Deep Waters, the Entire Collection

“Easy,” ses the landlord, “and stole your boots into the bargain!”

“He might ‘ave come when your back was turned,” ses the policeman, “and if so, he might be ‘iding there now. I wonder whether you’d mind me having a look round?”

“I tell you he ain’t ‘ere,” I ses, very short, “but, to ease your mind, I’ll ‘ave a look round myself arter you’ve gorn.”

The policeman shook his ‘ead. “Well, o’ course, I can’t come in without your permission,” he ses, with a little cough, “but I ‘ave an idea, that if it was your guv’nor ‘ere instead of you he’d ha’ been on’y too pleased to do anything ‘e could to help the law. I’ll beg his pardon tomorrow for asking you, in case he might object.”

That settled it. That’s the police all over, and that’s ‘ow they get their way and do as they like. I could see ‘im in my mind’s eye talking to the guv’nor, and letting out little things about broken glasses and such-like by accident. I drew back to let ‘im pass, and I was so upset that when that little rat of a landlord follered ‘im I didn’t say a word.

I stood and watched them poking and prying about the wharf as if it belonged to ‘em, with the light from the policeman’s lantern flashing about all over the place. I was shivering with cold and temper. The mud was drying on me.

“If you’ve finished ‘unting for the pickpocket I’ll let you out and get on with my work,” I ses, drawing myself up.

“Good night,” ses the policeman, moving off. “Good night, dear,” ses the landlord. “Mind you tuck yourself up warm.”

I lost my temper for the moment and afore I knew wot I was doing I ‘ad got hold of him and was shoving ‘im towards the gate as ‘ard as I could shove. He pretty near got my coat off in the struggle, and next moment the police-man ‘ad turned his lantern on me and they was both staring at me as if they couldn’t believe their eyesight.

“He—he’s turning black!” ses the landlord.

“He’s turned black!” ses the policeman.

They both stood there looking at me with their mouths open, and then afore I knew wot he was up to, the policeman came close up to me and scratched my chest with his finger-nail.

“It’s mud!” he ses.

“You keep your nails to yourself,” I ses. “It’s nothing to do with you.” and I couldn’t ‘elp noticing the smell of it. Nobody could. And wot was worse than all was, that the tide ‘ad turned and was creeping over the mud in the dock.

They got tired of it at last and came back to where I was and stood there shaking their ‘eads at me.

“If he was on the wharf ‘e must ‘ave made his escape while you was in the Bear’s Head,” ses the policeman.

“He was in my place a long time,” ses the landlord.

“Well, it’s no use crying over spilt milk,” ses the policeman. “Funny smell about ‘ere, ain’t there?” he ses, sniffing, and turning to the landlord. “Wot is it?”

“I dunno,” ses the landlord. “I noticed it while we was talking to ‘im at the gate. It seems to foller ‘im about.”

“I’ve smelt things I like better,” ses the policeman, sniffing agin. “It’s just like the foreshore when somebody ‘as been stirring the mud up a bit.”

“Unless it’s a case of ‘tempted suicide,” he ses, looking at me very ‘ard.

“Ah!” ses the landlord.

“There’s no mud on ‘is clothes,” ses the policeman, looking me over with his lantern agin.

“He must ‘ave gone in naked, but I should like to see ‘is legs to make— All right! All right! Keep your ‘air on.”

“You look arter your own legs, then,” I ses, very sharp, “and mind your own business.”

“It is my business,” he ses, turning to the landlord. “Was ‘e strange in his manner at all when ‘e was in your place to-night?”

“He smashed one o’ my best glasses,” ses the landlord.

“So he did,” ses the policeman. “So he did. I’d forgot that. Do you know ‘im well?”

“Not more than I can ‘elp,” ses the landlord. “He’s been in my place a good bit, but I never knew of any reason why ‘e should try and do away with ‘imself. If he’s been disappointed in love, he ain’t told me anything about it.”

