Sailor's Knots (Entire Collection)

“I couldn’t,” ses Bob.

He sat down and ‘elped hisself out o’ Sam Jones’s baccy-box; and one or two got up on the quiet and went outside to listen to wot was going on down the road. Everybody was wondering wot was happening, and when Bob Pretty got up and said ‘e must be going, Bill Chambers caught ‘old of him by the coat and asked ‘im to have arf a pint with ‘im.

Bob had the arf-pint, and arter that another one with Sam Jones, and then ‘e said ‘e really must be going, as his wife was expecting ‘im. He pushed Bill Chambers’s ‘at over his eyes—a thing Bill can’t abear—and arter filling ‘is pipe agin from Sam Jones’s box he got up and went.

“Mind you,” ses Bill Chambers, looking round, “if ‘e comes back and ses somebody ‘as taken his hamper, nobody knows nothing about it.”

“I ‘ope Henery Walker ‘as got it all right,” ses Dicky Weed. “When shall we know?”

“He’ll come up ‘ere and tell us,” ses Bill Chambers. “It’s time ‘e was here, a’most.”

Five minutes arterwards the door opened and Henery Walker came staggering in. He was as white as a sheet, his ‘at was knocked on one side of his ‘ead, and there was two or three nasty-looking scratches on ‘is cheek. He came straight to Bill Chambers’s mug—wot ‘ad just been filled—and emptied it, and then ‘e sat down on a seat gasping for breath.

“Wots the matter, Henery?” ses Bill, staring at ‘im with ‘is mouth open.

Henery Walker groaned and shook his ‘ead. “Didn’t you get the hamper?” ses Bill, turning pale. Henery Walker shook his ‘ead agin.

“Shut up!” he ses, as Bill Chambers started finding fault. “I done the best I could. Nothing could ha’ ‘appened better—to start with. Directly Ted Brown and Joe Smith started, Mrs. Pretty and her sister, and all the kids excepting the baby, run out, and they’d ‘ardly gone afore I was inside the back door and looking for that hamper, and I’d hardly started afore I heard them coming back agin. I was at the foot o’ the stairs at the time, and, not knowing wot to do, I went up ‘em into Bob’s bedroom.”

“Well?” ses Bill Chambers, as Henery Walker stopped and looked round.

“A’most direckly arterwards I ‘eard Mrs. Pretty and her sister coming upstairs,” ses Henery Walker, with a shudder. “I was under the bed at the time, and afore I could say a word Mrs. Pretty gave a loud screech and scratched my face something cruel. I thought she’d gone mad.”

“You’ve made a nice mess of it!” ses Bill Chambers.

“Mess!” ses Henery, firing up. “Wot would you ha’ done?”

“I should ha’ managed diff’rent,” ses Bill Chambers. “Did she know who you was?”

“Know who I was?” ses Henery. “O’ course she did. It’s my belief that Bob knew all about it and told ‘er wot to do.”

“Well, you’ve done it now, Henery,” ses Bill Chambers. “Still, that’s your affair.”

“Ho, is it?” ses Henery Walker. “You ‘ad as much to do with it as I ‘ad, excepting that you was sitting up ‘ere in comfort while I was doing all the work. It’s a wonder to me I got off as well as I did.”

Bill Chambers sat staring at ‘im and scratching his ‘ead, and just then they all ‘eard the voice of Bob Pretty, very distinct, outside, asking for Henery Walker. Then the door opened, and Bob Pretty, carrying his ‘ead very ‘igh, walked into the room.

“Where’s Henery Walker?” he ses, in a loud voice.

Henery Walker put down the empty mug wot he’d been pretending to drink out of and tried to smile at ‘im.

“Halloa, Bob!” he ses.

“What was you doing in my ‘ouse?” ses Bob Pretty, very severe.

“I—I just looked in to see whether you was in, Bob,” ses Henery.

“That’s why you was found under my bed, I s’pose?” ses Bob Pretty. “I want a straight answer, Henery Walker, and I mean to ‘ave it, else I’m going off to Cudford for Policeman White.”

