by W. W. Jacobs
KEEPING UP APPEARANCES
“Everybody is superstitious,” said the night-watchman, as he gaveutterance to a series of chirruping endearments to a black cat with oneeye that had just been using a leg of his trousers as a serviette; “ifthat cat ‘ad stole some men’s suppers they’d have acted foolish, andsuffered for it all the rest of their lives.”
He scratched the cat behind the ear, and despite himself his facedarkened. “Slung it over the side, they would,” he said, longingly, “andchucked bits o’ coke at it till it sank. As I said afore, everybody issuperstitious, and those that ain’t ought to be night-watchmen for atime—that ‘ud cure ‘em. I knew one man that killed a black cat, andarter that for the rest of his life he could never get three sheets inthe wind without seeing its ghost. Spoilt his life for ‘im, it did.”
He scratched the cat’s other ear. “I only left it a moment, while Iwent round to the Bull’s Head,” he said, slowly filling his pipe, “and Ithought I’d put it out o’ reach. Some men——”
His fingers twined round the animal’s neck; then, with a sigh, he roseand took a turn or two on the jetty.
Superstitiousness is right and proper, to a certain extent, he said,resuming his seat; but, o’ course, like everything else, some peoplecarry it too far—they’d believe anything. Weak-minded they are, andif you’re in no hurry I can tell you a tale of a pal o’ mine, BillBurtenshaw by name, that’ll prove my words.
‘Superstitiousness is Right and Proper, to a Certain Extent.’
His mother was superstitious afore ‘im, and always knew when ‘er friendsdied by hearing three loud taps on the wall. The on’y mistake she evermade was one night when, arter losing no less than seven friends, shefound out it was the man next door hanging pictures at three o’clock inthe morning. She found it out by ‘im hitting ‘is thumb-nail.
For the first few years arter he grew up Bill went to sea, and that on’ymade ‘im more superstitious than ever. Him and a pal named Silas Winchwent several v’y’ges together, and their talk used to be that creepythat some o’ the chaps was a’most afraid to be left on deck alone of anight. Silas was a long-faced, miserable sort o’ chap, always lookingon the black side o’ things, and shaking his ‘ead over it. He thoughtnothing o’ seeing ghosts, and pore old Ben Huggins slept on the floorfor a week by reason of a ghost with its throat cut that Silas saw inhis bunk. He gave Silas arf a dollar and a neck-tie to change bunks with‘im.
When Bill Burtenshaw left the sea and got married he lost sight of Silasaltogether, and the on’y thing he ‘ad to remind him of ‘im was a pieceo’ paper which they ‘ad both signed with their blood, promising thatthe fust one that died would appear to the other. Bill agreed to it oneevenin’ when he didn’t know wot he was doing, and for years arterwards‘e used to get the cold creeps down ‘is back when he thought of Silasdying fust. And the idea of dying fust ‘imself gave ‘im cold creeps allover.
Bill was a very good husband when he was sober, but ‘is money was twopounds a week, and when a man has all that and on’y a wife to keep outof it, it’s natural for ‘im to drink. Mrs. Burtenshaw tried all sorts o’ways and means of curing ‘im, but it was no use. Bill used to think o’ways, too, knowing the ‘arm the drink was doing ‘im, and his fav’riteplan was for ‘is missis to empty a bucket o’ cold water over ‘im everytime he came ‘ome the worse for licker. She did it once, but as she ‘adto spend the rest o’ the night in the back yard it wasn’t tried again.
Bill got worse as he got older, and even made away with the furniture toget drink with. And then he used to tell ‘is missis that he was drove tothe pub because his ‘ome was so uncomfortable.
Just at that time things was at their worst Silas Winch, who ‘appened tobe ashore and ‘ad got Bill’s address from a pal, called to see ‘im. Itwas a Saturday arternoon when he called, and, o’ course, Bill was out,but ‘is missis showed him in, and, arter fetching another chair from thekitchen, asked ‘im to sit down.
