by W. W. Jacobs
piece of wreckage with a monkeyclinging to it?"]
His listeners sat spellbound. Only the laboured and intense breathing ofMr. Boxer broke the silence.
"He is alone on the boundless sea," pursued the seer; "night falls. Daybreaks, and a canoe propelled by a slender and pretty but dusky maidenapproaches the castaway. She assists him into the canoe and his headsinks on her lap, as with vigorous strokes of her paddle she propels thecanoe toward a small island fringed with palm trees."
"Here, look 'ere--" began the overwrought Mr. Boxer.
"H'sh, h'sh!" ejaculated the keenly interested Mr. Thompson. "W'y don'tyou keep quiet?"
"The picture fades," continued the old man. "I see another: a nativewedding. It is the dusky maiden and the man she rescued. Ah! thewedding is interrupted; a young man, a native, breaks into the group. Hehas a long knife in his hand. He springs upon the ill-shaped man andwounds him in the head."
Involuntarily Mr. Boxer's hand went up to his honourable scar, and theheads of the others swung round to gaze at it. Mrs. Boxer's face wasterrible in its expression, but Mrs. Gimpson's bore the look of sad andpatient triumph of one who knew men and could not be surprised atanything they do.
"The scene vanishes," resumed the monotonous voice, "and another oneforms. The same man stands on the deck of a small ship. The name onthe stern is the Peer--no, Paris--no, no, no, Pearl. It fades from theshore where the dusky maiden stands with hands stretched outimploringly. The ill-shaped man smiles and takes the portrait of theyoung and beautiful girl from his pocket."
"Look 'ere," said the infuriated Mr. Boxer, "I think we've 'ad aboutenough of this rubbish. I have--more than enough."
"I don't wonder at it," said his wife, trembling furiously. "You can goif you like. I'm going to stay and hear all that there is to hear."
"You sit quiet," urged the intensely interested Mr. Thompson. "He ain'tsaid it's you. There's more than one misshaped man in the world, Is'pose?"
"I see an ocean liner," said the seer, who had appeared to be in a trancestate during this colloquy. "She is sailing for England from Australia.I see the name distinctly: the _Marston Towers_. The same man is onboard of her. The ship arrives at London. The scene closes; another oneforms. The ill-shaped man is sitting with a woman with a beautiful face--not the same as the photograph."
"What they can see in him I can't think," muttered Mr. Thompson, in anenvious whisper. "He's a perfick terror, and to look at him----"
"They sit hand in hand," continued the astrologer, raising his voice."She smiles up at him and gently strokes his head; he----"
A loud smack rang through the room and startled the entire company; Mrs.Boxer, unable to contain herself any longer, had, so far from profitingby the example, gone to the other extreme and slapped her husband's headwith hearty good-will. Mr. Boxer sprang raging to his feet, and in theconfusion which ensued the fortune-teller, to the great regret of Mr.Thompson, upset the contents of the magic bowl.
"I can see no more," he said, sinking hastily into his chair behind thetable as Mr. Boxer advanced upon him.
Mrs. Gimpson pushed her son-in-law aside, and laying a modest fee uponthe table took her daughter's arm and led her out. The Thompsonsfollowed, and Mr. Boxer, after an irresolute glance in the direction ofthe ingenuous Mr. Silver, made his way after them and fell into the rear.The people in front walked on for some time in silence, and then thevoice of the greatly impressed Mrs. Thompson was heard, to the effectthat if there were only more fortune-tellers in the world there would bea lot more better men.
Mr. Boxer trotted up to his wife's side. "Look here, Mary," he began.
"Don't you speak to me," said his wife, drawing closer to her mother,"because I won't answer you."
Mr. Boxer laughed, bitterly. "This is a nice home-coming," he remarked.
He fell to the rear again and walked along raging, his temper by no meansbeing improved by observing that Mrs. Thompson, doubtless with a firmbelief in the saying that "Evil communications corrupt good manners,"kept a tight hold of her husband's arm. His position as an outcast wasclearly defined, and he ground his teeth with rage as he observed thevirtuous uprightness of Mrs. Gimpson's back. By the time they reachedhome he was in a spirit of mad recklessness far in advance of thecharacter given him by the astrologer.
