Light Freights. William Wymark Jacobs

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ wondering wot the law would say to it—if it ‘eard of it.

      “‘It’s an unfortunit thing for all parties,’ ses Ted Reddish at last, getting up and standing on the ‘earthrug.

      “‘’Orrible,’ ses Sam, ‘uskily. ‘You ought to ha’ known better than to put ‘im in with a tiger. Wot could you expect? W’y, it was a mad thing to do.’

      “‘Crool thing,’ ses Peter Russet.

      “‘You don’t know the bisness properly,’ ses Ginger, ‘that’s about wot it is. ‘You should ha’ known better than that.’

      “‘Well, it’s no good making a fuss about it,’ ses Reddish. It was only a wild man arter all, and he’d ha’ died anyway, cos ‘e wouldn’t eat the raw meat we gave ‘im, and ‘is pan o’ water was scarcely touched. He’d ha’ starved himself anyhow. I’m sorry, as I said before, but I must be off; I’ve got an appointment down at the docks.’

      “He moved towards the door; Ginger Dick gave Russet a nudge and whispered something and Russet passed it on to Sam.

      “What about the ‘undered quid?’ ses pore Beauty’s uncle, catching ‘old o’ Reddish as ‘e passed ‘im.

      “‘Eh?’ ses Reddish, surprised—‘Oh, that’s off.’

      “‘Ho!’ says Sam. ‘Ho! is it? We want a ‘undered quid off of you; an’ wot’s more, we mean to ‘ave it.’

      “‘But the tiger’s ate ‘im,’ says Mrs. Reddish, explaining.

      “‘I know that,’ ses Sam, sharply. ‘But ‘e was our wild man, and we want to be paid for ‘im. You should ha’ been more careful. We’ll give you five minutes; and if the money ain’t paid by that time we’ll go straight off to the police-station.’

      “‘Well, go,’ ses Ted Reddish.

      “Sam got up, very stern, and looked at Ginger.

      “‘You’ll be ruined if we do,’ ses Ginger.

      “‘All right,’ ses Ted Reddish, comfortably.

      “I’m not sure they can’t ‘ang you,’ ses Russet.

      “‘I ain’t sure either,’ says Reddish; ‘and I’d like to know ‘ow the law stands, in case it ‘appens agin.’

      “‘Come on, Sam,’ ses Ginger; ‘come straight to the police-station.’

      “He got up, and moved towards the door. Ted Reddish didn’t move a muscle, but Mrs. Reddish flopped on her knees and caught old Sam round the legs, and ‘eld him so’s ‘e couldn’t move.

      “‘Spare ‘im,’ she ses, crying.

      “‘Lea’ go o’ my legs, mum,’ ses Sam.

      “‘Come on, Sam,’ ses Ginger; ‘come to the police.’

      “Old Sam made a desperit effort, and Mrs. Reddish called ‘im a crool monster, and let go and ‘id ‘er face on ‘er husband’s shoulder as they all moved out of the parlour, larfing like a mad thing with hysterics.

      “They moved off slowly, not knowing wot to do, as, of course, they knew they daren’t go to the police about it. Ginger Dick’s temper was awful; but Peter Russet said they mustn’t give up all ‘ope—he’d write to Ted Reddish and tell ‘im as a friend wot a danger ‘e was in. Old Sam didn’t say anything, the loss of his nevy and twenty-five pounds at the same time being almost more than ‘is ‘art could bear, and in a slow, melancholy fashion they walked back to old Sam’s lodgings.

      “‘Well, what the blazes is up now?’ ses Ginger Dick, as they turned the corner.

      “There was three or four ‘undered people standing in front of the ‘ouse, and women’s ‘eads out of all the winders screaming their ‘ardest for the police, and as they got closer they ‘eard a incessant knocking. It took ‘em nearly five minutes to force their way through the crowd, and then they nearly went crazy as they saw the wild man with ‘alf the winder-blind missing, but otherwise well and ‘arty, standing on the step and giving rat-a-tat-tats at the door for all ‘e was worth.

      “They never got to know the rights of it, Beauty getting so excited every time they asked ‘im ‘ow he got on that they ‘ad to give it up. But they began to ‘ave a sort of idea at last that Ted Reddish ‘ad been ‘aving a game with ‘em, and that Mrs. Reddish was worse than wot ‘e was.”

      A GARDEN PLOT

      The able-bodied men of the village were at work, the children were at school singing the multiplication-table lullaby, while the wives and mothers at home nursed the baby with one hand and did the housework with the other. At the end of the village an old man past work sat at a rough deal table under the creaking signboard of the Cauliflower, gratefully drinking from a mug of ale supplied by a chance traveller who sat opposite him.

      The shade of the elms was pleasant and the ale good. The traveller filled his pipe and, glancing at the dusty hedges and the white road baking in the sun, called for the mugs to be refilled, and pushed his pouch towards his companion. After which he paid a compliment to the appearance of the village.

      “It ain’t what it was when I was a boy,” quavered the old man, filling his pipe with trembling fingers. “I mind when the grindstone was stuck just outside the winder o’ the forge instead o’ being one side as it now is; and as for the shop winder—it’s twice the size it was when I was a young ‘un.”

      He lit his pipe with the scientific accuracy of a smoker of sixty years’ standing, and shook his head solemnly as he regarded his altered birthplace. Then his colour heightened and his dim eye flashed.

      “It’s the people about ‘ere ‘as changed more than the place ‘as,” he said, with sudden fierceness; “there’s a set o’ men about here nowadays as are no good to anybody; reg’lar raskels. And if you’ve the mind to listen I can tell you of one or two as couldn’t be beat in London itself.

      “There’s Tom Adams for one. He went and started wot ‘e called a Benevolent Club. Threepence a week each we paid agin sickness or accident, and Tom was secretary. Three weeks arter the club was started he caught a chill and was laid up for a month. He got back to work a week, and then ‘e sprained something in ‘is leg; and arter that was well ‘is inside went wrong. We didn’t think much of it at first, not understanding figures; but at the end o’ six months the club hadn’t got a farthing, and they was in Tom’s debt one pound seventeen-and-six.

      “He isn’t the only one o’ that sort in the place, either. There was Herbert Richardson. He went to town, and came back with the idea of a Goose Club for Christmas. We paid twopence a week into that for pretty near ten months, and then Herbert went back to town agin, and all we ‘ear of ‘im, through his sister, is that he’s still there and doing well, and don’t know when he’ll be back.

      “But the artfullest and worst man in this place—and that’s saying a good deal, mind you—is Bob Pretty. Deep is no word for ‘im. There’s no way of being up to ‘im. It’s through ‘im that we lost our Flower Show; and, if you’d like to ‘ear the rights o’ that, I don’t suppose there’s anybody in this place as knows as much about it as I do—barring Bob hisself that is, but ‘e wouldn’t tell it to you as plain as I СКАЧАТЬ