I suppose that couple o’ fools ‘ud ‘ave stood there talking about me all night if I’d ha’ let ‘em, but I had about enough of it.

“Look ‘ere,” I ses, “you’re very clever, both of you, but you needn’t worry your ‘eads about me. I’ve just been having a mud-bath, that’s all.”

“A mud-bath!” ses both of ‘em, squeaking like a couple o’ silly parrots.

“For rheumatics,” I ses. “I ‘ad it some-thing cruel to-night, and I thought that p’r’aps the mud ‘ud do it good. I read about it in the papers. There’s places where you pay pounds and pounds for ‘em, but, being a pore man, I ‘ad to ‘ave mine on the cheap.”

The policeman stood there looking at me for a moment, and then ‘e began to laugh till he couldn’t stop ‘imself.

“Love-a-duck!” he ses, at last, wiping his eyes. “I wish I’d seen it.”

“Must ha’ looked like a fat mermaid,” ses the landlord, wagging his silly ‘ead at me. “I can just see old Bill sitting in the mud a-combing his ‘air and singing.”

They ‘ad some more talk o’ that sort, just to show each other ‘ow funny they was, but they went off at last, and I fastened up the gate and went into the office to clean myself up as well as I could. One comfort was they ‘adn’t got the least idea of wot I was arter, and I ‘ad a fancy that the one as laughed last would be the one as got that twelve quid.

I was so tired that I slept nearly all day arter I ‘ad got ‘ome, and I ‘ad no sooner got back to the wharf in the evening than I see that the landlord ‘ad been busy. If there was one silly fool that asked me the best way of making mud-pies, I should think there was fifty. Little things please little minds, and the silly way some of ‘em went on made me feel sorry for my sects.

By eight o’clock, ‘owever, they ‘ad all sheered off, and I got a broom and began to sweep up to ‘elp pass the time away until low-water. On’y one craft ‘ad come up that day—a ketch called the Peewit—and as she was berthed at the end of the jetty she wasn’t in my way at all.

Her skipper came on to the wharf just afore ten. Fat, silly old man ‘e was, named Fogg. Always talking about ‘is ‘ealth and taking medicine to do it good. He came up to me slow like, and, when ‘e stopped and asked me about the rheumatics, the broom shook in my ‘and.

“Look here,” I ses, “if you want to be funny, go and be funny with them as likes it. I’m fair sick of it, so I give you warning.”

“Funny?” he ses, staring at me with eyes like a cow. “Wot d’ye mean? There’s nothing funny about rheumatics; I ought to know; I’m a martyr to it. Did you find as ‘ow the mud did you any good?”

I looked at ‘im hard, but ‘e stood there looking at me with his fat baby- face, and I knew he didn’t mean any harm; so I answered ‘im perlite and wished ‘im good night.

“I’ve ‘ad pretty near everything a man can have,” he ses, casting anchor on a empty box, “but I think the rheumatics was about the worst of ‘em all. I even tried bees for it once.”

“Bees!” I ses. “Bees!”

“Bee-stings,” he ses. “A man told me that if I could on’y persuade a few bees to sting me, that ‘ud cure me. I don’t know what ‘e meant by persuading! they didn’t want no persuading. I took off my coat and shirt and went and rocked one of my neighbour’s bee-hives next door, and I thought my last hour ‘ad come.”

He sat on that box and shivered at the memory of it.

“Now I take Dr. Pepper’s pellets instead,” he ses. “I’ve got a box in my state-room, and if you’d like to try ‘em you’re welcome.”

He sat there talking about the complaints he had ‘ad and wot he ‘ad done for them till I thought I should never have got rid of ‘im. He got up at last, though, and, arter telling me to always wear flannel next to my skin, climbed aboard and went below.

I knew the hands was aboard, and arter watching ‘is cabin-skylight until the light was out, I went and undressed. Then I crept back on to the jetty, and arter listening by the Peewit to make sure that they was all asleep, I went back and climbed down the ladder.