Silas was very perlite at fust, but arter looking round the room andseeing ‘ow bare it was, he gave a little cough, and he ses, “I thoughtBill was doing well?” he ses.
‘Silas Was Very Perlite at Fust.’
“So he is,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.
Silas Winch coughed again.
“I suppose he likes room to stretch ‘imself about in?” he ses, lookinground.
Mrs. Burtenshaw wiped ‘er eyes and then, knowing ‘ow Silas had been anold friend o’ Bill’s, she drew ‘er chair a bit closer and told him ‘owit was. “A better ‘usband, when he’s sober, you couldn’t wish to see,”she ses, wiping her eyes agin. “He’d give me anything—if he ‘ad it.”
Silas’s face got longer than ever. “As a matter o’ fact,” he ses, “I’ma bit down on my luck, and I called round with the ‘ope that Bill couldlend me a bit, just till I can pull round.”
Mrs. Burtenshaw shook her ‘ead.
“Well, I s’pose I can stay and see ‘im?” ses Silas. “Me and ‘im used tobe great pals at one time, and many’s the good turn I’ve done him. Wottime’ll he be ‘ome?”
“Any time after twelve,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw; “but you’d better not behere then. You see, ‘im being in that condition, he might think you wasyour own ghost come according to promise and be frightened out of ‘islife. He’s often talked about it.”
Silas Winch scratched his head and looked at ‘er thoughtful-like.
“Why shouldn’t he mistake me for a ghost?” he ses at last; “the shockmight do ‘im good. And, if you come to that, why shouldn’t I pretend tobe my own ghost and warn ‘im off the drink?”
Mrs. Burtenshaw got so excited at the idea she couldn’t ‘ardly speak,but at last, arter saying over and over agin she wouldn’t do such athing for worlds, she and Silas arranged that he should come in at aboutthree o’clock in the morning and give Bill a solemn warning. She gave‘im her key, and Silas said he’d come in with his ‘air and cap all wetand pretend he’d been drowned.
“It’s very kind of you to take all this trouble for nothing,” ses Mrs.Burtenshaw as Silas got up to go.
“Don’t mention it,” ses Silas. “It ain’t the fust time, and I don’tsuppose it’ll be the last, that I’ve put myself out to help myfeller-creeturs. We all ought to do wot we can for each other.”
“Mind, if he finds it out,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw, all of a tremble,“I don’t know nothing about it. P’r’aps to make it more life-like I’dbetter pretend not to see you.”
“P’r’aps it would be better,” ses Silas, stopping at the street door.“All I ask is that you’ll ‘ide the poker and anything else that might belaying about handy. And you ‘ad better oil the lock so as the key won’tmake a noise.”
Mrs. Burtenshaw shut the door arter ‘im, and then she went in and ‘ada quiet sit-down all by ‘erself to think it over. The only thing thatcomforted ‘et was that Bill would be in licker, and also that ‘e wouldbelieve anything in the ghost line.
It was past twelve when a couple o’ pals brought him ‘ome, and, arteroffering to fight all six of ‘em, one after the other, Bill hit the wallfor getting in ‘is way, and tumbled upstairs to bed. In less than tenminutes ‘e was fast asleep, and pore Mrs. Burtenshaw, arter trying herbest to keep awake, fell asleep too.
She was woke up suddenly by a noise that froze the marrer in ‘er bones—the most ‘art-rending groan she ‘ad ever heard in ‘er life; and, raisingher ‘ead, she saw Silas Winch standing at the foot of the bed. He ‘addone his face and hands over with wot is called loominous paint, his capwas pushed at the back of his ‘ead, and wet wisps of ‘air was hangingover his eyes. For a moment Mrs. Burtenshaw’s ‘art stood still and thenSilas let off another groan that put her on edge all over. It was agroan that seemed to come from nothing a’most until it spread into aroar that made the room tremble and rattled the jug in the wash-standbasin. It shook everything in the room but Bill, and he went on sleepinglike an infant. Silas did two more groans, and then ‘e leaned over thefoot o’ the bed,
and stared at Bill, as though ‘e couldn’t believe hiseyesight.
