Produced by David Widger
THE LADY OF THE BARGE
AND OTHER STORIES
By W. W. Jacobs
THE WELL
Two men stood in the billiard-room of an old country house, talking.Play, which had been of a half-hearted nature, was over, and they sat atthe open window, looking out over the park stretching away beneath them,conversing idly.
"Your time's nearly up, Jem," said one at length, "this time six weeksyou'll be yawning out the honeymoon and cursing the man--woman I mean--who invented them."
Jem Benson stretched his long limbs in the chair and grunted in dissent.
"I've never understood it," continued Wilfred Carr, yawning. "It's notin my line at all; I never had enough money for my own wants, let alonefor two. Perhaps if I were as rich as you or Croesus I might regard itdifferently."
There was just sufficient meaning in the latter part of the remark forhis cousin to forbear to reply to it. He continued to gaze out of thewindow and to smoke slowly.
"Not being as rich as Croesus--or you," resumed Carr, regarding him frombeneath lowered lids, "I paddle my own canoe down the stream of Time,and, tying it to my friends' door-posts, go in to eat their dinners."
"Quite Venetian," said Jem Benson, still looking out of the window."It's not a bad thing for you, Wilfred, that you have the doorposts anddinners--and friends."
Carr grunted in his turn. "Seriously though, Jem," he said, slowly,"you're a lucky fellow, a very lucky fellow. If there is a better girlabove ground than Olive, I should like to see her."
"Yes," said the other, quietly.
"She's such an exceptional girl," continued Carr, staring out of thewindow. "She's so good and gentle. She thinks you are a bundle of allthe virtues."
He laughed frankly and joyously, but the other man did not join him."Strong sense--of right and wrong, though," continued Carr, musingly."Do you know, I believe that if she found out that you were not----"
"Not what?" demanded Benson, turning upon him fiercely, "Not what?"
"Everything that you are," returned his cousin, with a grin that beliedhis words, "I believe she'd drop you."
"Talk about something else," said Benson, slowly; "your pleasantries arenot always in the best taste."
Wilfred Carr rose and taking a cue from the rack, bent over the board andpracticed one or two favourite shots. "The only other subject I can talkabout just at present is my own financial affairs," he said slowly, as hewalked round the table.
"Talk about something else," said Benson again, bluntly.
"And the two things are connected," said Carr, and dropping his cue hehalf sat on the table and eyed his cousin.
There was a long silence. Benson pitched the end of his cigar out of thewindow, and leaning back closed his eyes.
"Do you follow me?" inquired Carr at length.
Benson opened his eyes and nodded at the window.
"Do you want to follow my cigar?" he demanded.
"I should prefer to depart by the usual way for your sake," returned theother, unabashed. "If I left by the window all sorts of questions wouldbe asked, and you know what a talkative chap I am."
"So long as you don't talk about my affairs," returned the other,restraining himself by an obvious effort, "you can talk yourself hoarse."
"I'm in a mess," said Carr, slowly, "a devil of a mess. If I don't raisefifteen hundred by this day fortnight, I may be getting my board andlodging free."
"Would that be any change?" questioned Benson.
"The quality would," retorted the other. "The address also would not begood. Seriously, Jem, will you let me have the fifteen hundred?"
"No," said the other, simply.
Carr went white. "It's to save me from ruin," he said, thickly.
"I've helped you till I'm tired," said Benson, turning and regarding him,"and it is all to no good. If you've got into a mess, get out of it.You should not be so fond of giving autographs away."
"It's foolish, I admit," said Carr, deliberately. "I won't do so anymore. By the way, I've got some to sell. You needn't sneer. They'renot my own."
"Whose are they?" inquired the other.
"Yours."
Benson got up from his chair and crossed over to him. "What is this?"he asked, quietly. "Blackmail?"
"Call it what you like," said Carr. "I've got some letters for sale,price fifteen hundred. And I know a man who would buy them at that pricefor the mere chance of getting Olive from you. I'll give you firstoffer."
"If you have got any letters bearing my signature, you will be goodenough to give them to me," said Benson, very slowly.
"They're mine," said Carr, lightly; "given to me by the lady you wrotethem to. I must say that they are not all in the best possible taste."
His cousin reached forward suddenly, and catching him by the collar ofhis coat pinned him down on the table.
"Give me those letters," he breathed, sticking his face close to Carr's.
"They're not here," said Carr, struggling. "I'm not a fool. Let me go,or I'll raise the price."
The other man raised him from the table in his powerful hands, apparentlywith the intention of dashing his head against it. Then suddenly hishold relaxed as an astonished-looking maid-servant entered the room withletters. Carr sat up hastily.
"That's how it was done," said Benson, for the girl's benefit as he tookthe letters.
"I don't wonder at the other man making him pay for it, then," said Carr,blandly.
"You will give me those letters?" said Benson, suggestively, as the girlleft the room.
"At the price I mentioned, yes," said Carr; "but so sure as I am a livingman, if you lay your clumsy hands on me again, I'll double it. Now, I'llleave you for a time while you think it over."
He took a cigar from the box and lighting it carefully quitted the room.His cousin waited until the door had closed behind him, and then turningto the window sat there in a fit of fury as silent as it was terrible.
The air was fresh and sweet from the park, heavy with the scent ofnew-mown grass. The fragrance of a cigar was now added to it, andglancing out he saw his cousin pacing slowly by. He rose and went to thedoor, and then, apparently altering his mind, he returned to the windowand watched the figure of his cousin as it moved slowly away into themoonlight. Then he rose again, and, for a long time, the room was empty.
* * * * *
It was empty when Mrs. Benson came in some time later to say good-nightto her son on her way to bed. She walked slowly round the table, andpausing at the window gazed from it in idle thought, until she saw thefigure of her son advancing with rapid strides toward the house. Helooked up at the window.
"Good-night," said she.
"Good-night," said Benson, in a deep voice.
"Where is Wilfred?"
"Oh, he has gone," said Benson.
"Gone?"
"We had a few words; he was wanting money again, and I gave him a pieceof my mind. I don't think we shall see him again."
"Poor Wilfred!" sighed Mrs. Benson. "He is always in trouble of somesort. I hope that you were not too hard upon him."
"No more than he deserved," said her son, sternly. "Good night."
II.
The well, which had long ago fallen into disuse, was almost hidden by thethick tangle of undergrowth which ran riot at that corner of the oldpark. It was partly covered by the shrunken half of a lid, above which arusty windlass creaked in company with the music of the pines when thewind blew strongly. The full light of the sun never reached it, and theground surrounding it was moist and green when other parts of the parkwere gaping with the heat.
Two people walking slowly round the park in the fragrant stillness of asummer evening strayed in the di
rection of the well.
"No use going through this wilderness, Olive," said Benson, pausing onthe outskirts of the pines and eyeing with some disfavour the gloombeyond.
"Best part of the park," said the girl briskly; "you know it's myfavourite spot."
"I know you're very fond of sitting on the coping," said the man slowly,"and I wish you wouldn't. One day you will lean back too far and fallin."
"And make the acquaintance of