Deep Waters, the Entire Collection

12.5 a.m.—Rose to go to bed. Was about to turn out gas in hall when I discovered the lieutenant standing with his face to the wall playing pat- a-cake with it. Gave him three-parts of a tumbler of brandy. Said he felt better and went upstairs. Arrived in his bed-room, he looked about him carefully, and then, with a superb sweep of his left arm, swept the best Chippendale looking-glass in the family off the dressing table and dived face down-wards to the floor, missing death and the corner of the chest of drawers by an inch.

12:15 a.m.—Rolled him on to his back and got his feet on the bed. They fell off again as soon as they were cleaner than the quilt. The lieutenant, startled by the crash, opened his eyes and climbed into bed unaided.

12.20 a.m.—Sent Private Merited for the M.O., Captain Geranium.

12.25 a.m.—Mixed a dose of brandy and castor-oil in a tumbler. Am told it slips down like an oyster that way—bad oyster, I should think. Lieut. True Born jibbed. Reminded him that England expects that every man will take his castor-oil. Reply unprintable. Apologized a moment later. Said that his mind was wandering and that he thought he was a colonel. Reassured him.

12.40 a.m.—Private Merited returned with the M.O. Latter nicely dressed in musical-comedy pyjamas of ravishing hue, and great-coat, with rose- tinted feet thrust into red morocco slippers. Held consultation and explained my treatment. M.O. much impressed, anxious to know whether I was a doctor. Told him “No,” but that I knew all the ropes. First give patient castor-oil, then diet him and call every day to make sure that he doesn’t like his food. After that, if he shows signs of getting well too soon, give him a tonic. . . . M.O. stuffy.

Dec. 10.—M.O. diagnosed attack as due to something which True Born believes to be tobacco, with which he disinfects the house, the mess-sheds, and the streets of Berkhamsted.

Dec. 11.—True Born, shorn of thirteen pipes a day out of sixteen, disparages the whole race of M.O.’s.

Dec. 14.—He obtains leave to attend wedding of a great-aunt and ransacks London for a specialist who advocates strong tobacco.

Dec. 15.—He classes specialists with M.O.’s. Is surprised (and apparently disappointed) that, so far, the breaking of the looking-glass has brought me no ill-luck. Feel somewhat uneasy myself until glass is repaired by local cabinet-maker.

Jan. 10, 1917.—Lieut. True Born starts to break in another horse.

Feb. 1.—Horse broken.

March 3.—Running short of tobacco, go to my billet’s room and try a pipe of his. Take all the remedies except the castor-oil.

April 4, 8.30 a.m.—Awakened by an infernal crash and discover that my poor looking-glass is in pieces again on the floor. True Born explains that its position, between the open door and the open window, was too much for it. Don’t believe a word of it. Shall believe to my dying day that it burst in a frantic but hopeless attempt to tell Lieut. True Born the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

April 6.—The lieutenant watching for some sign of misfortune to me. Says that I can’t break a mirror twice without ill-luck following it. Me!

April 9.—Lieut. True Born comes up to me with a face full of conflicting emotions. “Your ill-luck has come at last,” he says with gloomy satisfaction. “We go under canvas on the 23rd. You are losing me!”

THE SUBSTITUTE

The night watchman had just returned to the office fire after leaving it to attend a ring at the wharf bell. He sat for some time puffing fiercely at his pipe and breathing heavily.

“Boys!” he said, at last. “That’s the third time this week, and yet if I was to catch one and skin ‘im alive I suppose I should get into trouble over it. Even ‘is own father and mother would make a fuss, most like. Some people have boys, and other people ‘ave the trouble of ‘em. Our street’s full of ‘em, and the way they carry on would make a monkey-’ouse ashamed of itself. The man next door to me’s got seven of ‘em, and when I spoke to ‘im friendly about it over a pint one night, he put the blame on ‘is wife.

“The worst boy I ever knew used to be office-boy in this ‘ere office, and I can’t understand now why I wasn’t ‘ung for him. Undersized little chap he was, with a face the colour o’ bad pie-crust, and two little black eyes like shoe-buttons. To see ‘im with his little white cuffs, and a stand-up collar, and a little black bow, and a little bowler-’at, was enough to make a cat laugh. I told ‘im so one day, and arter that we knew where we was. Both of us.

“By rights he ought to ‘ave left the office at six—just my time for coming on. As it was, he used to stay late, purtending to work ‘ard so as to get a rise. Arter all the clerks ‘ad gorn ‘ome he used to sit perched up on a stool yards too ‘igh for him, with one eye on the ledger and the other looking through the winder at me. I remember once going off for ‘arf a pint, and when I come back I found ‘im with a policeman, two carmen, and all the hands off of the Maid Marian, standing on the edge of the jetty, waiting for me to come up. He said that, not finding me on the wharf, ‘e made sure that I must ‘ave tumbled overboard, as he felt certain that I wouldn’t neglect my dooty while there was breath in my body; but ‘e was sorry to find ‘e was mistook. He stood there talking like a little clergyman, until one of the carmen knocked his ‘at over ‘is eyes, and then he forgot ‘imself for a bit.

