Captains All and Others

George Crofts said that perhaps it was the best thing he could do, and ‘e asked ‘im in a offhand sort o’ way ‘ow long the room was paid up for.

Mrs. Mitchell ‘ad a few words to say about it next day, but Gerty told ‘er to save ‘er breath for walking upstairs. The on’y thing that George didn’t like when they went out was that young Ted was with them, but Gerty said she preferred it till she knew ‘im better; and she ‘ad so much to say about his noble behaviour in saving life that George gave way. They went out looking at the shops, George thinking that that was the cheapest way of spending an evening, and they were as happy as possible till Gerty saw a brooch she liked so much in a window that he couldn’t get ‘er away.

“It is a beauty,” she ses. “I don’t know when I’ve seen a brooch I liked better. Look here! Let’s all guess the price and then go in and see who’s right.”

They ‘ad their guesses, and then they went in and asked, and as soon as Gerty found that it was only three-and-sixpence she began to feel in her pocket for ‘er purse, just like your wife does when you go out with ‘er, knowing all the time that it’s on the mantelpiece with twopence-ha’penny and a cough lozenge in it.

“I must ha’ left it at ‘ome,” she ses, looking at George.

“Just wot I’ve done,” ses George, arter patting ‘is pockets.

Gerty bit ‘er lips and, for a minute or two, be civil to George she could not. Then she gave a little smile and took ‘is arm agin, and they walked on talking and laughing till she turned round of a sudden and asked a big chap as was passing wot ‘e was shoving ‘er for.

“Shoving you?” ses he. “Wot do you think I want to shove you for?”

“Don’t you talk to me,” ses Gerty, firing up. “George, make ‘im beg my pardon.”

“You ought to be more careful,” ses George, in a gentle sort o’ way.

“Make ‘im beg my pardon,” ses Gerty, stamping ‘er foot; “if he don’t, knock ‘im down.”

“Yes, knock ‘im down,” ses the big man, taking hold o’ George’s cap and rumpling his ‘air.

Pore George, who was never much good with his fists, hit ‘im in the chest, and the next moment he was on ‘is back in the middle o’ the road wondering wot had ‘appened to ‘im. By the time ‘e got up the other man was arf a mile away; and young Ted stepped up and wiped ‘im down with a pocket-’andkerchief while Gerty explained to ‘im ‘ow she saw ‘im slip on a piece o’ banana peel.

“It’s ‘ard lines,” she ses; “but never mind, you frightened ‘im away, and I don’t wonder at it. You do look terrible when you’re angry, George; I didn’t know you.”

She praised ‘im all the way ‘ome, and if it ‘adn’t been for his mouth and nose George would ‘ave enjoyed it more than ‘e did. She told ‘er mother how ‘e had flown at a big man wot ‘ad insulted her, and Mrs. Mitchell shook her ‘ead at ‘im and said his bold spirit would lead ‘im into trouble afore he ‘ad done.

They didn’t seem to be able to make enough of ‘im, and next day when he went round Gerty was so upset at the sight of ‘is bruises that he thought she was going to cry. When he had ‘ad his tea she gave ‘im a cigar she had bought for ‘im herself, and when he ‘ad finished smoking it she smiled at him, and said that she was going to take ‘im out for a pleasant evening to try and make up to ‘im for wot he ‘ad suffered for ‘er.

“We’re all going to stand treat to each other,” she ses. “Bob always would insist on paying for everything, but I like to feel a bit independent. Give and take—that’s the way I like to do things.”

“There’s nothing like being independent,” ses George. “Bob ought to ha’ known that.”

“I’m sure it’s the best plan,” ses Gerty. “Now, get your ‘at on. We’re going to a theayter, and Ted shall pay the ‘bus fares.”

George wanted to ask about the theayter, but ‘e didn’t like to, and arter Gerty was dressed they went out and Ted paid the ‘bus fares like a man.

“Here you are,” ses Gerty, as the ‘bus stopped outside the theayter. “Hurry up and get the tickets, George; ask for three upper circles.”

She bustled George up to the pay place, and as soon as she ‘ad picked out the seats she grabbed ‘old of the tickets and told George to make haste.

“Twelve shillings it is,” ses the man, as George put down arf a crown.

“Twelve?” ses George, beginning to stammer. “Twelve? Twelve? Twel—?”

“Twelve shillings,” ses the man; “three upper circles you’ve ‘ad.”

