by W. W. Jacobs
'ome when 'ecomes back to it agin. He don't know when 'e's well off. It's ascomfortable a 'ome as a man could wish to 'ave." It was surprising wot alittle difference George Dixon's being away made to the Blue Lion.Nobody seemed to miss 'im much, and things went on just the same as aforehe went. Mrs. Dixon was all right with most people, and 'er relations'ad a very good time of it; old Burge began to put on flesh at such arate that the sight of a ladder made 'im ill a'most, and Charlie and Bobwent about as if the place belonged to 'em.
They 'eard nothing for eight months, and then a letter came for Mrs.Dixon from her 'usband in which he said that 'e had left the _Seabird_after 'aving had a time which made 'im shiver to think of. He said thatthe men was the roughest of the rough and the officers was worse, andthat he 'ad hardly 'ad a day without a blow from one or the other sincehe'd been aboard. He'd been knocked down with a hand-spike by the secondmate, and had 'ad a week in his bunk with a kick given 'im by theboatswain. He said 'e was now on the _Rochester Castle,_ bound forSydney, and he 'oped for better times.
That was all they 'eard for some months, and then they got another lettersaying that the men on the _Rochester Castle_ was, if anything, worsethan those on the Seabird, and that he'd begun to think that running awayto sea was diff'rent to wot he'd expected, and that he supposed 'e'd doneit too late in life. He sent 'is love to 'is wife and asked 'er as afavour to send Uncle Burge and 'is boys away, as 'e didn't want to findthem there when 'e came home, because they was the cause of all hissufferings.
"He don't know 'is best friends," ses old Burge. "'E's got a nastysperrit I don't like to see."
"I'll 'ave a word with 'im when 'e does come home," ses Bob. "I s'posehe thinks 'imself safe writing letters thousands o' miles away."
The last letter they 'ad came from Auckland, and said that he 'ad shippedon the _Monarch,_ bound for the Albert Docks, and he 'oped soon to be at'ome and managing the Blue Lion, same as in the old happy days afore hewas fool enough to go to sea.
That was the very last letter, and some time arterward the _Monarch_ wasin the missing list, and by-and-by it became known that she 'ad gone downwith all hands not long arter leaving New Zealand. The only differenceit made at the Blue Lion was that Mrs. Dixon 'ad two of 'er dresses dyedblack, and the others wore black neckties for a fortnight and spoke ofDixon as pore George, and said it was a funny world, but they supposedeverything was for the best.
It must ha' been pretty near four years since George Dixon 'ad run off tosea when Charlie, who was sitting in the bar one arternoon reading thepaper, things being dull, saw a man's head peep through the door for aminute and then disappear. A'most direckly arterward it looked in atanother door and then disappeared agin. When it looked in at the thirddoor Charlie 'ad put down 'is paper and was ready for it.
"Who are you looking for?" he ses, rather sharp. "Wot d'ye want? Areyou 'aving a game of peepbo, or wot?"
The man coughed and smiled, and then 'e pushed the door open gently andcame in, and stood there fingering 'is beard as though 'e didn't know wotto say.
"I've come back, Charlie," he ses at last.
"Wot, George!" ses Charlie, starting. "Why, I didn't know you in thatbeard. We all thought you was dead, years ago."
"I was pretty nearly, Charlie," ses Dixon, shaking his 'ead. "Ah! I've'ad a terrible time since I left 'once."
"'You don't seem to ha' made your fortune," ses Charlie, looking down at'is clothes. "I'd ha' been ashamed to come 'ome like that if it 'ad beenme."
"I'm wore out," ses Dixon, leaning agin the bar. "I've got no prideleft; it's all been knocked out of me. How's Julia?"
"She's all right," ses Charlie. "Here, Ju--"
"H'sh!" ses Dixon, reaching over the bar and laying his 'and on his arm."Don't let 'er know too sudden; break it to 'er gently."
