yourself like me?” I ses. “Why, you're no more like me than I'm
like a sea-sick monkey.”
“Not so much,” he ses. “That's where the art comes in.”
He stood me another drink, and then, taking my arm in a cuddling sort o'
way, and calling me “Dear boy,” 'e led me back to the wharf and
explained. He said 'e would come round next evening with wot 'e called
his make-up box, and paint 'is face and make 'imself up till people
wouldn't know one from the other.
“And wot about your figger?” I ses, looking at 'im.
“A cushion,” he ses, winking, “or maybe a couple. And what about
clothes? You'll 'ave to sell me those you've got on. Hat and all. And
boots.”
I put a price on 'em that I thought would 'ave finished 'im then and
there, but it didn't. And at last, arter paying me so many more
compliments that they began to get into my 'ead, he fixed up a meeting
for the next night and went off.
“And mind,” he ses, coming back, “not a word to a living soul!”
He went off agin, and, arter going to the Bull's Head and 'aving a pint
to clear my 'ead, I went and sat down in the office and thought it over.
It seemed all right to me as far as I could see; but p'r'aps the pint
didn't clear my 'ead enough—p'r'aps I ought to 'ave 'ad two pints.
I lay awake best part of next day thinking it over, and when I got up I
'ad made up my mind. I put my clothes in a sack, and then I put on some
others as much like 'em as possible, on'y p'r'aps a bit older, in case
the missis should get asking questions; and then I sat wondering 'ow to
get out with the sack without 'er noticing it. She's got a very
inquiring mind, and I wasn't going to tell her any lies about it.
Besides which I couldn't think of one.
I got out at last by playing a game on her. I pertended to drop 'arf a
dollar in the washus, and while she was busy on 'er hands and knees I
went off as comfortable as you please.
I got into the office with it all right, and, just as it was getting
dark, a cab drove up to the wharf and the actor-chap jumped out with a
big leather bag. I took 'im into the private office, and 'e was so ready
with 'is money for the clothes that I offered to throw the sack in.
He changed into my clothes fust of all, and then, asking me to sit down
in front of 'im, he took a looking-glass and a box out of 'is bag and
began to alter 'is face. Wot with sticks of coloured paint, and false
eyebrows, and a beard stuck on with gum and trimmed with a pair o'
scissors, it was more like a conjuring trick than anything else. Then 'e
took a wig out of 'is bag and pressed it on his 'ead, put on the cap,
put some black stuff on 'is teeth, and there he was. We both looked into
the glass together while 'e gave the finishing touches, and then he
clapped me on the back and said I was the handsomest sailorman in
England.
“I shall have to make up a bit 'eavier when I'm behind the floats,” he
ses; “but this is enough for 'ere. Wot do you think of the imitation of
your voice? I think I've got it exact.”
“If you ask me,” I ses, “it sounds like a poll-parrot with a cold in the
'ead.”
“And now for your walk,” he ses, looking as pleased as if I'd said
something else. “Come to the door and see me go up the wharf.”
I didn't like to hurt 'is feelings, but I thought I should ha' bust. He
walked up that wharf like a dancing-bear in a pair of trousers too tight
for it, but 'e was so pleased with 'imself that I didn't like to tell
'im so. He went up and down two or three times, and I never saw anything
so ridikerlous in my life.
“That's all very well for us,” he ses; “but wot about other people?
That's wot I want to know. I'll go and 'ave a drink, and see whether
anybody spots me.”
Afore I could stop 'im he started off to the Bull's Head and went in,
while I stood outside and watched 'im.
“'Arf a pint o' four ale,” he ses, smacking down a penny.
I see the landlord draw the beer and give it to 'im, but 'e didn't seem
to take no notice of 'im. Then, just to open 'is eyes a bit, I walked in
and put down a penny and asked for a 'arf-pint.
