THE SMITHY & NOBBY COLLECTION: 6 Novels & 90+ Stories in One Edition. Edgar Wallace

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      “‘No more don’t I,’ ‘e sez, with a sort of sigh.

      “‘What!’ I sez.

      “‘No,’ ‘e sez, ‘I don’t know a bloomin’ thing about it. I bought this camera from a chap down the ‘Igh Street. ‘E sold it cheap, bein’ sligh’ly damaged. It ‘adn’t got one of its parts. I forget which. Any’ow, the chap said it didn’t matter.’

      THE PHOTO SHOP

      “‘Look ‘ere, Nobby,’ I sez, stoppin’ in the street, ‘ave you got the monkey box with you?’

      “‘Yes,’ ‘e sez, ‘I never let it out of my sight,’ an’ ‘e pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.

      “‘We’ll take in to that chap that takes photos, an’ see what’s wrong withit.’

      “So we took it into the photo shop; an’ Nobby tells the chap all about it. The chap looks at the camera for a bit, an’ me an’ Nobby looks at ‘im very anxious.’

      “‘What do you want me to do?’

      “‘Take out the photos we’ve took,’ sez Nobby.

      “‘You’ve took, Nobby; not me,’ I sez.

      “‘We’re both in, Smithy,’ sez Nobby.”

      “‘There ain’t no photos,’ sez the photo chap.

      “‘No photos!’ sez me an’ Nobby together, an’ Nobby went pale.

      “‘No,’ sez the photo chap, ‘their ain’t no films.’

      “‘Hey?’ sez Nobby.

      “‘Nor no lens neither,’ sez the photo chap.

      “‘Does that make any difference?’ sez Nobby.

      “‘You’ve done it!’ I sez, an’ I told the photo chap all about ‘ow Nobby took the picture of the regiment on parade, an’ ow the Adjutant sez ‘e wanted a copy of the photo to — morrow.

      “‘Where was it took?’ sez the photo chap.

      “‘On parade,’ I sez.

      A SCOTCH REVIVAL

      “‘I’ve got a photo of a regiment at’ ‘ome took on that very parade,’ sez the photo chap. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do when I get ‘ome to — night; I’ll! send it on to you. You can say you took it, an’ it’ll be all right.’

      “Old Nobby brightens up wonderful.

      “‘Is it our regiment?’ ‘e sez.

      “‘No,’ sez the photo chap; ‘but it’s so small, you can’t tell what regiment it is.’

      “‘That’ll do,’ sez Nobby. ‘Send it straight to the Adjutant.’ An’ we both went back to baracks ‘ighly satisfied.

      “Next mornin’ we was sent for to the orderly room.

      “‘Good mornin’ Clark; good mornin’, Smith,’ sez the Adjutant, when ‘e saw us. ‘Nice photograph that you sent us.’

      “‘Yes, sir,’ sez Nobby; but I said nothin’.

      “‘Took it yourself?’ sez the Adjutant.

      “‘Yes, sir,’ sez Nobby.

      “‘Ah,’ sez the Adjutant, very affable, ‘the Colonel is very interested in it.’

      “‘Very glad to ‘ear that, sir,’ sez Nobby.

      “The Adjutant took the photo from ‘is pocket an’ ‘anded it to Nobby.

      “Nobby looks at it: so did. Then we saluted an’ went back to the barrack — room.

      “Nobby didn’t speak for a long time. When ‘e did, ‘e said something about the photo chap, an’ then ——

      “‘Was there anything I said to the photo chap last night that’d make ‘im think we was ‘Ighlanders, Smithy?’”

19. The Bookmaker

       Table of Contents

      “There’s lots of chaps,” said Smithy, “who are walkin’ about the streets without keepers who ought by rights to be down at the master tailor’s bein’ measured for strait weskets.”

      It was Smithy’s Saturday to Monday vacation, which he had agreed to spend at my house. Smithy takes a delight in the discussion of all kinds of gloomy subjects. He revels in the Positively Dreadful and is keenly interested in the Indescribably Ghastly.

      We had spent a pleasant Saturday evening. Starting with How it Feels to be Hung, we had moved by easy stages to Murder as a Fine Art; thence to the vexed question, Should Executions be Public? which I think we threshed out very thoroughly. We drifted to Criminal Lunacy, taking a short cut by way of Suicide, and it was at this point that Smithy expressed his doubt regarding the sanity of the majority of his fellow-creatures.

      “With some chaps it’s gels,” philosophized Smithy; they get quite balmy about ‘em. I know one chap — a very good character, too, with a couple of badges—’ who writes poetry to his gel.

      “There’s a chap!” said Smithy hopelessly, “plays the concertena like — like Paddyrisky,” he illustrated daringly, “an’ you see him sittin’ down night after night chewin’ his pen like — anything.

      “There he sits — Cole’s his name — thinkin’ an’ frownin’ and writin’ an’ scratchin’ out again.

      “‘Wot rhymes with “dear”?’ he sez to Nobby Clark.

      “‘Beer,’ sez Nobby as quick as lightnin’.

      “‘That won’t do,’ sez poor Cole. ‘Wot rhymes with “waken”?’

      “‘Eggs an’ bacon,’ sez Nobby.

      “‘That won’t do, either,’ sez poor old Cole, and goes on scribblin’ an’ scratchin’ out. Bimeby he sez:

      “‘What rhymes with “bell”?’

      “So Nobby tells him, an’ old Cole gets offended. ‘I’m writin’ to my gel,’ he sez, ‘an’ I can’t use that sort of language.’

      “So he goes on writin’ an’ arskin’ advice an’ not takin’ it. He spends nights an’ nights writin’ a poem about love, an’ when his gel gets it, she thinks old Cole’s been drinkin’, an’ she don’t notice the words come in rhyme at the end of the lines till she’s СКАЧАТЬ