‘She Saw Silas Winch Standing at the Foot of The Bed.’
“Try a squeaky one,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.
Silas tried five squeaky ones, and then he ‘ad a fit o’ coughing thatwould ha’ woke the dead, as they say, but it didn’t wake Bill.
“Now some more deep ones,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw, in a w’isper.
Silas licked his lips—forgetting the paint—and tried the deep ones agin.
“Now mix ‘em a bit,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw.
Silas stared at her. “Look ‘ere,” he ses, very short, “do you think I’ma fog-horn, or wot?”
He stood there sulky for a moment, and then ‘e invented a noise thatnothing living could miss hearing; even Bill couldn’t. He moved in ‘issleep, and arter Silas ‘ad done it twice more he turned and spoke to ‘ismissis about it. “D’ye hear?” he ses; “stop it. Stop it at once.”
Mrs. Burtenshaw pretended to be asleep, and Bill was just going to turnover agin when Silas let off another groan. It was on’y a little onethis time, but Bill sat up as though he ‘ad been shot, and he no soonercaught sight of Silas standing there than ‘e gave a dreadful ‘owl and,rolling over, wropped ‘imself up in all the bed-clothes ‘e could lay his‘ands on. Then Mrs. Burtenshaw gave a ‘owl and tried to get some of ‘emback; but Bill, thinking it was the ghost, only held on tighter thanever.
“Bill!” ses Silas Winch, in an awful voice.
Bill gave a kick, and tried to bore a hole through the bed.
“Bill,” ses Silas agin, “why don’t you answer me? I’ve come all the wayfrom the bottom of the Pacific Ocean to see you, and this is all I getfor it. Haven’t you got anything to say to me?”
“Good-by,” ses Bill, in a voice all smothered with the bed-clothes.
Silas Winch groaned agin, and Bill, as the shock ‘ad made a’most sober,trembled all over.
“The moment I died,” ses Silas, “I thought of my promise towards you.‘Bill’s expecting me,’ I ses, and, instead of staying in comfort atthe bottom of the sea, I kicked off the body of the cabin-boy wot wasclinging round my leg, and ‘ere I am.”
“It was very—t-t-thoughtful—of you—Silas,” ses Bill; “but you always—w-w-was—thoughtful. Good-by—”
Afore Silas could answer, Mrs. Burtenshaw, who felt more comfortable,‘aving got a bit o’ the clothes back, thought it was time to put ‘erspoke in.
“Lor’ bless me, Bill,” she ses. “Wotever are you a-talking to yourselflike this for? ‘Ave you been dreaming?”
“Dreaming!” ses pore Bill, catching hold of her ‘and and gripping ittill she nearly screamed. “I wish I was. Can’t you see it?”
“See it?” ses his wife. “See wot?”
“The ghost,” ses Bill, in a ‘orrible whisper; “the ghost of my dear,kind old pal, Silas Winch. The best and noblest pal a man ever ‘ad. Thekindest-’arted——”
“Rubbish,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw. “You’ve been dreaming. And as for thekindest-’arted pal, why I’ve often heard you say—”
“H’sh!” ses Bill. “I didn’t. I’ll swear I didn’t. I never thought ofsuch a thing.”
“You turn over and go to sleep,” ses his wife, “hiding your ‘ead underthe clothes like a child that’s afraid o’ the dark! There’s nothingthere, I tell you. Wot next will you see, I wonder? Last time it was apink rat.”
“This is fifty million times worse than pink rats,” ses Bill. “I on’ywish it was a pink rat.”
“I tell you there is nothing there,” ses his wife. “Look!”
Bill put his ‘ead up and looked, and then ‘e gave a dreadful scream anddived under the bed-clothes agin.
“Oh, well, ‘ave it your own way, then,” ses his wife. “If it pleases youto think there is a ghost there, and to go on talking to it, do so, andwelcome.”