The landlord was just wiping down the counter at the time, and when I
gave my order he looked up and stood staring at me with the wet cloth
'eld up in the air. He didn't say a word—not a single word. He stood
there for a moment smiling at us foolish-like, and then 'e let go o' the
beer-injin, wot 'e was 'olding in 'is left hand, and sat down heavy on
the bar floor. We both put our 'eads over the counter to see wot had
'appened to 'im, and 'e started making the most 'orrible noise I 'ave
ever heard in my life. I wonder it didn't bring the fire-injins. The
actor-chap bolted out as if he'd been shot, and I was just thinking of
follering 'im when the landlord's wife and 'is two daughters came
rushing out and asking me wot I 'ad done to him.
“There—there—was two of 'im!” ses the landlord, trembling and holding on
to 'is wife's arm, as they helped 'im up and got 'im in the chair. “Two
of 'im!”
“Two of wot?” ses his wife.
“Two—two watchmen,” ses the landlord; “both exac'ly alike and both
asking for 'arf a pint o' four ale.”
“Yes, yes,” ses 'is wife.
“You come and lay down, pa,” ses the gals. “I tell you there was,” ses
the landlord, getting 'is colour back, with temper.
“Yes, yes; I know all about it,” ses 'is wife. “You come inside for a
bit; and, Gertie, you bring your father in a soda—a large soda.”
They got 'im in arter a lot o' trouble; but three times 'e came back as
far as the door, 'olding on to them, and taking a little peep at me. The
last time he shook his 'ead at me, and said if I did it agin I could go
and get my 'arf-pints somewhere else.
I finished the beer wot the actor 'ad left, and, arter telling the
landlord I 'oped his eyesight 'ud be better in the morning, I went
outside, and arter a careful look round walked back to the wharf.
I pushed the wicket open a little way and peeped in. The actor was
standing just by the fust crane talking to two of the hands off of the
_Saltram_. He'd got 'is back to the light, but 'ow it was they didn't
twig his voice I can't think.
They was so busy talking that I crept along by the side of the wall and
got to the office without their seeing me. I went into the private
office and turned out the gas there, and sat down to wait for 'im. Then
I 'eard a noise outside that took me to the door agin and kept me there,
'olding on to the door-post and gasping for my breath. The cook of the
Saltram was sitting on a paraffin-cask playing the mouth-orgin, and the
actor, with 'is arms folded across his stummick, was dancing a horn-pipe
as if he'd gorn mad.
I never saw anything so ridikerlous in my life, and when I recollected
that they thought it was _me_, I thought I should ha' dropped.
A night-watchman can't be too careful, and I knew that it 'ud be all
over Wapping next morning that I 'ad been dancing to a tuppenny-ha'penny
mouth-orgin played by a ship's cook. A man that does 'is dooty always
has a lot of people ready to believe the worst of 'im.
I went back into the dark office and waited, and by and by I 'eard them
coming along to the gate and patting 'im on the back and saying he ought
to be in a pantermime instead o' wasting 'is time night-watching. He
left 'em at the gate, and then 'e came into the office smiling as if
he'd done something clever.
“Wot d'ye think of me for a understudy?” he ses, laughing. “They
all thought it was you. There wasn't one of 'em 'ad the slightest
suspicion—not one.”
“And wot about my character?” I ses, folding my arms acrost my chest and
looking at him.
“Character?” he ses, staring. “Why, there's no 'arm in dancing; it's a
innercent enjoyment.”
“It ain't one o' my innercent enjoyments,” I ses, “and I don't want to
get the credit of it. If they hadn't been sitting in a pub all the
evening they'd 'ave spotted you at once.”
“Oh!” he ses, very huffy. “How?”
“Your voice,” I ses. “You try and mimic a poll-parrot, and think it's
like me. And, for another thing, you walk about as though you're stuffed
with sawdust.”
“I beg your pardon,” he ses; “the voice and the walk are exact. Exact.”
“_Wot_?” I ses, looking 'im up and down. “You stand there and 'ave the
impudence to tell me that my voice is like that?”
“I do,” he ses.
“Then I'm sorry for you,” I ses. “I thought you'd got more sense.”
He stood looking at me and gnawing 'is finger, and by and by he ses,
“Are you married?” he ses.
“I am,” I ses, very short.
“Where do you live?” he ses.