Sailor's Knots (Entire Collection). William Wymark Jacobs

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СКАЧАТЬ “else she might get the idea that I wanted to go back.”

      “I s’pose you know she’s moved?” said Mr. Pett, with the air of a man anxious to change the conversation.

      “Eh?” said the other.

      “Number thirty-seven, John Street,” said Mr. Pett. “Told my wife she’s going to take in lodgers. Calling herself Mrs. Harris, after her maiden name.”

      He went off before Mr. Hatchard could recover, and the latter at once verified the information in part by walking round to his old house. Bits of straw and paper littered the front garden, the blinds were down, and a bill was pasted on the front parlor window. Aghast at such determination, he walked back to his lodgings in gloomy thought.

      On Saturday afternoon he walked round to John Street, and from the corner of his eye, as he passed, stole a glance at No. 37. He recognized the curtains at once, and, seeing that there was nobody in the room, leaned over the palings and peered at a card that stood on the window-sash:

FURNISHED APARTMENTS FOR SINGLE YOUNG MAN BOARD IF DESIRED

      He walked away whistling, and after going a little way turned and passed it again. He passed in all four times, and then, with an odd grin lurking at the corners of his mouth, strode up to the front door and knocked loudly. He heard somebody moving about inside, and, more with the idea of keeping his courage up than anything else, gave another heavy knock at the door. It was thrown open hastily, and the astonished face of his wife appeared before him.

      “What do you want?” she inquired, sharply.

      Mr. Hatchard raised his hat. “Good-afternoon, ma’am,” he said, politely.

      “What do you want?” repeated his wife.

      “I called,” said Mr. Hatchard, clearing his throat—“I called about the bill in the window.”

      Mrs. Hatchard clutched at the door-post.

      “Well?” she gasped.

      “I’d like to see the rooms,” said the other.

      “But you ain’t a single young man,” said his wife, recovering.

      “I’m as good as single,” said Mr. Hatchard. “I should say, better.”

      “You ain’t young,” objected Mrs. Hatchard. “I’m three years younger than what you are,” said Mr. Hatchard, dispassionately.

      His wife’s lips tightened and her hand closed on the door; Mr. Hatchard put his foot in.

      “If you don’t want lodgers, why do you put a bill up?” he inquired.

      “I don’t take the first that comes,” said his wife.

      “I’ll pay a week in advance,” said Mr. Hatchard, putting his hand in his pocket. “Of course, if you’re afraid of having me here—afraid o’ giving way to tenderness, I mean–”

      “Afraid?” choked Mrs. Hatchard. “Tenderness! I—I–”

      “Just a matter o’ business,” continued her husband; “that’s my way of looking at it—that’s a man’s way. I s’pose women are different. They can’t–”

      “Come in,” said Mrs. Hatchard, breathing hard Mr. Hatchard obeyed, and clapping a hand over his mouth ascended the stairs behind her. At the top she threw open the door of a tiny bedroom, and stood aside for him to enter. Mr. Hatchard sniffed critically.

      “Smells rather stuffy,” he said, at last.

      “You needn’t have it,” said his wife, abruptly. “There’s plenty of other fish in the sea.”

      “Yes; and I expect they’d stay there if they saw this room,” said the other.

      “Don’t think I want you to have it; because I don’t,” said Mrs. Hatchard, making a preliminary movement to showing him downstairs.

      “They might suit me,” said Mr. Hatchard, musingly, as he peeped in at the sitting-room door. “I shouldn’t be at home much. I’m a man that’s fond of spending his evenings out.”

      Mrs. Hatchard, checking a retort, eyed him grimly.

      “I’ve seen worse,” he said, slowly; “but then I’ve seen a good many. How much are you asking?”

      “Seven shillings a week,” replied his wife. “With breakfast, tea, and supper, a pound a week.”

      Mr. Hatchard nearly whistled, but checked himself just in time.

      “I’ll give it a trial,” he said, with an air of unbearable patronage.

      Mrs. Hatchard hesitated.

      “If you come here, you quite understand it’s on a business footing,” she said.

      “O’ course,” said the other, with affected surprise. “What do you think I want it on?”

      “You come here as a stranger, and I look after you as a stranger,” continued his wife.

      “Certainly,” said the other. “I shall be made more comfortable that way, I’m sure. But, of course, if you’re afraid, as I said before, of giving way to tender–”

      “Tender fiddlesticks!” interrupted his wife, flushing and eying him angrily.

      “I’ll come in and bring my things at nine o’clock to-night,” said Mr. Hatchard. “I’d like the windows open and the rooms aired a bit. And what about the sheets?”

      “What about them?” inquired his wife.

      “Don’t put me in damp sheets, that’s all,” said Mr. Hatchard. “One place I was at–”

      He broke off suddenly.

      “Well!” said his wife, quickly.

      “Was very particular about them,” said Mr. Hatchard, recovering. “Well, good-afternoon to you, ma’am.”

      “I want three weeks in advance,” said his wife. “Three—” exclaimed the other. “Three weeks in advance? Why–”

      “Those are my terms,” said Mrs. Hatchard. “Take ‘em or leave ‘em. P’r’aps it would be better if you left ‘em.”

      Mr. Hatchard looked thoughtful, and then with obvious reluctance took his purse from one pocket and some silver from another, and made up the required sum.

      “And what if I’m not comfortable here?” he inquired, as his wife hastily pocketed the money. “It’ll be your own fault,” was the reply.

      Mr. Hatchard looked dubious, and, in a thoughtful fashion, walked downstairs and let himself out. He began to think that the joke was of a more complicated nature than he had expected, and it was not without forebodings that he came back at nine o’clock that night accompanied by a boy with his baggage.

      His gloom disappeared the moment the door opened. The air inside was warm and comfortable, and pervaded by an appetizing smell of cooked meats. Upstairs a small bright fire and a neatly laid supper-table awaited his arrival.

      He СКАЧАТЬ