She turned over and pretended to go to sleep agin, and arter a minute ortwo Silas spoke agin in the same hollow voice.
“Bill!” he ses.
“Yes,” ses Bill, with a groan of his own.
“She can’t see me,” ses Silas, “and she can’t ‘ear me; but I’m ‘ere allright. Look!”
“I ‘ave looked,” ses Bill, with his ‘ead still under the clothes.
“We was always pals, Bill, you and me,” ses Silas; “many a v’y’ge ‘avewe had together, mate, and now I’m a-laying at the bottom of the PacificOcean, and you are snug and ‘appy in your own warm bed. I ‘ad to cometo see you, according to promise, and over and above that, since I wasdrowned my eyes ‘ave been opened. Bill, you’re drinking yourself todeath!”
“I—I—didn’t know it,” ses Bill, shaking all over. “I’ll knock it—off abit, and—thank you—for—w-w-warning me. G-G-Good-by.”
“You’ll knock it off altogether,” ses Silas Winch, in a awful voice.“You’re not to touch another drop of beer, wine, or spirits as long asyou live. D’ye hear me?”
“Not—not as medicine?” ses Bill, holding the clothes up a bit so as tobe more distinct.
“Not as anything,” ses Silas; “not even over Christmas pudding. Raiseyour right arm above your ‘ead and swear by the ghost of pore SilasWinch, as is laying at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, that you won’ttouch another drop.”
Bill Burtenshaw put ‘is arm up and swore it.
Then ‘e took ‘is arm in agin and lay there wondering wot was going to‘appen next.
“If you ever break your oath by on’y so much as a teaspoonful,” sesSilas, “you’ll see me agin, and the second time you see me you’ll die asif struck by lightning. No man can see me twice and live.”
Bill broke out in a cold perspiration all over. “You’ll be careful,won’t you, Silas?” he ses. “You’ll remember you ‘ave seen me once, Imean?”
“And there’s another thing afore I go,” ses Silas. “I’ve left a widder,and if she don’t get ‘elp from some one she’ll starve.”
“Pore thing,” ses Bill. “Pore thing.”
“If you ‘ad died afore me,” ses Silas, “I should ‘ave looked arter yourgood wife—wot I’ve now put in a sound sleep—as long as I lived.”
Bill didn’t say anything.
“I should ‘ave given ‘er fifteen shillings a week,” ses Silas.
“‘Ow much?” ses Bill, nearly putting his ‘ead up over the clothes, while‘is wife almost woke up with surprise and anger.
“Fifteen shillings,” ses Silas, in ‘is most awful voice. “You’ll savethat over the drink.”
“I—I’ll go round and see her,” ses Bill. “S’he might be one o’ these‘ere independent—” 277
“I forbid you to go near the place,” ses Silas. “Send it by post everyweek; 15 Shap Street will find her. Put your arm up and swear it; sameas you did afore.”
Bill did as ‘e was told, and then ‘e lay and trembled, as Silas gavethree more awful groans.
“Farewell, Bill,” he ses. “Farewell. I am going back to my bed at thebottom o’ the sea. So long as you keep both your oaths I shall staythere. If you break one of ‘em or go to see my pore wife I shall appearagin. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell!”
Bill said “Good-by,” and arter a long silence he ventured to put an eyeover the edge of the clothes and discovered that the ghost ‘ad gone. Helay awake for a couple o’ hours, wondering and saying over the addressto himself so that he shouldn’t forget it, and just afore it was time toget up he fell into a peaceful slumber. His wife didn’t get a wink, andshe lay there trembling with passion to think ‘ow she’d been done, andwondering ‘ow she was to alter it.
Bill told ‘er all about it in the morning; and then with tears in hiseyes ‘e went downstairs and emptied a little barrel o’ beer down thesink. For the fust two or three days ‘e went about with a thirst thathe’d ha’ given pounds for if ‘e’d been allowed to satisfy it, but artera time it went off, and then, like all teetotallers, ‘e began to rundown drink and call it pison.