“I went there to get that hamper,” ses Henery Walker, plucking up spirit. “You won it unfair last night, and we determined for to get it back. So now you know.”

“I call on all of you to witness that,” ses Bob, looking round. “Henery Walker went into my ‘ouse to steal my hamper. He ses so, and it wasn’t ‘is fault he couldn’t find it. I’m a pore man and I can’t afford such things; I sold it this morning, a bargain, for thirty bob.”

“Well, then there’s no call to make a fuss over it, Bob,” ses Bill Chambers.

“I sold it for thirty bob,” ses Bob Pretty, “and when I went out this evening I left the money on my bedroom mantelpiece—one pound, two arf-crowns, two two-shilling pieces, and two sixpences. My wife and her sister both saw it there. That they’ll swear to.”

“Well, wot about it?” ses Sam Jones, staring at ‘im.

“Arter my pore wife ‘ad begged and prayed Henery Walker on ‘er bended knees to spare ‘er life and go,” ses Bob Pretty, “she looked at the mantel-piece and found the money ‘ad disappeared.”

Henery Walker got up all white and shaking and flung ‘is arms about, trying to get ‘is breath.

“Do you mean to say I stole it?” he ses, at last.

“O’ course I do,” ses Bob Pretty. “Why, you said yourself afore these witnesses and Mr. Smith that you came to steal the hamper. Wot’s the difference between stealing the hamper and the money I sold it for?”

Henery Walker tried for to answer ‘im, but he couldn’t speak a word.

“I left my pore wife with ‘er apron over her ‘ead sobbing as if her ‘art would break,” ses Bob Pretty; “not because o’ the loss of the money so much, but to think of Henery Walker doing such a thing—and ‘aving to go to jail for it.”

“I never touched your money, and you know it,” ses Henery Walker, finding his breath at last. “I don’t believe it was there. You and your wife ‘ud swear anything.”

“As you please, Henery,” ses Bob Pretty. “Only I’m going straight off to Cudford to see Policeman White; he’ll be glad of a job, I know. There’s three of us to swear to it, and you was found under my bed.”

“Let bygones be bygones, Bob,” ses Bill Chambers, trying to smile at ‘im.

“No, mate,” ses Bob Pretty. “I’m going to ‘ave my rights, but I don’t want to be ‘ard on a man I’ve known all my life; and if, afore I go to my bed to-night, the thirty shillings is brought to me, I won’t say as I won’t look over it.”

He stood for a moment shaking his ‘ead at them, and then, still holding it very ‘igh, he turned round and walked out.

“He never left no money on the mantelpiece,” ses Sam Jones, at last.

“Don’t you believe it. You go to jail, Henery.”

“Anything sooner than be done by Bob Pretty,” ses George Kettle.

“There’s not much doing now, Henery,” ses Bill Chambers, in a soft voice.

Henery Walker wouldn’t listen to ‘em, and he jumped up and carried on like a madman. His idea was for ‘em all to club together to pay the money, and to borrow it from Smith, the landlord, to go on with. They wouldn’t ‘ear of it at fust, but arter Smith ‘ad pointed out that they might ‘ave to go to jail with Henery, and said things about ‘is license, they gave way. Bob Pretty was just starting off to see Policeman White when they took the money, and instead o’ telling ‘im wot they thought of ‘im, as they ‘ad intended, Henery Walker ‘ad to walk alongside of ‘im and beg and pray of ‘im to take the money. He took it at last as a favor to Henery, and bought the hamper back with it next morning—cheap. Leastways, he said so.

DOUBLE DEALING

Mr. Fred Carter stood on the spacious common, inhaling with all the joy of the holiday-making Londoner the salt smell of the sea below, and regarding with some interest the movements of a couple of men who had come to a stop a short distance away. As he looked they came on again, eying him closely as they approached—a strongly built, shambling man of fifty, and a younger man, evidently his son.

“Good-evening,” said the former, as they came abreast of Mr. Carter.

“Good-evening,” he replied.