"Fiddlesticks!" ses Charlie, throwing his 'and off and calling, "Here,Julia! He's come back."
Mrs. Dixon came running downstairs and into the bar. "Good gracious!"she ses, staring at her 'us-band. "Whoever'd ha' thought o' seeing youagin? Where 'ave you sprung from?"
"Ain't you glad to see me, Julia?" ses George Dixon.
"Yes, I s'pose so; if you've come back to behave yourself," ses Mrs.Dixon. "What 'ave you got to say for yourself for running away and thenwriting them letters, telling me to get rid of my relations?"
"That's a long time ago, Julia," ses Dixon, raising the flap in thecounter and going into the bar. "I've gone through a great deal o'suffering since then. I've been knocked about till I 'adn't got anyfeeling left in me; I've been shipwrecked, and I've 'ad to fight for mylife with savages."
"Nobody asked you to run away," ses his wife, edging away as he went toput his arm round 'er waist. "You'd better go upstairs and put on somedecent clothes."
"You'd better go upstairs and put on some decentclothes."]
Dixon looked at 'er for a moment and then he 'ung his 'ead.
"I've been thinking o' you and of seeing you agin every day since I wentaway, Julia," he ses. "You'd be the same to me if you was dressed inrags."
He went upstairs without another word, and old Burge, who was comingdown, came down five of 'em at once owing to Dixon speaking to 'im aforehe knew who 'e was. The old man was still grumbling when Dixon came downagin, and said he believed he'd done it a-purpose.
"You run away from a good 'ome," he ses, "and the best wife in Wapping,and you come back and frighten people 'arf out o' their lives. I neversee such a feller in all my born days."
"I was so glad to get 'ome agin I didn't think," ses Dixon. "I hopeyou're not 'urt."
He started telling them all about his 'ardships while they were at tea,but none of 'em seemed to care much about hearing 'em. Bob said that thesea was all right for men, and that other people were sure not to likeit.
"And you brought it all on yourself," ses Charlie. "You've only gotyourself to thank for it. I 'ad thought o' picking a bone with you overthose letters you wrote."
"Let's 'ope 'e's come back more sensible than wot 'e was when 'e wentaway," ses old Burge, with 'is mouth full o' toast.
By the time he'd been back a couple o' days George Dixon could see that'is going away 'adn't done any good at all. Nobody seemed to take anynotice of 'im or wot he said, and at last, arter a word or two withCharlie about the rough way he spoke to some o' the customers, Charliecame in to Mrs. Dixon and said that he was at 'is old tricks ofinterfering, and he would not 'ave it.
"Well, he'd better keep out o' the bar altogether," ses Mrs. Dixon."There's no need for 'im to go there; we managed all right while 'e wasaway."
"Do you mean I'm not to go into my own bar?" ses Dixon, stammering.
"Yes, I do," ses Mrs. Dixon. "You kept out of it for four years toplease yourself, and now you can keep out of it to please me."
"I've put you out o' the bar before," ses Charlie, "and if you comemessing about with me any more I'll do it agin. So now you know."
He walked back into the bar whistling, and George Dixon, arter sittingstill for a long time thinking, got up and went into the bar, and he'd'ardly got his foot inside afore Charlie caught 'old of 'im by theshoulder and shoved 'im back into the parlour agin.
"I told you wot it would be," ses Mrs. Dixon, looking up from 'er sewing."You've only got your interfering ways to thank for it."
"This is a fine state of affairs in my own 'ouse," ses Dixon, 'ardly ableto speak. "You've got no proper feeling for your husband, Julia, elseyou wouldn't allow it. Why, I was happier at sea than wot I am 'ere."
"Well, you'd better go back to it if you're so fond of it," ses 'is wife.
"I think I 'ad," ses Dixon. "If I can't be master in my own 'ouse I'mbetter at sea, hard as it is. You must choose between us, Julia--me oryour relations. I won't sleep under the same roof