“Arter that I used to wait until he ‘ad gorn afore I ‘ad my arf-pint. I didn’t want my good name taken away, and I had to be careful, and many’s the good arf-pint I ‘ad to refuse because that little imitation monkey was sitting in the office drawing faces on ‘is blotting-paper. But sometimes it don’t matter ‘ow careful you are, you make a mistake.

“There was a little steamer, called the Eastern Monarch, used to come up here in them days, once a week. Fat little tub she was, with a crew o’ fattish old men, and a skipper that I didn’t like. He’d been in the coasting trade all ‘is life, while I’ve knocked about all over the world, but to hear ‘im talk you’d think he knew more about things than I did.

“Eddication, Bill,’ he ses one evening, ‘that’s the thing! You can’t argufy without it; you only talk foolish, like you are doing now.’

“‘There’s eddication and there’s common sense,’ I ses. ‘Some people ‘as one and some people ‘as the other. Give me common sense.’

“‘That’s wot you want,’ he ses, nodding.

“‘And, o’ course,’ I ses, looking at ‘im, ‘there’s some people ‘asn’t got either one or the other.’

“The office-boy came out of the office afore he could think of an answer, and the pair of ‘em stood there talking to show off their cleverness, till their tongues ached. I took up my broom and went on sweeping, and they was so busy talking long words they didn’t know the meaning of to each other that they was arf choked with dust afore they noticed it. When they did notice it they left off using long words, and the skipper tried to hurt my feelings with a few short ones ‘e knew.

“‘It’s no good wasting your breath on ‘im,’ ses the boy. ‘You might as well talk to a beer-barrel.’

“He went off, dusting ‘imself down with his little pocket-’ankercher, and arter the skipper ‘ad told me wot he’d like to do, only he was too sorry for me to do it, ‘e went back to the ship to put on a clean collar, and went off for the evening.

“He always used to go off by hisself of a evening, and I used to wonder ‘ow he passed the time. Then one night I found out.

“I had just come out of the Bear’s Head, and stopped to look round afore going back to the wharf, when I see a couple o’ people standing on the swing-bridge saying ‘Good-bye’ to each other. One of ‘em was a man and the other wasn’t.

“‘Evening, cap’n,’ I ses, as he came towards me, and gave a little start. ‘I didn’t know you ‘ad brought your missis up with you this trip.’

“‘Evening, Bill,’ he ses, very peaceful. ‘Wot a lovely evening!’

“‘Bee-utiful!’ I ses.

“‘So fresh,’ ses the skipper, sniffing in some of the air.

“‘Makes you feel quite young agin,’ I ses.

“He didn’t say nothing to that, except to look at me out of the corner of ‘is eye; and stepping on to the wharf had another look at the sky to admire it, and then went aboard his ship. If he ‘ad only stood me a pint, and trusted me, things might ha’ turned out different.

“Quite by chance I happened to be in the Bear’s Head a week arterwards, and, quite by chance, as I came out I saw the skipper saying ‘Good-bye’ on the bridge agin. He seemed to be put out about something, and when I said ‘Wot a lovely evening it would be if only it wasn’t raining ‘ard!’ he said something about knocking my ‘ead off.

“‘And you keep your nose out o’ my bisness,’ he ses, very fierce.

“‘Your bisness!’ I ses. ‘Wot bisness?’

“‘There’s some people as might like to know that you leave the wharf to look arter itself while you’re sitting in a pub swilling gallons and gallons o’ beer,’ he ses, in a nasty sort o’ way. ‘Live and let live, that’s my motter.”

“‘I don’t know wot you’re talking about,’ I ses, ‘but it don’t matter anyways. I’ve got a clear conscience; that’s the main thing. I’m as open as the day, and there’s nothing about me that I’d mind anybody knowing. Wot a pity it is everybody can’t say the same!’

“I didn’t see ‘im saying ‘Good-bye’ the next week or the week arter that either, but the third week, arter just calling in at the Bear’s Head, I strolled on casual-like and got as far as the bottom of Tower Hill afore I remembered myself. Turning the corner, I a’most fell over the skipper, wot was right in the fair way, shaking ‘ands with his lady-friend under the lamp-post. Both of ‘em started, and I couldn’t make up my mind which gave me the most unpleasant look.

“‘Peep-bo!’ I ses, cheerful-like.

“He stood making a gobbling noise at me, like a turkey.

“‘Give me quite a start, you did,’ I ses. ‘I didn’t dream of you being there.’

“‘Get off!’ he ses, spluttering. ‘Get off, afore I tear you limb from limb! ‘Ow dare you follow me about and come spying round corners at me? Wot d’ye mean by it?’

“I stood there with my arms folded acrost my chest, as calm as a cucumber. The other party stood there watching us, and wot ‘e could ‘ave seen in her, I can’t think. She was dressed more like a man than a woman, and it would have taken the good looks of twenty like her to ‘ave made one barmaid. I stood looking at ‘er like a man in a dream.

“‘Well, will you know me agin?’ she ses, in a nasty cracked sort of voice.

“‘I could pick you out of a million,’ I ses—‘if I wanted to.’