Dirty Work: Deep Waters, Part 11.Jacobs, W. W. (William Wymark)
General
Dirty Work: Deep Waters, Part 11.
Jacobs, W. W. (William Wymark)
England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Humorous stories, English; Sailors -- Fiction
"Don't bite me!" he ses, purtending to draw back. "I ain't done no 'arm.
I've come round about that glass you smashed at the Bear's Head."
"Glass!" I ses, 'ardly able to speak.
"Yes, glass," he ses--"thing wot yer drink out of. The landlord says
it'll cost you a tanner, and 'e wants it now in case you pass away in
your sleep. He couldn't come 'imself cos he's got nobody to mind the
bar, so 'e sent me. Why! Halloa! Where's your boots? Ain't you afraid
o' ketching cold?"
"You clear off," I ses, shouting at him. "D'ye 'ear me? Clear off while
you're safe, and you tell the landlord that next time 'e insults me I'll
smash every glass in 'is place and then sit 'im on top of 'cm! Tell 'im
if 'e wants a tanner out o' me, to come round 'imself, and see wot he
gets."
It was a silly thing to say, and I saw it arterwards, but I was in such a
temper I 'ardly knew wot I was saying. I slammed the wicket in 'is face
and turned the key and then I took off my clothes and went down that
ladder agin.
It seemed colder than ever, and the mud when I got fairly into it was
worse than I thought it could ha' been. It stuck to me like glue, and
every step I took seemed colder than the one before. 'Owever, when I
make up my mind to do a thing, I do it. I fixed my eyes on the place
where I thought the purse was, and every time I felt anything under my
foot I reached down and picked it up--and then chucked it away as far as
I could so as not to pick it up agin. Dirty job it was, too, and in five
minutes I was mud up to the neck, a'most. And I 'ad just got to wot I
thought was the right place, and feeling about very careful, when the
bell rang agin.
I thought I should ha' gorn out o' my mind. It was just a little tinkle
at first, then another tinkle, but, as I stood there all in the dark and
cold trying to make up my mind to take no notice of it, it began to ring
like mad. I 'ad to go--I've known men climb over the gate afore now--and
I didn't want to be caught in that dock.
The mud seemed stickier than ever, but I got out at last, and, arter
scraping some of it off with a bit o' stick, I put on my coat and
trousers and boots just as I was and went to the gate, with the bell
going its 'ardest all the time.
When I opened the gate and see the landlord of the Bear's Head standing
there I turned quite dizzy, and there was a noise in my ears like the
roaring of the sea. I should think I stood there for a couple o' minutes
without being able to say a word. I could think of 'em.
"Don't be frightened, Bill," ses the landlord. "I'm not going to eat
you."
"He looks as if he's walking in 'is sleep," ses the fat policeman, wot
was standing near by. "Don't startle 'im."
"He always looks like that," ses the landlord.
I stood looking at 'im. I could speak then, but I couldn't think of any
words good enough; not with a policeman standing by with a notebook in
'is pocket.
"Wot was you ringing my bell for?" I ses, at last.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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