‘With Tears in his Eyes ‘e
Emptied a Little Barrel O’ Beer Down theSink.’
The fust thing ‘e did when ‘e got his money on Friday was to send offa post-office order to Shap Street, and Mrs. Burtenshaw cried withrage and ‘ad to put it down to the headache. She ‘ad the headache everyFriday for a month, and Bill, wot was feeling stronger and better thanhe ‘ad done for years, felt quite sorry for her.
By the time Bill ‘ad sent off six orders she was worn to skin and bonea’most a-worrying over the way Silas Winch was spending her money. Shedursn’t undeceive Bill for two reasons: fust of all, because she didn’twant ‘im to take to drink agin; and secondly, for fear of wot he mightdo to ‘er if ‘e found out ‘ow she’d been deceiving ‘im.
She was laying awake thinking it over one night while Bill was sleepingpeaceful by her side, when all of a sudden she ‘ad an idea. The more shethought of it the better it seemed; but she laid awake for ever so longafore she dared to do more than think. Three or four times she turnedand looked at Bill and listened to ‘im breathing, and then, tremblingall over with fear and excitement, she began ‘er little game.
“He did send it,” she ses, with a piercing scream. “He did send it.”
“W-w-wot’s the matter?” ses Bill, beginning to wake up.
Mrs. Burtenshaw didn’t take any notice of ‘im.
“He did send it,” she ses, screaming agin. “Every Friday night reg’lar.Oh, don’t let ‘im see you agin.”
Bill, wot was just going to ask ‘er whether she ‘ad gone mad, gave aawful ‘owl and disappeared right down in the middle o’ the bed.
“There’s some mistake,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw, in a voice that could ha’been ‘eard through arf-a-dozen beds easy. “It must ha’ been lost in thepost. It must ha’ been.”
She was silent for a few seconds, then she ses, “All right,” she ses,“I’ll bring it myself, then, by hand every week. No, Bill sha’n’t come;I’ll promise that for ‘im. Do go away; he might put his ‘ead up at anymoment.”
She began to gasp and sob, and Bill began to think wot a good wife he‘ad got, when he felt ‘er put a couple of pillers over where she judgedhis ‘ead to be, and hold ‘em down with her arm.
“Thank you, Mr. Winch,” she ses, very loud. “Thank you. Good-by,Good-by.”
She began to quieten down a bit, although little sobs, like wimmen usewhen they pretend that they want to leave off crying but can’t, keptbreaking out of ‘er. Then, by and by, she quieted down altogether and ahusky voice from near the foot of the bed ses: “Has it gorn?”
“Oh, Bill,” she ses, with another sob, “I’ve seen the ghost!”
“Has it gorn?” ses Bill, agin.
“Yes, it’s gorn,” ses his wife, shivering. “Oh, Bill, it stood at thefoot of the bed looking at me, with its face and ‘ands all shiny white,and damp curls on its forehead. Oh!”
Bill came up very slow and careful, but with ‘is eyes still shut.
“His wife didn’t get the money this week,” ses Mrs. Burtenshaw; “but ashe thought there might be a mistake somewhere he appeared to me insteadof to you. I’ve got to take the money by hand.”
“Yes, I heard,” ses Bill; “and mind, if you should lose it or be robbedof it, let me know at once. D’ye hear? At once!”
“Yes, Bill,” ses ‘is wife.
They lay quiet for some time, although Mrs. Burtenshaw still kepttrembling and shaking; and then Bill ses. “Next time a man tells you he‘as seen a ghost, p’r’aps you’ll believe in ‘im.”
Mrs. Burtenshaw took out the end of the sheet wot she ‘ad stuffed in ‘ermouth when ‘e began to speak.
“Yes, Bill,” she ses.
Bill Burtenshaw gave ‘er the fifteen shillings next morning and everyFriday night arterwards; and that’s ‘ow it is that, while other wimmen‘as to be satisfied looking at new hats and clothes in the shop-winders,Mrs. Burtenshaw is able to wear ‘em.
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