Stories by English Authors: London Part 11

On the landing Ford clutched at his arm, and asked in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, "'Ow long 'fore she's back?"

"'Bout an hour, I expect," Simmons replied, having first of all repeated the question in his own mind. And then he opened the parlour door.

"Ah," said Ford, looking about him, "you've bin pretty comf'table. Them chairs an' things," jerking his pipe toward them, "was hers--mine, that is to say, speakin' straight, and man to man." He sat down, puffing meditatively at his pipe, and presently, "Well," he continued, "'ere I am agin, ol' Bob Ford, dead an' done for--gone down in the _Mooltan_.

On'y I _ain't_ done for, see?" And he pointed the stem of his pipe at Simmons's waistcoat. "I ain't done for, 'cause why? Cons'kence o' bein'

picked up by a ol' German sailin'-'utch an' took to 'Frisco 'fore the mast. I've 'ad a few years o' knockin' about since then, an'

now"--looking hard at Simmons--"I've come back to see my wife."

"She--she don't like smoke in 'ere," said Simmons, as it were at random.

"No, I bet she don't," Ford answered, taking his pipe from his mouth and holding it low in his hand. "I know 'Anner. 'Ow d' you find 'er? Do she make ye clean the winders?"

"Well," Simmons admitted, uneasily, "I--I do 'elp 'er sometimes, o'

course."

"Ah! An' the knives too, I bet, an' the bloomin' kittles. I know.

W'y"--he rose and bent to look behind Simmons's head--"s' 'elp me, I b'lieve she cuts yer 'air! Well, I'm dammed! Jes' wot she would do, too."

He inspected the blus.h.i.+ng Simmons from divers points of vantage. Then he lifted a leg of the trousers hanging behind the door. "I'd bet a trifle," he said, "she made these 'ere trucks. No-body else 'ud do 'em like that. Damme! they're wuss'n wot you've got on."

The small devil began to have the argument all its own way. If this man took his wife back perhaps he'd have to wear those trousers.

"Ah," Ford pursued, "she ain't got no milder. An', my davy, wot a jore!"

Simmons began to feel that this was no longer his business. Plainly, 'Anner was this other man's wife, and he was bound in honour to acknowledge the fact. The small devil put it to him as a matter of duty.

"Well," said Ford, suddenly, "time's short an' this ain't business. I won't be 'ard on you, matey. I ought prop'ly to stand on my rights, but seein' as you're a well-meaning young man, so to speak, an' all settled an' a-livin' 'ere quiet an' matrimonual, I'll"--this with a burst of generosity--"damme! yus, I'll compound the felony an' take me 'ook.

Come, I'll name a figure, as man to man, fust an' last, no less an' no more. Five pound does it."

Simmons hadn't five pounds,--he hadn't even fivepence,--and he said so.

"An' I wouldn't think to come between a man an' 'is wife," he added, "not on no account. It may be rough on me, but it's a dooty. _I'll_ 'ook it."

"No," said Ford, hastily, clutching Simmons by the arm, "don't do that.

I'll make it a bit cheaper. Say three quid--come, that's reasonable, ain't it? Three quid ain't much compensation for me goin' away for ever--where the stormy winds do blow, so to say--an' never as much as seein' me own wife agin for better nor wuss. Between man an' man, now, three quid, an' I'll shunt. That's fair, ain't it?"

"Of course it's fair," Simmons replied, effusively. "It's more'n fair: it's n.o.ble--downright n.o.ble, _I_ call it. But I ain't goin' to take a mean advantage o' your good-'artedness, Mr. Ford. She's your wife, an'

I oughtn't to 'a' come between you. I apologise. You stop an' 'ave yer proper rights. It's me as ought to shunt, an' I will." And he made a step toward the door.

"'Old on," quoth Ford, and got between Simmons and the door; "don't do things rash. Look wot a loss it'll be to you with no 'ome to go to, an' n.o.body to look after ye, an' all that. It'll be dreadful. Say a couple--there, we won't quarrel, jest a single quid, between man an' man, an' I'll stand a pot out o' the money. You can easy raise a quid--the clock 'ud pretty nigh do it. A quid does it, an' I'll--"

There was a loud double knock at the front door. In the East End a double knock is always for the upstairs lodgers.

"Oo's that?" asked Bob Ford, apprehensively.

"I'll see," said Thomas Simmons, in reply, and he made a rush for the staircase.

Bob Ford heard him open the front door. The he went to the window, and just below him he saw the crown of a bonnet. It vanished, and borne to him from within the door there fell upon his ear the sound of a well-remembered female voice.

"Where ye goin' now with no 'at?" asked the voice, sharply.

"Awright, 'Anner--there's--there's somebody upstairs to see you,"

Simmons answered. And, as Bob Ford could see, a man went scuttling down the street in the gathering dusk. And behold, it was Thomas Simmons.

Ford reached the landing in three strides. His wife was still at the front door, staring after Simmons. He flung into the back room, threw open the window, dropped from the wash-house roof into the back yard, scrambled desperately over the fence, and disappeared into the gloom.

He was seen by no living soul. And that is why Simmons's base desertion--under his wife's very eyes, too--is still an astonishment to the neighbours.

A ROSE OF THE GHETTO, By Israel Zangwill

One day it occurred to Leibel that he ought to get married. He went to Sugarman the Shadchan forthwith.

"I have the very thing for you," said the great marriage broker.

"Is she pretty?" asked Leibel.

"Her father has a boot and shoe warehouse," replied Sugarman, enthusiastically.

"Then there ought to be a dowry with her," said Leibel, eagerly.

"Certainly a dowry! A fine man like you!"

"How much do you think it would be?"

"Of course it is not a large warehouse; but then you could get your boots at trade price, and your wife's, perhaps, for the cost of the leather."

"When could I see her?"

"I will arrange for you to call next Sabbath afternoon."

"You won't charge me more than a sovereign?"

"Not a groschen more! Such a pious maiden! I'm sure you will be happy.

She has so much way-of-the-country [breeding]. And of course five per cent on the dowry?"

"H'm! Well, I don't mind!" "Perhaps they won't give a dowry," he thought with a consolatory sense of outwitting the Shadchan.

On the Sat.u.r.day Leibel went to see the damsel, and on the Sunday he went to see Sugarman the Shadchan.

"But your maiden squints!" he cried, resentfully.

"An excellent thing!" said Sugarman. "A wife who squints can never look her husband straight in the face and overwhelm him. Who would quail before a woman with a squint?"

"I could endure the squint," went on Leibel, dubiously, "but she also stammers."

"Well, what is better, in the event of a quarrel? The difficulty she has in talking will keep her far more silent than most wives. You had best secure her while you have the chance."