England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Humorous stories, English; Sailors -- Fiction
We walked about till I was ready to drop. Then we got to Victoria Park,
and I ’ad no sooner got on to the grass than I laid down and went
straight off to sleep. It was two o’clock when I woke, and, arter a
couple o’ pork-pies and a pint or two, I sat on a seat in the Park
smoking, while she kep’ dabbing ’er eyes agin and asking me to come
’ome.
At five o’clock I got up to go back to the wharf, and, taking no notice
of ’er, I walked into the street and jumped on a ’bus that was passing.
She jumped too, and, arter the conductor had ’elped ’er up off of ’er
knees and taken her arms away from his waist, I’m blest if he didn’t
turn on me and ask me why I ’adn’t left her at ’ome.
We got to the wharf just afore six. The John Henry ’ad gorn, but the
skipper ’ad done all the ’arm he could afore he sailed, and, if I
’adn’t kept my temper, I should ha’ murdered arf a dozen of ’em.
The woman wanted to come on to the wharf, but I ’ad a word or two with
one o’ the foremen, who owed me arf-a-dollar, and he made that all
right.
“We all ’ave our faults, Bill,” he ses as ’e went out, “and I suppose
she was better looking once upon a time?”
I didn’t answer ’im. I shut the wicket arter ’im, quick, and turned the
key, and then I went on with my work. For a long time everything was as
quiet as the grave, and then there came just one little pull at the
bell. Five minutes arterwards there was another.
I thought it was that woman, but I ’ad to make sure. When it came the
third time I crept up to the gate.
“Halloa!” I ses. “Who is it?”
“Me, darling,” ses a voice I reckernized as the potman’s. “Your missus
wants to come in and sit down.”
I could ’ear several people talking, and it seemed to me there was
quite a crowd out there, and by and by that bell was going like mad.
Then people started kicking the gate, and shouting, but I took no
notice until, presently, it left off all of a sudden, and I ’eard a
loud voice asking what it was all about. I suppose there was about
fifty of ’em all telling it at once, and then there was the sound of a
fist on the gate.
“Who is it?” I ses.
“Police,” ses the voice.
I opened the wicket then and looked out. A couple o’ policemen was
standing by the gate and arf the riff-raff of Wapping behind ’em.
“Wot’s all this about?” ses one o’ the policemen.
I shook my ’ead. “Ask me another,” I ses.
“Your missus is causing a disturbance,” he ses.
“She’s not my missus,” I ses; “she’s a complete stranger to me.”
“And causing a crowd to collect and refusing to go away,” ses the other
policeman.
“That’s your business,” I ses. “It’s nothing to do with me.”
They talked to each other for a moment, and then they spoke to the
woman. I didn’t ’ear wot she said, but I saw her shake her ’ead, and
a’most direckly arterwards she was marching away between the two
policemen with the crowd follering and advising ’er where to kick ’em.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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