George was going to fetch Gerty back and ‘ave cheaper seats, but she ‘ad gone inside with young Ted, and at last, arter making an awful fuss, he paid the rest o’ the money and rushed in arter her, arf crazy at the idea o’ spending so much money.

“Make ‘aste,” ses Gerty, afore he could say anything; “the band ‘as just begun.”

She started running upstairs, and she was so excited that, when they got their seats and George started complaining about the price, she didn’t pay any attention to wot he was saying, but kept pointing out ladies’ dresses to ‘im in w’ispers and wondering wot they ‘ad paid for them. George gave it up at last, and then he sat wondering whether he ‘ad done right arter all in taking Bob’s gal away from him.

Gerty enjoyed it very much, but when the curtain came down after the first act she leaned back in her chair and looked up at George and said she felt faint and thought she’d like to ‘ave an ice-cream. “And you ‘ave one too, dear,” she ses, when young Ted ‘ad got up and beckoned to the gal, “and Ted ‘ud like one too, I’m sure.”

She put her ‘ead on George’s shoulder and looked up at ‘im. Then she put her ‘and on his and stroked it, and George, reckoning that arter all ice-creams were on’y a ha’penny or at the most a penny each, altered ‘is mind about not spending any more money and ordered three.

The way he carried on when the gal said they was three shillings was alarming. At fust ‘e thought she was ‘aving a joke with ‘im, and it took another gal and the fireman and an old gentleman wot was sitting behind ‘im to persuade ‘im different. He was so upset that ‘e couldn’t eat his arter paying for it, and Ted and Gerty had to finish it for ‘im.

“They’re expensive, but they’re worth the money,” ses Gerty. “You are good to me, George. I could go on eating ‘em all night, but you mustn’t fling your money away like this always.”

“I’ll see to that,” ses George, very bitter.

“I thought we was going to stand treat to each other? That was the idea, I understood.”

“So we are,” ses Gerty. “Ted stood the ‘bus fares, didn’t he?”

“He did,” ses George, “wot there was of ‘em; but wot about you?”

“Me?” ses Gerty, drawing her ‘ead back and staring at ‘im. “Why, ‘ave you forgot that cigar already, George?”

George opened ‘is mouth, but ‘e couldn’t speak a word. He sat looking at ‘er and making a gasping noise in ‘is throat, and fortunately just as ‘e got ‘is voice back the curtain went up agin, and everybody said, “H’sh!”

He couldn’t enjoy the play at all, ‘e was so upset, and he began to see more than ever ‘ow wrong he ‘ad been in taking Bob’s gal away from ‘im. He walked downstairs into the street like a man in a dream, with Gerty sticking to ‘is arm and young Ted treading on ‘is heels behind.

“Now, you mustn’t waste any more money, George,” ses Gerty, when they got outside. “We’ll walk ‘ome.”

George ‘ad got arf a mind to say something about a ‘bus, but he remembered in time that very likely young Ted hadn’t got any more money. Then Gerty said she knew a short cut, and she took them, walking along little, dark, narrow streets and places, until at last, just as George thought they must be pretty near ‘ome, she began to dab her eyes with ‘er pocket-’andkerchief and say she’d lost ‘er way.

“You two go ‘ome and leave me,” she ses, arf crying. “I can’t walk another step.”

“Where are we?” ses George, looking round.

“I don’t know,” ses Gerty. “I couldn’t tell you if you paid me. I must ‘ave taken a wrong turning. Oh, hurrah! Here’s a cab!”

Afore George could stop ‘er she held up ‘er umbrella, and a ‘ansom cab, with bells on its horse, crossed the road and pulled up in front of ‘em. Ted nipped in first and Gerty followed ‘im.

“Tell ‘im the address, dear, and make ‘aste and get in,” ses Gerty.

George told the cabman, and then he got in and sat on Ted’s knee, partly on Gerty’s umbrella, and mostly on nothing.

“You are good to me, George,” ses Gerty, touching the back of ‘is neck with the brim of her hat. “It ain’t often I get a ride in a cab. All the time I was keeping company with Bob we never ‘ad one once. I only wish I’d got the money to pay for it.”

George, who was going to ask a question, stopped ‘imself, and then he kept striking matches and trying to read all about cab fares on a bill in front of ‘im.

“‘Ow are we to know ‘ow many miles it is?” he ses, at last.