It was no good talking to 'im. He was 'arf crazy with temper. If I'd said the letter was meant for 'im he'd 'ave asked me wot I meant by opening it and getting 'im into more trouble with 'is missis, instead of giving it to 'im on the quiet. I just stood and suffered in silence, and thought wot a lot of 'arm eddication did for people. "I want some money," ses my missis, coming back at last with Mrs. Smithers. That was the way she always talked when she'd got me in 'er power. She took two-and-tenpence--all I'd got--and then she ordered me to go and get a cab. "Me and this lady are going to meet her," she ses, sniffing at me. "And tell her wot we think of 'er," ses Mrs. Smithers, sniffing too. "And wot we'll do to 'er," ses my missis. I left 'em standing side by side, looking at the skipper as if 'e was a waxworks, while I went to find a cab. When I came back they was in the same persition, and 'e was smoking with 'is eyes shut. They went off side by side in the cab, both of 'em sitting bolt-upright, and only turning their 'eads at the last moment to give us looks we didn't want. "I don't wish her no 'arm," ses the skipper, arter thinking for a long time. "Was that the fust letter you 'ad from 'er, Bill?" "Fust and last," I ses, grinding my teeth. "I hope they won't meet 'er, pore thing," he ses. "I've been married longer than wot you have," I ses, "and I tell you one thing. It won't make no difference to us whether they do or they don't," I ses. And it didn't. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Unknown, by W.W. Jacobs