His wife gazed at him with a look of such strong interrogation as he wasabout to follow her into the house that he paused with his foot on thestep and eyed her dumbly.
"Have you left anything inside that you want?" she inquired.
"'Have you left anything inside that you want?' sheinquired."]
Mr. Boxer shook his head. "I only wanted to come in and make a cleanbreast of it," he said, in a curious voice; "then I'll go."
Mrs. Gimpson stood aside to let him pass, and Mr. Thompson, not to bedenied, followed close behind with his faintly protesting wife. They satdown in a row against the wall, and Mr. Boxer, sitting opposite in ahang-dog fashion, eyed them with scornful wrath.
"Well?" said Mrs. Boxer, at last.
"All that he said was quite true," said her husband, defiantly. "Theonly thing is, he didn't tell the arf of it. Altogether, I married threedusky maidens."
Everybody but Mr. Thompson shuddered with horror.
"Then I married a white girl in Australia," pursued Mr. Boxer, musingly."I wonder old Silver didn't see that in the bowl; not arf a fortune-teller, I call 'im."
"What they see in 'im!" whispered the astounded Mr. Thompson to his wife.
"And did you marry the beautiful girl in the photograph?" demanded Mrs.Boxer, in trembling accents.
"I did," said her husband.
"Hussy," cried Mrs. Boxer.
"I married her," said Mr. Boxer, considering--"I married her atCamberwell, in eighteen ninety-three."
"Eighteen ninety-three!" said his wife, in a startled voice. "But youcouldn't. Why, you didn't marry me till eighteen ninety-four."
"What's that got to do with it?" inquired the monster, calmly.
Mrs. Boxer, pale as ashes, rose from her seat and stood gazing at himwith horror-struck eyes, trying in vain to speak.
"You villain!" cried Mrs. Gimpson, violently. "I always distrusted you."
"'You villain!' cried Mrs. Gimpson, violently. 'I alwaysdistrusted you.'"]
"I know you did," said Mr. Boxer, calmly. "You've been committingbigamy," cried Mrs. Gimpson.
"Over and over agin," assented Mr. Boxer, cheerfully. "It's got to be a'obby with me."
"Was the first wife alive when you married my daughter?" demanded Mrs.Gimpson.
"Alive?" said Mr. Boxer. "O' course she was. She's alive now--blessher."
He leaned back in his chair and regarded with intense satisfaction thehorrified faces of the group in front.
"You--you'll go to jail for this," cried Mrs. Gimpson, breathlessly."What is your first wife's address?"
"I decline to answer that question," said her son-in-law.
"What is your first wife's address?" repeated Mrs. Gimpson.
"Ask the fortune-teller," said Mr. Boxer, with an aggravating smile."And then get 'im up in the box as a witness, little bowl and all. Hecan tell you more than I can."
"I demand to know her name and address," cried Mrs. Gimpson, putting abony arm around the waist of the trembling Mrs. Boxer.
"I decline to give it," said Mr. Boxer, with great relish. "It ain'tlikely I'm going to give myself away like that; besides, it's agin thelaw for a man to criminate himself. You go on and start your bigamycase, and call old red-eyes as a witness."
Mrs. Gimpson gazed at him in speechless wrath and then stooping downconversed in excited whispers with Mrs. Thompson. Mrs. Boxer crossedover to her husband.
"Oh, John," she wailed, "say it isn't true, say it isn't true."
Mr. Boxer hesitated. "What's the good o' me saying anything?" he said,doggedly.
"It isn't true," persisted his wife. "Say it isn't true."
"What I told you when I first came
in this evening was quite true," saidher husband, slowly. "And what I've just told you is as true as whatthat lying old fortune-teller told you. You can please yourself what youbelieve."
"I believe you, John," said his wife, humbly.
Mr. Boxer's countenance cleared and he drew
